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“Good sonne, where Lindis winds away,

With her two bairns I marked her long;
And ere yon bells beganne to play

Afar I heard her milking song.
He looked across the grassy lea,
To right, to left," Ho Enderby!
They rang " The Brides of Enderby!'
With that he cried, and beat his breast;

For, lo! along the river's bed,
A mighty eygre reared his crest,

And uppe the Lindis raging sped;
It swept with thunderous noises loud,
Shaped like a curling snow-white cloud,
Or like a demon in a shroud.

And rearing Lindis backward pressed,

Shook all her trembling bankes amaine ;
Then madly at the eygre's breast

Flung uppe her weltering walls again ;
Then bankes came down 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 oure 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 sat that night,

The noise of bells went sweeping by ; I marked the lofty beacon light

Stream from the church tower red and high

A lurid mark, and dread to see ;
And awsome bells they were to mee,
That in the dark rang “Enderby!”

They rang the sailor lads to guide

From roofe to roofe, who fearless rowed;
And I-my sonne 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;
Thy pretty bairns in fast embrace,
The lifted sun.shone on thy face,
Downe-drifted to thy dwelling-place.
That slow strewed wrecks about the grass,

That ebbe swept out the flocks to sea-
A fatal ebb and flow, alas!
To
manye inore than

myne
But each will mourn his own (she saith),
And sweeter woinan ne'er drew breath
Than my sonne's wife, Elizabeth.

and mee ;

I shall never hear her more
By the reedy Lindis' shore ;
«Cusha! Cusha! Cusha !" calling,
Ere the early dews be falling;
I shall never hear her song,
“ Cusha! Cusha !”—all along
Where the sunny Lindis floweth,

Goeth, floweth,
From the meads where melick groweth,

When the water winding down,
Onward floweth to the town.
I shall never see her more
Where the reeds and rushes quiver,

Shiver, quiver;
Stand beside the sobbing river-
Sobbing, throbbing, in its falling

To the sandy lonesome shore;
I shall never hear her calling :
Leave
your

meadow grasses mellow,

Mellow, mellow;
Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow;
Come uppe

Whitefoot, come uppe Lightfoot; Quit your pipes of parsley hollow,

Hollow, hollow;
Come uppe Lightfoot, rise and follow;

Lightfoot, Whitefoot,
From your clovers lift the head;
Come uppe Jetty, follow, follow,
Jetty, to the milking shed.”

She dwelt among the untrodden ways

Beside the springs of Dove,
A maid whom there were none to praise

And very few to love :
A violet by a mossy stone,

Half-hidden from the eye!
Fair as a star, when only one

Is shining in the sky.
She lived unknown, and few could know

When Lucy ceased to be ;
But she is in her grave,-and, oh,

The difference to me!

WORDSWORTH,

My Mind TO ME A Kingdom IS.

BYRD.

My mind to me a kingdom is,

Such perfect joy therein I find,
That it excels all other bliss

That God or nature hath assigned :
Though much I want that most would have,
Yet still my mind forbids to crave.

No princely port, nor wealthy store,

Nor force to win a victory;
No wily wit to salve a sore,

No shape to win a loving eye :
To none of these I yield as thrall,
For why, my mind despise them all.
I see that plenty surfeits oft,

And hasty climbers soonest fall ;
I see that such as are aloft,

Mishap doth threaten most of all :
These get with toil, and keep with fear;
Such cares my mind can never bear.

suffice;

I press to bear no haughty sway ;
I wish no more than

may
I do no more than well I

may,
Look what I want, my mind supplies :
Lo! thus I triumph like a king ;
My mind's content with anything.

I laugh not at another's loss,

Nor grudge not at another's gain ;

1

No worldly waves my mind can toss;

I brook what is another's bane :
I fear no foe, nor fawn on friend;
I loathe not life, nor dread mine end.

My wealth is health and perfect ease,

And conscience clear my chief defence ;
I never seek by bribes to please,

Nor by desert to give offence :
Thus do I live, thus will I die ;
Would all do so well as I !

THE CHARACTER OF A Happy Life.

SIR

HENRY

WOTTON.

How happy is he born and taught,

That serveth not another's will;
Whose armour is his honest thought,

And simple truth his utmost skill !

Whose passions not his masters are ;

Whose soul is still prepared for death;
Untied unto the worldly care

Of public fame or private breath :
Who envies none that chance doth raise,

Or vice; who never understood
How deepest wounds are given by praise ;

Nor rules of state, but rules of good :

Who hath his life from humours freed ;

Whose conscience is his strong retreat ;
Whose state can neither flatterers feed,

Nor ruin make accusers great :

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