As awm sittin enjoyin mi pipe,
An tooastin mi shins beside th' hob,
Aw find ther's a harvest quite ripe,
O' thowts stoored away i' mi nob.
An aw see things as plainly to-neet,
'At long years ago vanished away, -
As if they'd but just left mi seet,
Tother day.

Aw remember mi pranks when at schooil,
When mischievous tricks kept me soa thrang;
An mi maister declared me a fooil, -
An maybe, he wor net soa far wrang.
Ha mi lessons awd skip throo, or miss,
To give me mooar chonces for play;
An aw fancy aw went throo all this,
Tother day.

Aw remember mi coortin days too, -
What a felly aw fancied misen;
An aw swore at mi sweetheart wor true, -
For mi faith knew noa falterin then.
Aw remember ha jealous an mad,
Aw felt, when shoo t...

How many times have we been interrupted
Just as I was about to make up a story for you!
One time it was because we suddenly saw a firefly
Lighting his green lantern among the boughs of a fir-tree.
Marvellous! Marvellous! He is making for himself
A little tent of light in the darkness!
And one time it was because we saw a lilac lightning flash
Run wrinkling into the blue top of the mountain,
We heard boulders of thunder rolling down upon us
And the plat-plat of drops on the window,
And we ran to watch the rain
Charging in wavering clouds across the long grass of the field!
Or at other times it was because we saw a star
Slipping easily out of the sky and falling, far off,
Among pine-dark hills;
Or because we found a crimson eft
Darting in the cold grass!
Th...

Another day of toil and strife,
Another page so white,
Within that fateful Log of Life
That I and all must write;
Another page without a stain
To make of as I may,
That done, I shall not see again
Until the Judgment Day.

Ah, could I, could I backward turn
The pages of that Book,
How often would I blench and burn!
How often loathe to look!
What pages would be meanly scrolled;
What smeared as if with mud;
A few, maybe, might gleam like gold,
Some scarlet seem as blood.

O Record grave, God guide my hand
And make me worthy be,
Since what I write to-day shall stand
To all eternity;
Aye, teach me, Lord of Life, I pray,
As I salute the sun,
To bear myself that every day
May be a Golden One.

Banagher Rhue of Donegal,
(Holy Mary, how slow the dawn!)
This is the hour of your loss or gain:
Is go d-tigheadh do, mhûirnín slan! {21}

Banagher Rhue, but the hour was ill
(O Mary Mother, how high the price!)
When you swore you’d game with Death himself;
Aye, and win with the devil’s dice.

Banagher Rhue, you must play with Death,
(Mary, watch with him till the light!)
Through the dark hours, for the words you said,
All this strange and noisy night.

Banagher Rhue, you are pale and cold;
(How the demons laugh through the air!)
The anguish beads on your frowning brow;
Mary set on your lips a prayer!

Banagher Rhue, you have won the toss:
(Mother, pray for his soul’s release!)
Shuffle and deal ere the black cock cro...

I.
If you to me be cold,
Or I be false to you,
The world will go on, I think,
Just as it used to do;
The clouds will flirt with the moon,
The sun will kiss the sea,
The wind to the trees will whisper,
And laugh at you and me;
But the sun will not shine so bright,
The clouds will not seem so white,
To one, as they will to two;
So I think you had better be kind,
And I had best be true,
And let the old love go on,
Just as it used to do.

II.
If the whole of a page be read,
If a book be finished through,
Still the world may read on, I think,
Just as it used to do;
For other lovers will con
The pages that we have passed,
And the treacherous gold of the binding
Will glitter unto the last.
But lids have a lonely look,...

TO .... ....

THE MORNING OF HER BIRTHDAY.


In witching slumbers of the night,
I dreamt I was the airy sprite
    That on thy natal moment smiled;
And thought I wafted on my wing
Those flowers which in Elysium spring,
    To crown my lovely mortal child.

With olive-branch I bound thy head,
Heart's ease along thy path I shed,
    Which was to bloom through all thy years;
Nor yet did I forget to bind
Love's roses, with his myrtle twined,
    And dewed by sympathetic tears.

Such was the wild but precious boon
Which Fancy, at her magic noon,
    Bade me to Nona's image pay;
And were it thus my fate to be
Thy little guardian deity,
    How blest around thy steps I'd play!

Thy life should glide in peace along,

Well may you sit within, and, fond of grief,
Look in each other's face, and melt in tears.
Well may you shun all counsel, all relief.
Oh she was great in mind, tho' young in years!

Chang'd is that lovely countenance, which shed
Light when she spoke; and kindled sweet surprise,
As o'er her frame each warm emotion spread,
Play'd round her lips, and sparkled in her eyes.

Those lips so pure, that mov'd but to persuade,
Still to the last enliven'd and endear'd.
Those eyes at once her secret soul convey'd,
And ever beam'd delight when you appear'd.

Yet has she fled the life of bliss below,
That youthful Hope in bright perspective drew?
False were the tints! false as the feverish glow
That o'er her burning cheek Distemper threw!

And now in joy...

A Lorelei full fair she sits
Throned on the stream that dimly rolls;
Still, hope-thrilled, with her wild harp knits
To her from year to year men's souls.

They hear her harp, they hear her song,
Led by the wizard beauty high,
Like blind brutes maddened rush along,
Sink at her cold feet, gasp and die.

What is Harry thinking of,
    Sitting on that mossy stone?
All his brothers are at play;
    Why is he so still and lone?

He is musing earnestly;
    And the flutterings of the bird
And its pleading, feeble chirp
    Fall upon his ear unheard.

Well may little Harry think!
    From the pear-tree's withered bough
He has brought the pretty nest,
    Placed within his hat-crown now.

That is why he sits alone;
    And he hears a voice within,
Louder than the Robin's note,
    Crying, "Harry, this is sin!"

Then put back the nest, my boy,
    So you will be glad and free,
Nor will hasten by in shame,
    When you pass that withered tree.

Amor fra l' orbe una leggiadra rete.

HE COMPARES HIMSELF TO A BIRD CAUGHT IN A NET.


    Love 'mid the grass beneath a laurel green--
The plant divine which long my flame has fed,
Whose shade for me less bright than sad is seen--
A cunning net of gold and pearls had spread:
Its bait the seed he sows and reaps, I ween
Bitter and sweet, which I desire, yet dread:
Gentle and soft his call, as ne'er has been
Since first on Adam's eyes the day was shed:
And the bright light which disenthrones the sun
Was flashing round, and in her hand, more fair
Than snow or ivory, was the master rope.
So fell I in the snare; their slave so won
Her speech angelical and winning air,
Pleasure, and fond desire, and sanguine hope.

MACGREGOR.

Put forth thy leaf, thou lofty plane,
East wind and frost are safely gone;
With zephyr mild and balmy rain
The summer comes serenely on;
Earth, air, and sun and skies combine
To promise all that’s kind and fair:
But thou, O human heart of mine,
Be still, contain thyself, and bear.

December days were brief and chill,
The winds of March were wild and drear,
And, nearing and receding still,
Spring never would, we thought, be here.
The leaves that burst, the suns that shine,
Had, not the less, their certain date:
And thou, O human heart of mine,
Be still, refrain thyself, and wait.

There are three degrees of bliss
At the foot of Allah's Throne,
And the highest place is his
Who saves a brother's soul
At peril of his own.
There is the Power made known!

There are three degrees of bliss
In Gardens of Paradise,
And the second place is his
Who saves his brother's soul
By exellent advice.
For there the Glory lies!

There the are three degrees of bliss
And three abodes of the Blest,
And the lowest place is his
Who has saved a soul by jest
Anda brother's soul in sport...
But there do the Angels resort!

Having a wheel and four legs of its own
Has never availed the cumbersome grindstone
To get it anywhere that I can see.
These hands have helped it go, and even race;
Not all the motion, though, they ever lent,
Not all tke miles it may have thought it went,
Have got it one step from the starting place.
It stands beside the same old apple tree.
The shadow of the apple tree is thin
Upon it now its feet as fast in snow.
All other farm machinery's gone in,
And some of it on no more legs and wheel
Than the grindstone can boast to stand or go.
(I'm thinking chiefly of the wheelbarrow.)
For months it hasn't known the taste of steel
Washed down with rusty water in a tin..
But standing outdoors hungry, in the cold,
Except in towns at night is not a sin.
And>...

Neither the harps nor the crowns amused, nor the cherubs' dove-winged races,
Holding hands forlornly the Children wandered beneath the Dome,
Plucking the splendid robes of the passers-by, and with pitiful! faces
Begging what Princes and Powers refused: "Ah, please will you let us go home?"

Over the jewelled floor, nigh weeping, ran to them Mary the Mother,
Kneeled and caressed and made promise with kisses, and drew them along to the gateway,
Yea, the all-iron unbribeable Door which Peter must guard and none other.
Straightway She took the Keys from his keeping, and opened and freed them straightway.

Then, to Her Son, Who had seen and smiled, She said: "On the night that I bore Thee,
What didst Thou care for a love beyond mine or a heaven that was not my arm?
Didst Thou push fro...

Say, what shall be our sport today?
    There's nothing on earth, in sea, or air,
Too bright, too high, too wild, too gay
    For spirits like mine to dare!
'Tis like the returning bloom
    Of those days, alas, gone by,
When I loved, each hour--I scarce knew whom--
    And was blest--I scarce knew why.

Ay--those were days when life had wings,
    And flew, oh, flew so wild a height
That, like the lark which sunward springs,
    'Twas giddy with too much light.
And, tho' of some plumes bereft,
    With that sun, too, nearly set,
I've enough of light and wing still left
    For a few gay soarings yet.

Lucifer craved one boon of God
    After his fall, as his own to hold;
So He gave him a mite in heaven's sight,
    But lo! the gift that He gave was--Gold.

And Lucifer wrought with the rugged ore
    Till he fashioned it wondrous fair, and then
He set a price on the precious store,
    And the price was the blood and tears of men.

Blood and tears! and the price was paid;
    Blood was nothing, and tears were free;
And Lucifer smiled at the fools and said:
    "Surely your souls should belong to me!"

So he offered the earth with its golden heart,
    And the seas with their fleets from pole to pole;
And they looked with lust on the world-wide mart,
    And said in their hearts,--"It is worth the soul!"

And kings were they, and they rule...

New doth the sun appear,
The mountains’ snows decay,
Crown’d with frail flowers forth comes the baby year.
My soul, time posts away;
And thou yet in that frost
Which flower and fruit hath lost,
As if all here immortal were, dost stay.
For shame! thy powers awake,
Look to that Heaven which never night makes black,
And there at that immortal sun’s bright rays,
Deck thee with flowers which fear not rage of days!

    There's sunshine in the heart of me,
    My blood sings in the breeze;
    The mountains are a part of me,
    I'm fellow to the trees.
    My golden youth I'm squandering,
    Sun-libertine am I;
    A-wandering, a-wandering,
    Until the day I die.

    I was once, I declare, a Stone-Age man,
    And I roomed in the cool of a cave;
    I have known, I will swear, in a new life-span,
    The fret and the sweat of a slave:
    For far over all that folks hold worth,
    There lives and there leaps in me
    A love of the lowly things of earth,
    And a passion to be free.

    To pitch my tent with no prosy plan,
    To range and to change at will;
    To mock at the mastership of man,
    To seek Adventure's thrill.
...