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I would--but deeper things then the ag
With woman's lot are wor
Wrongs of lvnser eyugaben,
And served by paa kov

Ir de

gees",

By the fees rag tog ung
Ingi tu, kam sakany

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174

THE LADY'S YES.

“Yes !” I answered you last night;

“No," this morning, sir, I say ! Colours seen by candle-light,

Will not look the same by day.

When the tabors played their best,

Lamps above and laughs belowLove me, sounded like a jest,

Fit for yes, or fit for no!

Call me false, or call me free

Vow whatever light may shine, No man on thy face shall see

Any grief for change on mine.

Yet the sin is on us both

Time to dance is not to wooWooer light makes fickle troth

Scorn of me recoils on you!

Learn to win a lady's faith

Nobly, as the thing is high; Bravely, as for life and death

With a loyal gravity.

Lead her from the festive boards,

Point her to the starry skies, Guard her, by your truthful words,

Pure from courtship's flatteries.

By your truth she shall be true

Ever true as wives of yore-
And her yes, once said to you,

Shall be res for evermore.

BARRETT.

VICTORIA'S TEARS.

“O MAIDEN, heir of kings,

A king has left his place;
The Majesty of death has swept

All other from his face.
And thou, upon thy mother's breast,

No longer lean adown-
But take the glory for the rest,
And rule the land that loves thee best."

The maiden wept;
She wept to wear a crown.

They decked her courtly halls

They reined her hundred steeds They shouted at her palace gate,

“A noble Queen succeeds!”
Her name has stirred the mountains' sleep,

Her praise has filled the town :
And mourners God had stricken deep,
Looked hearkening up, and did not weep!

Alone she wept,
Who wept to wear a crown.

She saw no purple shine,
For tears had dimmed her eyes:

She only knew her childhood's flowers
Were happier pageantries!

And while the heralds played their part
For million shouts to drown-
"God save the Queen," from hill to mart-
She heard, through all, her beating heart,
And turned and wept!
She wept, to wear a crown.

God save thee, weeping Queen, Thou shalt be well beloved, The tyrant's sceptre cannot move

As those pure tears have moved; The nature in thine eye we see,

Which tyrants cannot own-
The love that guardeth liberties;
Strange blessing on the nation lies,

Whose sovereign wept,
Yea, wept, to wear its crown.

God bless thee, weeping Queen,
With blessing more divine;

And fill with better love than earth's,

That tender heart of thine;
That when the thrones of earth shall be
As low as graves brought down,
A pierced hand may give to thee,
The crown which angels wept to see.

Thou wilt not weep,

To wear that heavenly crown.

BARRETT.

TO A DYING INFANT.

SLEEP, little baby! sleep!

Not in thy cradle bed,
Not on thy mother's breast
Henceforth shall be thy rest,

But with the quiet dead.

Yes—with the quiet dead,

Baby, thy rest shall be ! Oh! many a weary wight, Weary of life and light,

Would fain lie down with thee.

Flee, little tender nursling!

Flee to thy grassy nest;
There the first flowers shall blow,
The first pure flake of snow,

Shall fall upon thy breast.

Peace! peace! Thy little bosom

Labours with shortening breath :Peace! peace! that tremulous sigh Speaks his departure nigh!

Those are the damps of death.

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