LADY ANN BOTHWELL'S LAMENT.

I calmed her fears, and she was calm,
And told her love with virgin pride;
And so I won my Genevieve,

My bright and beauteous bride.

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.

LADY ANN BOTHWELL'S LAMENT.

BALOW, my babe, ly stil and sleipe!
It grieves me sair to see thee weipe;
If thou'st be silent, I'se be glad ;
Thy maining maks my heart ful sad.
Balow, my boy, thy mither's joy,
Thy father breides me great annoy.

Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe!
It grieves me sair to see thee weipe.

When he began to court my luve,
And with his sugred words to muve,
His faynings fals, and flattering cheire,
To me that time did not appeire ;
But now I see, most cruell hee
Cares neither for my babe nor mee.

Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe!
It grieves me sair to see thee weipe.

LADY ANN BOTHWELL'S LAMENT.

Ly stil, my darlinge, sleipe awhile!
And when thou wakest sweitly smile;
But smile not, as thy father did,
To cozen maids; nay, God forbid !
But yette I feire, thou wilt gae neire
Thy fatheris hart and face to beire.

Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe!
It grieves me sair to see thee weipe.

I canna chuse, but ever will
Be luving to thy father stil:
Whair-eir he gae, whair-eir he ryde,
My luve with him maun stil abyde:
In weil or wae, whair-eir he gae,
Mine hart can neir depart him frae.

Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe!
It grieves me sair to see thee weipe.

But doe not, doe not, prettie mine,
To faynings fals thine hart incline:
Be loyal to thy luver trew,
And nevir change hir for a new ;
If gude or faire, of hir have care,
For women's banning's wonderous sair.

Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe!
It grieves me sair to see thee weipe.

Bairne, sin thy cruel father's gane,
Thy winsome smiles maun eise my paine;
My babe and I'll together live;

He'll comfort me when cares doe grieve:

MY CHILD.

My babe and I right saft will ly,
And quite forget man's cruelty.

Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe!

It grieves me sair to see thee weipe.

Fareweil, fareweil, thou falsest youth
That ever kist a woman's mouth!
I wish all maids be warned by mee,
Nevir to trust man's curtesy ;
For if we doe but chance to bow,
They'll use us then they care not how.

Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe!
It grieves me sair to see thee weipe.

ANONYMOUS.

MY CHILD.

I CANNOT make him dead!
His fair sunshiny head

Is ever bounding round my study chair;
Yet, when my eyes, now dim
With tears, I turn to him,

The vision vanishes-he is not there!

I walk my parlor floor,

And through the open door

I hear a footfall on the chamber stair;
I'm stepping toward the hall

To give the boy a call;

And then bethink me that he is not there!

MY CHILD.

I thread the crowded street;

A satchelled lad I meet,

With the same beaming eyes and colored hair;
And, as he's running by,

Follow him with my eye,

Scarcely believing that he is not there!

I know his face is hid

Under the coffin lid;

Closed are his eyes; cold is his forehead fair.
My hand that marble felt;

O'er it in prayer I knelt;

Yet my heart whispers that he is not there!

I cannot make him dead!

When passing by the bed

So long watched over with parental care,

My spirit and my eye

Seek him inquiringly,

Before the thought comes that he is not there!

When, at the cool, gray break

Of day, from sleep I wake,

With my first breathing of the morning air

My soul goes up, with joy,

To Him who gave my boy;

Then comes the sad thought that he is not there!

When at the day's calm close,

Before we seek repose,

I'm with his mother, offering up our prayer,

MY CHILD.

Whate'er I may be saying,

I am in spirit praying

For our boy's spirit, though-he is not there!

The form I used to see

Was but the raiment that he used to wear.
The grave, that now doth press
Upon that cast-off dress,

Is but his wardrobe locked;-he is not there!

He lives!-In all the past

He lives; nor, to the last,
Of seeing him again will I despair;
In dreams I see him now;

And, on his angel brow,

I see it written, "Thou shalt see me there!"

Yes, we all live to God!
FATHER, thy chastening rod

So help us, thine afflicted ones, to bear,

That in the spirit land,

Meeting at thy right hand,

"Twill be our heaven to find that-he is there!

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