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A Pastoral Song.

AMARYLLIS.

If every Maid were of my mind,

Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, lovely sweet: They to their lovers should prove kind, Kindness is for Maidens meet.

HYLLIS.

Methinks love is an idle toy,

Heigh-ho, busy pain:

Both wit and sense it doth annoy,
Both sense and wit thereby we gain.

AMARYLLIS.

Tush! Phyllis, cease, be not so coy,
Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, coy disdain :
I know you love a Shepherd's boy,
Fie! that Maidens so should fain!

PHYLLIS.

Well, Amaryllis, now I yield,
Shepherds, pipe aloud:

Love conquers both in town and field,

Like a tyrant, fierce and proud.

The evening star is up, ye see;
Vesper shines; we must away;

Would every lover might agree,
So we end our roundelay.

Henry Constable. In "England's Helicon," 1600.

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Song.

A

། Song.

WET sheet and a flowing sea,

A wind that follows fast,

And fills the white and rustling sail,

And bends the gallant mast;

And bends the gallant mast, my boys,

While, like the eagle free,

Away the good ship flies, and leaves
Old England on the lee.

Oh, for a soft and gentle wind!

I hear a fair one cry;

But give to me the snoring breeze,

And white waves heaving high;

And white waves heaving high, my boys,
The good ship tight and free,—
The world of waters is our home,
And merry men are we.

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Song.

There's tempest in yon hornèd moon,
And lightning in yon cloud;
And hark, the music, mariners,
The wind is piping loud!
The wind is piping loud, my boys,
The lightning flashing free,-
While the hollow oak our palace is,
Our heritage the sea.

Allan Cunningham, 1784—1842.

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GIN my love were yon red rose,
That grows upon the castle wa'!
And I mysel, a drap of dew,
Into her bonny breast to fa'!

O, there beyond expression blest
I'd feast on beauty a' the night;
Seal'd on her silk-saft falds to rest,
Till flyed awa' by Phoebus light.

From Herd's Scottish Songs, 1776.

In

In School-Days.

TILL sits the school-house by the road,

STILL

A ragged beggar sunning;

Around it still the sumachs grow,

And blackberry vines are running.

Within, the master's desk is seen,
Deep scarred by raps official;
The warping floor, the battered seats,
The jack-knife's carved initial;

The charcoal frescos on its wall;
Its door's worn sill betraying
The feet that, creeping slow to school,
Went storming out to playing!

Long years ago, a winter sun
Shone over it at setting;

Lit up its western window-panes,
And low eaves' icy fretting.

In School-Days.

It touched the tangled golden curls,

And brown eyes full of grieving, Of one who still her steps delayed When all the school were leaving.

For near her stood the little boy
Her childish favor singled;

His cap pulled low upon a face

Where pride and shame were mingled.

Pushing with restless feet the snow
To right and left, he lingered;

As restlessly her tiny hands.

The blue-checked apron fingered.

He saw her lift her eyes; he felt
The soft hand's light caressing,
And heard the tremble of her voice,
As if a fault confessing.

"I'm sorry that I spelt the word: I hate to go above you,

Because," the brown eyes lower fell,

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"Because, you see, I love you!"

Still memory to a gray-haired man.
That sweet child-face is showing.
Dear girl! the grasses on her grave

Have forty years been growing!

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