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As when they followed us from Philip's door,
Arrived, and found the sun of sweet content
Re-risen in Katie's eyes, and all things well.

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Yes, men may come and go; and these are gone,
All gone. My dearest brother, Edmund, sleeps,
Not by the well-known stream and rustic spire,
But unfamiliar Arno, and the dome

Of Brunelleschi ; sleeps in peace and he,
Poor Philip, of all his lavish waste of words
Remains the lean P. W. on his tomb:
I scraped the lichen from it: Katie walks
By the long wash of Australasian seas
Far off, and holds her head to other stars,
And breathes in converse seasons. All are gone.'

So Lawrence Aylmer, seated on a style In the long hedge, and rolling in his mind

Old waifs of rhyme, and bowing o'er the brook
A tonsured head in middle age forlorn,

Mused, and was mute. On a sudden a low breath
Of tender air made tremble in the hedge

The fragile bindweed-bells and briony rings;

And he looked up.

Waiting to pass.

There stood a maiden near,

In much amaze he stared.

On eyes a bashful azure, and on hair

In gloss and hue the chestnut, when the shell
Divides threefold to show the fruit within :

Then, wondering, asked her 'Are you from the farm?'
'Yes' answered she. 'Pray stay a little: pardon me;
What do they call you?' 'Katie.' 'That were strange.
What surname ?' 'Willows.' 'No!' 'That is my

name.'

'Indeed!' and here he looked so self-perplext,
That Katie laughed, and laughing blushed, till he
Laughed also, but as one before he wakes,
Who feels a glimmering strangeness in his dream.
Then looking at her; 'Too happy, fresh and fair,
Too fresh and fair in our sad world's best bloom,
To be the ghost of one who bore your name
About these meadows, twenty years ago.'

'Have you not heard?' said Katie, 'we came back. We bought the farm we tenanted before.

Am I so like her? so they said on board.

Sir, if you knew her in her English days,

My mother, as it seems you did, the days
That most she loves to talk of, come with me.
My brother James is in the harvest-field :
But she-you will be welcome-O, come in!'

A. Tennyson.

CXXVI.

THE SOUTH-SEA ISLES.

H_many are the beauteous isles
Unknown to human eye,

That, sleeping 'mid the Ocean-smiles,

In happy silence lie.

The Ship may pass them in the night,

Nor the sailors know what a lovely sight

Is resting on the Main;

Some wandering Ship who hath lost her way,
And never, or by night or day,

Shall pass these isles again.

There groves, that bloom in endless spring,
Are rustling to the radiant wing
Of birds in various plumage, bright
As rainbow-hues, or dawning light.
Soft-falling showers of blossoms fair,
Float ever on the fragrant air
Like showers of vernal snow;
And from the fruit-tree, spreading tall,
The richly ripened clusters fall
Oft as sea-breezes blow.

The sun and clouds alone possess

The joy of all that loveliness;

And sweetly to each other smile

The live-long day-sun, cloud and isle.

How silent lies each sheltered bay!

No other visitors have they

To their shores of silvery sand,

Than the waves that, murmuring in their glee, All hurrying in a joyful band

Come dancing from the sea.

J. Wilson.

CXXVII.

A SERENADE.

ULLABY, oh, lullaby!'
Thus I heard a father cry,

'Lullaby, oh, lullaby !

The brat will never shut an eye; Hither come, some power divine! Close his lids, or open mine!'

'Lullaby, oh, lullaby!

What on earth can make him cry? Lullaby, oh, lullaby!

Still he stares-I wonder why, Why are not the sons of earth

Blind, like puppies, from the birth?'

'Lullaby, oh, lullaby!'

Thus I heard the father cry;

'Lullaby, oh, lullaby!

Mary, you must come and try!— Hush, oh, hush, for mercy's sakeThe more I sing, the more you wake!'

‘Lullaby, oh, lullaby !

Fie, you little creature, fie!
Lullaby, oh, lullaby!

Is no poppy-syrup nigh?

Give him some, or give him all,
I am nodding to his fall!'

'Lullaby, oh, lullaby!

Two such nights, and I shall die!

Lullaby, oh, lullaby!

He'll be bruised, and so shall I,—

How can I from bedposts keep,
When I'm walking in my sleep?'

'Lullaby, oh, lullaby : Sleep his very looks deny— Lullaby, oh, lullaby;

Nature soon will stupify

My nerves relax,-my eyes grow dim-
Who's that fallen-me or him?'

T. Hood.

CXXVIII.

THE CUMBERLAND.

T anchor in Hampton Roads we lay,

On board of the Cumberland, sloop-of-war ; And at times from the fortress across the bay The alarum of drums swept past,

Or a bugle blast

From the camp on the shore.

Then far away to the south uprose

A little feather of snow-white smoke,

And we knew that the iron ship of our foes
Was steadily steering its course

To try the force

Of our ribs of oak.

Down upon us heavily runs,

Silent and sullen, the floating fort;

Then comes a puff of smoke from her guns,
And leaps the terrible death,

With fiery breath,

From each open port.

We are not idle, but send her straight
Defiance back in a full broadside!
As hail rebounds from a roof of slate,
Rebounds our heavier hail

From each iron scale

Of the monster's hide.

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