THE LANDLADY'S DAUGHTER.

Wi' grief that vew but she ha tried;
An' lik' a flower a blow ha broke,
She withered wi' thik deadly stroke,
An' died a weepen liady.

An' she da keep a-comen on,
To zee thik father dead an' gone;
As if her soul cood ha' noo rest,
Avore her teary cheäk's a-prest
By his vargiven kiss. Zoo blest
Be they that can but live in love,
An' vind a pliace o' rest above,
Unlik the weepen liady!

WILLIAM BARNES.

THE LANDLADY'S DAUGHTER.

THREE student-comrades crossed over the Rhine;
Together they stopped at a landlady's sign.

"Landlady, have you good ale and wine?

And where is that pretty young daughter of thine?"

"My ale and wine are fresh and clear;

My daughter lies on her funeral bier."

And when they passed to the chamber back,
There she lay, in her coffin black!

THE LANDLADY'S DAUGHTER.

The first from her face the shroud-veil took, And gazed upon her-a mournful look.

66

"Ah! wert thou but living, thou lovely maid, I would love thee from this time," he said.

The second covered the altered face,

And turned him, weeping, from the place:

"That thou should'st lie on the funeral bier, Whom I have loved this many a year!"

FLORENCE VANE.

But the last still snatched away the veil,
And kissed her on the mouth so pale:

"I loved thee ever-still I love thee,

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Thee will I love through eternity!"

JOHANN LUDWIG UHLAND. (German.)

Translation of C. G. LELAND and J. W. PALMER.

FLORENCE VANE.

I LOVED thee long and dearly,
Florence Vane;

My life's bright dream and early
Hath come again;

I renew, in my fond vision,

My heart's dear pain:
My hopes, and thy derision,
Florence Vane!

The ruin, lone and hoary,

The ruin old,

Where thou didst hark my story,

At even told :

That spot, the hues Elysian

Of sky and plain,

I treasure in my vision,

Florence Vane!

I loved the long and clearly.

My

Florence Van;

life's bright dream, and Early,
Hath come again;

I renew,

in

my fond vision, My hearts dear pain,

my hope, and thy dérision Florence Vune.

The rein love and hourg,

The ruin old,

where thou didst hash

at even toed,

ynai spor - the hues Elysian

Of sky and plain

I treasure in my vision,

Horence Vane.

Philip Pendleton Cooke.

FLORENCE VANE.

Thou wast lovelier than the roses
In their prime;

Thy voice excelled the closes

Of sweetest rhyme;

Thy heart was as a river

Without a main.

Would I had loved thee never,
Florence Vane!

But fairest, coldest wonder!

Thy glorious clay

Lieth the green sod under:
Alas the day!

And it boots not to remember
Thy disdain,

To quicken love's pale ember,
Florence Vane!

The lilies of the valley

By young graves weep;

The daisies love to dally

Where maidens sleep.

May their bloom, in beauty vying,

Never wane

Where thine earthly part is lying,

Florence Vane!

PHILIP PENDLETON COOKE