JEAN INGELOW. Then some looked uppe into the sky, And where the lordly steeple shows. They sayde, "And why should this thing be, What danger lowers by land or sea? "For evil news from Mablethorpe, Of pyrate galleys warping down; But while the west bin red to see, I looked without, and lo! my sonne Came riding downe with might and main, He raised a shout as he drew on, Till all the welkin rang again, "Elizabeth! Elizabeth!' (A sweeter woman ne'er drew breath Than my sonne's wife, Elizabeth.) "The olde sea-wall (he cried) is downe, The rising tide comes on apace, And boats adrift in yonder towne Go sailing uppe the market-place." He shook as one that looks on death: "God save you, mother!" straight he saith; "Where is my wife, Elizabeth?" "Good sonne, where Lindis winds away With her two bairns I marked her long; And ere yon bells beganne to play With that he cried and beat his breast; And uppe the Lindis raging sped. And rearing Lindis backward pressed, Shook all her trembling bankes amaine; Then madly at the eygre's breast Flung uppe her weltering walls again. 281 Then bankes came downe with ruin and rout, Then beaten foam flew round about, Then all the mighty floods were out. So farre, so fast the eygre drave, The heart had hardly time to beat, Before a shallow seething wave Sobbed in the grasses at our feet: The feet had hardly time to flee Before it brake against the knee, And all the world was in the sea. Upon the roofe we sate that night, The noise of bells went sweeping by: I marked the lofty beacon-light Stream from the church-tower, red and A lurid mark and dread to see; They rang the sailor-lads to guide From roofe to roofe who fearless rowed; And I my soune was at my side, And yet the ruddy beacon glowed: And yet he moaned beneath his breath, "O come in life, or come in death! O lost! my love, Elizabeth." And didst thou visit him no more? Thou didst, thou didst, my daughter deare; The waters laid thee at his doore, Ere yet the early dawn was clear. The pretty bairns in fast embrace, The lifted sun shone on thy face, Downe drifted to thy dwelling-place. That flow strewed wrecks about the grass, That ebbe swept out the flocks to sea; A fatal ebbe and flow, alas! To manye more than myne and me: But each will mourn his own (she saith). And sweeter woman ne'er drew breath Than my sonne's wife, Elizabeth. I shall never hear her more From the meads where melick groweth, Here's two bonny boys, and here's I pray you hear my song of a boat, mother's own lasses, Eager to gather them all. Heigh-ho! daisies and buttercups! Mother shall thread them a daisy chain; Sing them a song of the pretty hedgesparrow, That loved her brown little ones, loved them full fain; Sing, "Heart, thou art wide though the house be but narrow," Sing once, and sing it again. Heigh-ho! daisies and buttercups! Sweet wagging cowslips, they bend and they bow; A ship sails afar over warm ocean waters, And haply one musing doth stand at her prow. O bonny brown sons, and O sweet little daughters, Maybe he thinks on you now. For it is but short: My boat you shall find none fairer afloat, Long I looked out for the lad she bore, For he came not back to me THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH. Shall never light on a prouder sitter, A fairer nestful, nor ever know I had a nestful once of my own, Right dearly I loved them; but when they were grown They spread out their wings to fly. AFTER THE RAIN. 283 THE rain has ceased, and in my room From out the dripping ivy-leaves, Antiquely carven, gray and high, A dormer, facing westward, looks Upon the village like an eye: And now it glimmers in the sun, A square of gold, a disk, a speck: And in the belfry sits a Dove With purple ripples on her neck. PISCATAQUA RIVER. THOU singest by the gleaming isles, By woods, and fields of corn, Thou singest, and the heaven smiles Upon my birthday morn. But I within a city, I, So full of vague unrest, Would almost give my life to lie An hour upon thy breast! To let the wherry listless go, And, wrapt in dreamy joy, Dip, and surge idly to and fro, Like the red harbor-buoy ; To sit in happy indolence, To rest upon the oars, And catch the heavy earthy scents That blow from summer shores; To see the rounded sun go down, And then to hear the muffled tolls O River! flowing to the main Through woods, and fields of corn, He kissed me once, he kissed me twice, I could not stir or speak; He kissed me twice, he kissed me thrice; I called aloud upon the name of Him but when he kissed again, who died for men. Sing, sing! ring, ring! pleasant Sabbath bells! Chime, rhyme! chime, rhyme! through dales and dells! Rhyme, ring! chime, sing! pleasant Sabbath bells! Chime, sing! rhyme, ring! over fields and fells! O faintly, faintly, faintly, calling men and maids to pray, So faintly, faintly, faintly rang the bells far away; And as I named the Blessed Name, as in our need we can, The ugly green gnome became a tall and comely man: His hands were white, his beard was gold, his eyes were black as sloes, His tunic was of scarlet woof, and silken were his hose; A His pensive light from faeryland still linvoice was like the running brook gered on his cheek, "O, you have cast away the charm my when he began to speak: Seven years have I dwelt in Faëryland, step-dame put on me, O, I will mount thy palfrey white, and and you have set me free. And, by those dewy little eyes, we twain ride to kirk with thee, will wedded be!" Rhyme, ring! chime, sing! pleasant Sab- | She shook her ringlets from her hood, bath bells! Chime, sing! rhyme, ring! over fields and fells! E. C. STEDMAN. [U. S. A.] THE DOORSTEP. THE Conference-meeting through at last, Not braver he that leaps the wall By level musket-flashes litten, Than 1, who stepped before them all, Who longed to see me get the nitten. But no; she blushed, and took my arm! We let the old folks have the highway, And started toward the Maple Farm Along a kind of lover's by-way. I can't remember what we said, 'T was nothing worth a song or story, Yet that rude path by which we sped Seemed all transformed, and in a glory. The snow was crisp beneath our feet, The moon was full, the fields were gleaming; By hood and tippet sheltered sweet, Her face with youth and health was beaming. The little hand outside her muff O sculptor, if you could but mould it!-So lightly touched my jacket-cuff, To keep it warm I had to hold it. To have her with me there alone, 'T was love and fear and triumph blended. At last we reached the foot-worn stone Where that delicious journey ended. The old folks, too, were almost home; Her dimpled hand the latches fingered, We heard the voices nearer come, Yet on the doorstep still we lingered. And with a "Thank you, Ned," dissembled ; But yet I knew she understood With what a daring wish I trembled. Where, hour by hour, the rates of gold Outrival, in the ears of people, The quarter-chimes, serenely tolled From Trinity's undaunted steeple ; Even there I heard a strange, wild strain Sound high above the modern clamor, Above the cries of greed and gain, The curbstone war, the auction's hammer, And swift, on Music's misty ways, It led, from all this strife for millions, To ancient, sweet-do-nothing days Among the kirtle-robed Sicilians. And as it stilled the multitude, |