Little Rosa, who hoped, ere the whole day had passed, That the youth would speak out, to the purpose,

at last,

When evening at length was beginning to fall,
Declared that Sir Harry was nought but my All!

III.

MORNING is beaming o'er brake and bower,
Hark! to the chimes from yonder tower,
Call ye my First from her chamber now,
With her snowy veil and her jewelled brow.

Lo! where my Second, in gorgeous array,
Leads from his stable her beautiful bay,
Looking for her, as he curvets by,

With an arching neck, and a glancing eye.

Spread is the banquet, and studied the song;
Ranged in meet order the menial throng,
Jerome is ready with book and stole,

And the maidens fling flowers, but where is my

Whole.

Look to the hill, is he climbing its side? Look to the stream-is he crossing its tide? Out on the false one! he comes not yetLady, forget him, yea, scorn and forget.

"My first was dark o'er earth and air,

As dark as she could be!

The stars that gemmed her ebon hair
Were only two or three:

King Cole saw twice as many there
As you or I could see.

"Away, King Cole,' mine hostess said, 'Flaggon and flask are dry;

Your nag is neighing in the shed,

For he knows a storm is nigh.'

She set my Second on his head,

And she set it all awry."

IV.

COME from my First, ay, come !

The battle dawn is nigh;

And the screaming trump and the thund'ring drum

Are calling thee to die!

Fight as thy father fought,

Fall as thy father fell,

Thy task is taught, thy shroud is wrought;

So-forward! and farewell!

Toll ye, my Second! toll!

Fling high the flambeau's light;

And sing the hymn for a parted soul,

Beneath the silent night!

The wreath upon his head,

The cross upon his breast,

Let the prayer be said, and the tear be shed:

So take him to his rest!

Call ye my Whole, ay, call!
The lord of lute and lay;

And let him greet the sable pall

With a noble song to-day;

Go, call him by his name;

No fitter hand may crave

To light the flame of a soldier's fame
On the turf of a soldier's grave.

V.

He talked of daggers and of darts,

Of passions and of pains,

Of weeping eyes and wounded hearts,

Of kisses and of chains;

He said, though love was kin to grief,
He was not born to grieve;

He said, though many rued belief,

She safely might believe;

But still the lady shook her head,
And swore, by yea and nay,

My Whole was all that he had said,
And all that he could say.

He said, my First-whose silent car

Was slowly wandering by,

Veiled in a vapour faint and far
Through the unfathomed sky-
Was like the smile whose rosy light
Across her young lips passed,

Yet oh! it was not half so bright,
It changed not half so fast;

But still the lady shook her head,
And swore, by yea and nay,

My Whole was all that he had said,
And all that he could say.

And then he set a cypress wreath

Upon his raven hair,

And drew his rapier from its sheath,
Which made the lady stare;
And said, his life-blood's purple flow
My second there should dim,
If she he loved and worshipped so
Would only weep for him;

But still the lady shook her head,
And swore by yea and nay,

My Whole was all that he had said,

And all that he could say.