And whilst our souls negotiate there,

We like sepulchral statues lay: All day the same our postures were, And we said nothing all the day. If any, so by love refined,

That he soul's language understood,

And by good love were grown all mind,

Within convenient distance stood, He, (though he knew not which soul spoke,

Because both meant, both spoke the same,)

Might thence a new concoction take,
And part far purer than he came.
This ecstasy doth unperplex,
We said, and tell us what we love;
We see by this it was not sex,
we saw not what did

We see,

move:

An' a lovelier light in the brow of heaven

Fell time shall ne'er destroy.

Thy lips were ruddy and calm, my lassie,

Thy lips were ruddy and calm; But gane was the holy breath of heaven

To sing the evening psalm.

There's nought but dust now mine, lassie,

There's nought but dust now mine;

My saul's wi thee in the cauld grave, An' why should I stay behin'? CUNNINGHAM.

THE PEASANT'S RETURN.

AND passing here through evening dew,

He hastened happy to her door,
But found the old folk only two
With no more footsteps on the floor
To walk again below the skies
Where beaten paths do fall and rise.

For she wer gone from earthly eyes
To be a-kept in darksome sleep
Until the good again do rise
A joy to souls they left to weep.
The rose were dust that bound her
brow;

The moth did eat her Sunday cape;
Her frock were out of fashion now;
Her shoes were dried up out of
shape.

WILLIAM BARNES,