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"Here's a leg for a babe of a week!" says doctor; and he would be bound,

I mean your grandfather, Annie: it cost me a world of woe,

Seventy years ago, my darling, seventy years ago.

For Jenny, my cousin, had come to the place, and I knew right well

That Jenny had tripped in her time: I knew, but I would not tell.

And she to be coming and slandering me, the base little liar!

But the tongue is a fire as you know, my dear, the tongue is a fire.

And the parson made it his text that week, and

he said likewise,

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Out into the road I started, and spoke I scarce knew how;

There was not his like that year in twenty par- Ah, there's no fool like the old one—it makes

ishes round.

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For I remember a quarrel I had with your father, my dear,

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marry me out of hand: we too shall be happy still."

Marry you, Willy ?" said I," but I needs must speak my mind,

All for a slanderous story, that cost me many a And I fear you'll listen to tales, be jealous and

tear.

hard and unkind."

NORTHERN FARMER.

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But he turned and clasped me in his arms, and | And Willy, my eldest born, at nigh threescore answered, "No, love, no;'

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That was the first time, too, that ever I thought of death.

There lay the sweet little body that never had drawn a breath.

I had not wept, little Anne, not since I had been a wife;

But I wept like a child that day, for the babe had fought for his life.

His dear little face was troubled, as if with anger or pain:

I looked at the still little body-his trouble had all been in vain.

For Willy I cannot weep, I shall see him another

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and ten;

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And age is a time of peace, so it be free from pain,

And happy has been my life; but I would not live it again.

I seem to be tired a little, that's all, and long for rest,

Only at your age, Annie, I could have wept with the best.

So Willy has gone, my beauty, my eldest born, my flower;

But how can I weep for Willy, he has but gone for an hour

Gone for a minute, my son, from this room into the next;

I, too, shall go in a minute. What time have I to be vexed?

And Willy's wife has written, she never was over-wise.

Get me my glasses, Annie: thank God that I keep my eyes.

There is but a trifle left you, when I shall have passed away.

But stay with the old woman now: you cannot have long to stay.

NORTHERN FARMER.

OLD STYLE.

WHEER 'asta beän saw long and meä liggin' 'ere aloän?

Noorse? thoort nowt o' a noorse: whoy, doctor 's abeän an' agoän: Says that I moänt 'a naw moor yaäle: but I beänt a fool:

Git ma my yaäle, for I beänt a-goon' to breäk my rule.

Doctors, they knaws nowt, for a says what 's nawways true:

Naw soort o' koind o' use to saäy the things that 'a do.

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D' ya moind the waäste, my lass? naw, naw, tha was not born then;

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Theer wur a boggle in it, I often 'eerd un mysen; But summun 'ull come ater meä mayhap wi' 'is Moäst loike a butter-bump, t for I 'eerd un

aboot an aboot,

But I stubb'd un oop wi' the lot, and raäved an' rembled un oot.

kittle o' steäm

Huzzin' an' maäzin' the blessed feälds wi' the divil's oän team.

Gin I mun doy I mun doy, an' loife they says is sweet,

Keäper's it wur; fo' they fun un theer a laäid But gin I mun doy I mun doy, for I couldn

on 'is faäce

Doon i' the woild 'enemies afoor I comed to the plaäce.

Noäks or Thimbleby-toner 'ed shot an as dead

as a naäil.

abear to see it.

What atta stamnin' theer for, an' doesn bring ma the yaäle?

Doctor's a 'tottler, lass, and a 's hallus i' the owd taäle;

Noäks wur 'ang'd for it oop at 'soize-but git I weänt break rules for doctor, a knaws naw

ma my yaäle.

moor nor a floy;

Git ma my yaäle I tell tha, an' gin I mun doy I

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mun doy.

TITHONUS.

TITHONUS.

THE Woods decay, the woods decay and fall,
The vapors weep their burden to the ground,
Man comes and tills the field and lies beneath,
And after many a summer dies the swan.
Me only cruel immortality

Consumes; I wither slowly in thine arms,
Here at the quiet limit of the world,

A white-haired shadow roaming like a dream
The ever-silent spaces of the East,
Far-folded mists, and gleaming halls of morn.
Alas! for this gray shadow, once a man-
So glorious in his beauty and thy choice,
Who madest him thy chosen, that he seemed
To his great heart none other than a god!
I asked thee, "Give me immortality."
Then didst thou grant mine asking with a smile,
Like wealthy men who care not how they give.
But thy strong hours indignant worked their
wills,

And beat me down and marred and wasted me, And though they could not end me, left me maimed

To dwell in presence of immortal youth,
Immortal age beside immortal youth,
And all I was, in ashes. Can thy love,
Thy beauty, make amends, though even now,
Close over us, the silver star, thy guide,
Shines in those tremulous eyes that fill with tears
To hear me? Let me go: take back thy gift:
Why should a man desire in any way
To vary from the kindly race of men,
Or pass beyond the goal of ordinance

Where all should pause, as is most meet for all?

A soft air fans the cloud apart; there comes A glimpse of that dark world where I was born. Once more the old mysterious glimmer steals From thy pure brows, and from thy shoulders pure,

And bosom beating with a heart renewed.
Thy cheek begins to redden through the gloom,
Thy sweet eyes brighten slowly close to mine,
Ere yet they blind the stars, and the wild team
Which love thee, yearning for thy yoke, arise,
And shake the darkness from their loosened
manes,

And beat the twilight into flakes of fire.

Lo! ever thus thou growest beautiful In silence, then before thine answer given Departest, and thy tears are on my cheek.

Why wilt thou ever scare me with thy tears, And make me tremble lest a saying learned, In days far-off, on that dark earth, be true? "The gods themselves cannot recall their gifts."

Ay me! ay me! with what another heart In days far-off, and with what other eyes I used to watch-if I be he that watchedThe lucid outline forming round thee; saw The dim curls kindle into sunny rings; Changed with thy mystic change, and felt my blood

Glow with the glow that slowly crimsoned all Thy presence and thy portals, while I lay, Mouth, forehead, eyelids, growing dewy-warm With kisses balmier than half-opening buds

415

Of April, and could hear the lips that kissed Whispering I knew not what of wild and sweet, Like that strange song I heard Apollo sing, While Ilion like a mist rose into towers.

Yet hold me not forever in thine East: How can my nature longer mix with thine? Coldly thy rosy shadows bathe me, cold Are all thy lights, and cold my wrinkled feet Upon thy glimmering thresholds, when the steam Floats up from those dim fields about the homes Of happy men that have the power to die, And grassy barrows of the happier dead. Release me, and restore me to the ground: Thou seest all things, thou wilt see my grave; Thou wilt renew thy beauty morn by morn; I earth in earth forget these empty courts, And thee returning on thy silver wheels.

THE VOYAGE.

WE left behind the painted buoy
That tosses at the harbor-mouth;
And madly danced our hearts with joy,
As fast we fleeted to the South:
How fresh was every sight and sound
On open main or winding shore!
We knew the merry world was round,
And we might sail for evermore.

Warm broke the breeze against the brow,
Dry sang the tackle, sang the sail :
The Lady's-head upon the prow

Caught the shrill salt, and sheered the gale.
The broad seas swelled to meet the keel,
And swept behind: so quick, the run,
We felt the good ship shake and reel,
We seemed to sail into the Sun!

How oft we saw the Sun retire,
And burn the threshold of the night,
Fall from his Ocean-lane of fire,
And sleep beneath his pillared light!
How oft the purple-skirted robe

Of twilight slowly downward drawn, As through the slumber of the globe Again we dashed into the dawn!

New stars all night above the brim Of waters lightened into view; They climbed as quickly, for the rim Changed every moment as we flew. Far ran the naked moon across

The houseless ocean's heaving field, Or flying shone, the silver boss

Of her own halo's dusky shield;

The peaky islet shifted shapes,

High towns on hills were dimly seen, We passed long lines of Northern capes And dewy Northern meadows green. We came to warmer waves, and deep

Across the boundless east we drove, Where those long swells of breaker sweep The nutmeg rocks and isles of clove.

By peaks that flamed, or, all in shade, Gloomed the low coast and quivering brine

With ashy rains, that spreading made
Fantastic plume or sable pine;
By sands and streaming flats, and floods
Of mighty mouth, we scudded fast,
And hills and scarlet-mingled woods
Glowed for a moment as we past.

O hundred shores of happy climes,
How swiftly streamed ye by the bark!
At times the whole sea burned, at times
With wakes of fire we tore the dark;
At times a carven craft would shoot

From havens hid in fairy bowers,
With naked limbs and flowers and fruit,
But we nor paused for fruits nor flowers.

For one fair Vision ever fled

Down the waste waters day and night,
And still we followed where she led,
In hope to gain upon her flight.
Her face was evermore unseen,

And fixed upon the far sea-line;
But each man murmured, "O my queen,
I follow till I make thee mine."

And now we lost her, now she gleamed
Like Fancy made of golden air,
Now nearer to the prow she seemed
Like Virtue firm, like Knowledge fair,"
Now high on waves that idly burst

Like heavenly Hope she crowned the sea,
And now, the bloodless point reversed,
She bore the blade of Liberty.

And only one among us-him

We pleased not-he was seldom pleased; He saw not far: his eyes were dim:

But ours he swore were all diseased. "A ship of fools," he shrieked in spite, "A ship of fools," he sneered and wept. And overboard one stormy night

He cast his body, and on we swept.

And never sail of ours was furled,

Nor anchor dropped at eve or morn; We loved the glories of the world,

But laws of Nature were our scorn; For blasts would rise and rave and cease, But whence were those that drove the sail Across the whirlwind's heart of peace, And to and through the counter-gale?

Again to colder climes we came,

For still we followed where she led : Now mate is blind and captain lame,

And half the crew are sick or dead. But blind or lame or sick or sound

We follow that which flies before: We know the merry world is round, And we may sail for evermore.

THE SAILOR-BOY.

He rose at dawn and, fired with hope,
Shot o'er the seething harbor-bar,

And reached the ship and caught the rope,
And whistled to the morning star.

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