By this the storm grew loud apace,
The water-wraith was shrieking;
And in the scowl of heaven each face
Grew dark as they were speaking.

But still as wilder blew the wind,
And as the night grew drearer,
Adown the glen rode armèd men,
Their trampling sounded nearer.

"O, haste thee, haste!" the lady cries,
"Though tempests round us gather;
I'll meet the raging of the skies,
But not an angry father."

The boat has left a stormy land,
A stormy sea before her,

When, O, too strong for human hand,
The tempest gathered o'er her.

And still they rowed amidst the roar
Of waters fast prevailing:

Lord Ullin reached that fatal shore,

His wrath was changed to wailing.

For sore dismayed, through storm and shade, His child he did discover:

One lovely hand she stretched for aid,

And one was round her lover.

"Come back! come back!" he cried in grief, "Across this stormy water:

And I'll forgive your Highland chief,
My daughter! O my daughter!"

Return or aid preventing;

The waters wild went o'er his child,
And he was left lamenting.

SALLY IN OUR ALLEY

BY HENRY CAREY

Of all the girls that are so smart
There's none like pretty Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
There is no lady in the land
Is half so sweet as Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.

Her father he makes cabbage-nets,

And through the streets does cry 'em;

Her mother she sells laces long

To such as please to buy 'em;

But sure such folks could ne'er beget
So sweet a girl as Sally!

She is the darling of my heart,

And she lives in our alley.

When she is by I leave my work,

I love her so sincerely;

My master comes like any Turk,
And bangs me most severely.
But let him bang his bellyful,
I'll bear it all for Sally;
For she's the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.

Of all the days that's in the week
I dearly love but one day,

And that's the day that comes betwixt
The Saturday and Monday;
For then I'm drest all in my best
To walk abroad with Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.

My master carries me to church,
And often am I blamed
Because I leave him in the lurch
As soon as text is named:
I leave the church in sermon-time,
And slink away to Sally;

She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.

When Christmas comes about again,
O, then I shall have money!
I'll hoard it up, and box it all,

And give it to my honey;

I would it were ten thousand pound! I'd give it all to Sally;

She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.

My master and the neighbors all
Make game of me and Sally,
And, but for her, I'd better be

A slave, and row a galley;

But when my seven long years are out,
O, then I'll marry Sally!

And when we're wed, we'll blithesome be,
But not in our alley!

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING

BY NORMA BRIGHT CARSON

Though frail of form, thou wert of spirit large and free,

A living, burning flame, that spirit seemed to be,
Enkindled from a spark of holy fire;

To glorious expression did thy soul aspire;

Close to the border-land of Heav'n, thou dwelt'st through life,

Yet actively could stand for right in the world's strife.

Great was the suffering set to be thy lot,

But suffering, in Love's compensation was forgot;
The Valley of the Shadow round thee grew,
When valiant Love, the spectre Death o'erthrew.
Ah! Life for fifteen years was the proud prize;
Yes, so it is that Love all unkind force defies.
Thy greatest gift to man does lie in this-

The poet thou didst inspire; the bliss
Thou perfected. No verse whate'er of thine
Can bounds of mankind's gratitude to thee define,
As does this fact of thy sweet woman's heart
Which had in poet's growth so large a part.

Yet, we must cherish thee for thy sweet song,

Which has with nobler thoughts enriched the world for long;

Let us not fail a tribute large to bring,

For that thou from a pure and perfect heart didst sing.

THE EYES OF THE CHRIST

BY NORMA BRIGHT CARSON

Pause now and let a lightsome world go by;

Heed not the laughter frivolous, the sinwrought sigh; The music and the dance, the pride, the sham, the

boast;

What have you kin with all this selfish and this foolish host?

Parade of affectation; self-sought joy;

And sorrow, more self-seeking, false sympathies decoy. Turn from this tinselled army, in extravagance bedecked;

Turn to where Calvary's Cross the ages long has becked.

See where the Christ sits by Samaria's well,

And gently rolls the sealing stone across the mouth

of hell.