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A BALLAD UPON A WEDDING. TELL thee, Dick, where I have been, At Course-a park, without all doubt, Where I the rarest things have seen,

He should have first been taken out Oh, things without compare!

By all the maids o' the town; Such sights again cannot be found

Though lusty Roger there had been, In any place on English ground,

Or little George upon the Green, Be it at wake or fair.

Or Vincent of the Crown. At Charing Cross, hard by the way

But wot you what ? the youth was going Where we, thou know'st, do sell our hay, To make an end of all his wooing;

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“But wot you what ? the youth was going

To make an end of all his wooing.”

There is a house with stairs ; And there did I see coming down Such folk as are not in our town

Forty at least, in pairs.
Amongst the rest, one pest'lent fine
(His beard no bigger, though, than thine)

Walked on before the rest ;
Our landlord looks like nothing to him;
The king, God bless him! 'twould undo him,

Should he go still so drest.

The parson for him stayed ;
Yet by his leave, for all his haste,
He did not so much wish all past,

Perchance, as did the maid.
The maid, and thereby hangs a tale,
For such a maid no Whitsun' ale

Could ever yet produce ;
No grape that's kindly ripe could be
So round, so plump, so soft as she,

Nor half so full of juice.

Perhaps he made it hers by stealth,

And who could help it, Dick ?
O’ the sudden up they rise and dance;
Then sit again, and sigh, and glance,

Then dance again, and kiss.
Thus several ways the tinie did pass,
Till every woman wished her place,

And every man wished his.
By this time all were stolen aside
To counsel and undress the bride ;

But that he must not know;
But yet 'twas thought he guessed her mind,
And did not mean to stay behind
Above an hour or so.

SIR JOHN SUCKLING.

ON THE THRESHOLD.

I.

RN

Her finger was so small, the ring
Would not stay on which they did bring,

It was too wide a peck;
And to say truth, for out it must,
It looked like the great collar, just,

About our young colt's neck.
Her feet beneath her petticoat
Like little mice stole in and out,

As if they feared the light;
And oh, she dances such a way,
No sun upon an Easter-day

Is half so fine a sight!
Her cheeks so rare a white was on
No daisy makes comparison,

Who sees them is undone ;
For streaks of red were mingled there,
Such as are on a Cath'rine pear,

The side that's next the sun.
Her lips were red; and one was thin,
Compared to that was next her chin,

Some bee had stung it newly ;
But, Dick, her eyes so guard her face,
I durst no more upon them gaze

Than on the sun in July.
Her mouth so small, when she does speak,
Thou’dst swear her teeth her words did break,

That they might passage get;
But she so handled still the matter,
They came as good as ours, or better,

And are not spent a whit.
Passion o' me! how I run on!
There's that that would be thought upon,

I trow, beside the bride ;
The business of the kitchen's great,
For it is fit that men should eat,

Nor was it there denied.
Just in the nick, the cook knocked thrice,
And all the waiters in a trice

His summons did obey ;
Each serving-man, with dish in hand,
Marched boldly up, like our trained band,

Presented, and away.
When all the meat was on the table,
What man of knife, or teeth, was able

To stay to be entreated?
And this the very reason was,
Before the parson could say grace,

The company was seated.
Now hats fly off, and youths carouse;
Healths first go round, and then the house,

The bride's came thick and thick;
And when 'twas named another's health,

ING out, O bells, ring silver-sweet o'er

hill and moor and fell! In mellow echoes let your chimes their hope

ful story tell. Ring out, ring out, all jubilant, this joyous

glad refrain : “A bright new year, a glad new year, hath come to us again !”

II. Ah, who can say how much of joy within it

there may be Stored up for us, who listen now to your sweet

melody? Good-bye, Old Year, tried, trusty friend, thy

tale at last is told. O New Year, write thou thine for us in lines

of brightest gold.

III.

The flowers of Spring must bloom at last,

when gone the Winter's snow; God grant that after sorrow past, we all some

joy may know. Though tempest-tossed our bark a while on

life's rough waves may be, There comes a day of calm at last, when we

the Haven see.

IV.

Then ring, ring on, 0 pealing bells! there's

music in the sound. Ring on, ring on, and still ring on, and wake

the echoes round, The while we wish, both for ourselves and all

whom we hold dear, That God may gracious be to us in this the bright new year!

ANONYMOUS.

INVOCATION TO SLEEP.
QOME, Sleep, and with thy sweet deceiving Though but a shadow, but a sliding,
Lock me in delight awhile;

Let me know some little joy ;
Let some pleasing dreams beguile

We that suffer long annoy All my fancies; that from thence

Are contented with a thought, I may feel an influence,

Through an idle fancy wrought; All my powers of care bereaving!

Oh, let my joys have some abiding!

BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.

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FRANCIS BEAUMONT.

JOHN FLETCHER.

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A QUESTION

Do we go hence and find that they are not Y comes and goes, hope ebbs and flows

dead! Like the wave;

Joys we daily apprehend. Change doth unknit the tranquil strength of Faces that smiled and fled, men.

Hopes born here, and born to end. Love lends life a little grace,

Shall we follow ?
A few sad smiles, and then

MATTHEW ARNOLD.
Both are laid in one cold place,
In the grave.

IT NEVER COMES AGAIN.

THERE are gains for all our losses, Dreams dawn and fly, friends smile and die

There are balms for all our pain; Like spring flowers;

But when youth, the dream, departs, Our vaunted life is one long funeral.

It takes something from our hearts,
Men dig graves with bitter tears

And it never comes again.
For their dead hopes; and all,

Mazed with doubts and sick with fears, We are stronger, and are better,
Count the hours.

Under manhood's sterner reign;

S:ill we feel that something sweet We count the hours! These dreams of ours Followed youth, with flying feet, False and hollow.

And will never come again.

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THE BABY.

He heard the wind beat loud and free,

The gilded casement, sullenly
WHERE did you come from, baby dear?
W Out of the everywhere into here.

Falling away with mist and rain.

“But, oh, it's a weary thing Where did you get the eyes so blue?

To wear a crown and be a king Out of the sky, as I came through.

Oh, for one golden hour and sweet,

To serve the king with willing feet!” Where did you get that little tear?

But he would sleep and from his heart I found it in waiting when I got here.

The jeweled, silken girdle loose,

And give it room to turn and choose What makes your forehead so smooth and An easier measure for its beat.

high? A soft hand stroked it as I went by.

Into the gilded chamber crept

A breath of summer, blown with rain What makes your cheek like a warm, white And wild wet leaves against the pane. rose ?

The royal sleeper smiled and slept. I saw something better than any knows.

“ I thought that all things sweet were dead!"

They heard him say who came to wed Whence that three-cornered smile of bliss ?

The crown again to the king's head. Three angels gave me at once a kiss.

ANONYMOUS. Where did you get this pretty ear? God spoke, and it came out to hear.

KEYS. Where did you get those arms and hands?

ONG ago in old Granada, when the Moors Love made itself into hooks and bands.

were forced to flee,

Each man locked his home behind him, taking Feet, whence did you come, you darling

in his flight the key. things!

Hopefully they watched and waited for the From the same box as the cherub's wings.

time to come when they How did they all come just to be you ?

Should return from their long exile to those

homes so far away. God thought of me, and so I grew.

But the mansions in Granada they had left in But, how did you come to us, you dear?

all their prime God thought about you, and so I am here.

Vanished, as the years rolled onward, 'neath GEORGE MACDONALD.

the crumbling touch of Time.

Like the Moors, we all have dwellings where AT THE KING'S GATE.

we vainly long to be, BEGGAR sat at the king's gate

And through all life's changing phases ever fast And sang of summer in the rain

we hold the key. A song with sounds reverberate

Our fair country lies behind us; we are exiles, Of wood and hill and plain, That, rising, bore a tender weight

too, in truth,

For no more shall we behold her. Our GranOf sweetness, strong and passionate;

ada's name is Youth. A song with sigh of mountain pass, Ripple and rustle of deep grass,

We have our delusive day-dreams, and rejoice The whispering of wind-smote sheaves,

when, now and then, Low lapping of long lily leaves,

Some old heartstring stirs within us, and we Red morns and purple-mooned eves.

feel our youth again. The king was weary of his part,

“We are young!" we cry triumphant, thrilled The king was tired of his crown;

with old-time joy and glee. He looked across the rainy land,

Then the dream fades slowly, softly, leaving Across the barren stretch of sand,

nothing but the key! Out to the breadth of rainy sea.

BESSIE CHANDLER.

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