Where bird-notes joined with brook-notes glid

ing by,

Shall make us music as we sit at ease. Or if amid the city's busy din

Is built the nest for which we look and

long,

No sound without shall mar the peace within, The calm of love that time has proved so

strong,

Or if, ah! solemn thought, this home of ours
Doth lie beyond the world's confusing noise;
And if the nest be built in Eden bowers
What do we still, but silently rejoice?
We have a home, but of its happy state
We know not yet.
We are content to wait!

A HAPPY WIFE.

He wraps me round with his riches,
He covers me up with his care,
And his love is the love of a manhood
Whose life is a living prayer.

I have plighted my woman's affections,
I have given my all in all,
And the flowers of a daily contentment
Renew their sweet lives ere they fall;
And yet like an instrument precious
That playeth an olden tune,
My heart in the midst of it blessings
Goes back to a day in June-

To a day when beneath the branches
I stood by a silent stream,

And saw in its bosom an image
As one seeth a face in a dream.

I would not resign his devotion,
No, not for a heart that lives!
Nor change one jot my condition

For the change that condition gives:
I should mourn not more for another,
Nor more for another rejoice,
Than now, when I weep at his absence,
Or welcome his step and his voice.
And yet like an instrument precious,
That playeth an olden tune,

My heart in the midst of its blessings

Goes back to a day in June

To a day when, beneath the branches,
I stood in the shadowy light,
And heard the low words of a whisper
As one heareth a voice in the night.

NEVER MORE ALONE.

105

Not like to like, but like in difference.
Yet, in the long years, liker must they grow;
The man be more of woman; she, of mañ;
He gain in sweetness and in moral height,
Nor lose the wrestling thews that throw the
world.

She mental breadth, nor fail in childward care,
Nor lose the child-like in the larger mind;
Till, at the last, she set herself to man
Like perfect music unto noble words.
And so these twain upon the skirts of Time,
Sit side by side, full summed in all their

powers,

Dispensing harvest, sowing the To-be,
Self-reverent each and reverencing each,

Distinct in individualities,

But like each other, even as those who love.

Her white arm wad be a pillow for me, Fu' safter than the down;

AULD ROBIN GRAY.

When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye's come hame,

And a' the weary warld to rest are gane, The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my e'e,

Unkent by my gude-man, who sleeps sound by me.

Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and sought me for his bride;

But saving ae crown, he had naething else beside:

To make the crown a pound my Jamie gaed

to sea,

And the crown and the pound they were baith for me.

He hadna been gane a twelve-month and a day,

When my father brak his arm, and the cow was stown away;

My mither she fell sick-my Jamie was at

sea

And auld Robin Gray came a courting me.

My father couldna work, my mither couldna spin ;

wings,

And sweetly I'd sleep, and soun'. Come here to me, thou lass o' my luve! Come here and kneel wi' me!

The morn is fu' o' the presence o' God, And I canna pray without thee.

The morn wind is sweet 'mang the beds o' new flowers,

The wee birds sing kindlie an' hie; Our gudeman leans owre his kale-yard dike, And a blythe auld bodie is he.

couldna win;

Auld Rob maintained them baith, and, wi' tears in his e'e,

Said "Jeanie, for their sakes, will ye no marry me?"

My heart it said nay, and I looked for Jamie back;

But hard blew the winds, and his ship was a

wrack:

108

Lay thy hand upon thy mouth, brother,

Lay thy hand upon thy mouth;
One word thou hast spoken,- but another
Were perhaps too much for truth.
Home is left-oh! yes, if leaving

Be when home is in our heart:
Grieving yes, 'tis grief, if grieving
Be for those who cannot part.
We are one, brother, we are one,
Since first the golden cord was spun ;
It may lengthen, but it cannot sever,
For, brother, it was twined - and
twined forever.

Sister, touch again thy passionate lute,

Chide no more - chide no more : Sooner far my voice were ever mute, Than to whisper our fond love were o'er.

TO MY SISTER, ON THE EVE OF HER MARRIAGE.

Thou art leaving the home of thy childhood,
Sweet sister mine;

Is the song of the bird of the wild-wood
Faint and far as thine?

Listless stray thy fingers through the chords,
Thy voice falters in the old familiar words;
What wilt thou for the young, glad voices
Wherewith our earliest home rejoices?
A father's smile benign,
A mother's love divine,
Sweet sister mine?

But I grieve for hours gone by,
Of heart to heart, and eye to eye;
Oh, we cannot have the joy of meeting
Day by day thy sunny, smiling greeting;
Nor canst thou a brother's fond caress,
Or a sister's searching tenderness;
Grieve I too for summer flowers,
In calm weather,

Culled together,

And the merriment of fireside hours, Something whispers, though our heartstrings cannot sever,

And we

own grace

Could scarcely lift above the world forlorn
My heavy heart. Then thou didst bid me

bring