Shall my foolish heart be pined
'Cause I see a woman kind?
Or a well-disposed nature
Joined with a lovely feature?
Be she meeker, kinder, than
The turtle dove or pelican-

If she be not so to me,
What care I how kind she be?

Shall a woman's virtues move
Me to perish for her love?
Or, her well deservings known,
Make me quite forget mine own?
Be she with that goodness blest,
Which may merit name of best,
If she be not such to me,
What care I how good she be?

SONG.

WHY SO pale and wan, fond lover?
Pr'y thee, why so pale?-

Will, when looking well can't move her,
Looking ill prevail?

Pr'y thee, why so pale?

Why so dull and mute, young sinner?

Pr'y thee, why so mute?

Will, when speaking well can't win her, Saying nothing do 't?

Pr'y thee, why so mute?

Quit, quit, for shame! this will not move, This cannot take her

If of herself she will not love,

Nothing can make her:
The devil take her!

SIR JOHN SUCKLING.

FLY NOT YET.

FLY not yet 't is just the hour
When pleasure, like the midnight flower
That scorns the eye of vulgar light,
Begins to bloom for sons of night,

And maids who love the moon!

'T was but to bless these hours of shade That beauty and the moon were made;

IF I DESIRE WITH PLEASANT SONGS.

IF I desire with pleasant songs

To throw a merry hour away, Comes Love unto me, and my wrongs

In careful tale he doth display, And asks me how I stand for singing, While I my helpless hands am wringing. And then another time, if I

A noon in shady bower would pass, Comes he with stealthy gestures sly, And flinging down upon the grass, Quoth he to me: My master dear, Think of this noontide such a year!

And if elsewhile I lay my head

On pillow, with intent to sleep, Lies Love beside me on the bed,

And gives me ancient words to keep; Says he: These looks, these tokens number

May be, they'll help you to a slumber.

So every time when I would yield

An hour to quiet, comes he still;
And hunts up every sign concealed,
And every outward sign of ill;
And gives me his sad face's pleasures
For merriment's, or sleep's, or leisure's.

He hears the sound of the hunter's gun,
And rides on the echo back,

And sighs in his ear like a stirring leaf,
And flits in his woodland track.

The shade of the wood, and the sheen of the river,

The cloud and the open sky,—

He will haunt them all with his subtle quiver.
Like the light of your very eye.

The fisher hangs over the leaning boat,
And ponders the silver sea,
For Love is under the surface hid,

And a spell of thought has he.
He heaves the wave like a bosom sweet,
And speaks in the ripple low,
Till the bait is gone from the crafty line,
And the hook hangs bare below.

He blurs the print of the scholar's book,
And intrudes in the maiden's prayer,
And profanes the cell of the holy man
In the shape of a lady fair.

In the darkest night, and the bright daylight,
In earth, and sea, and sky,

In every home of human thought
Will Love be lurking nigh.

NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS.

THOMAS BUrbidge.

THE ANNOYER.

LOVE knoweth every form of air,
And every shape of earth,
And comes unbidden everywhere,
Like thought's mysterious birth.
The moonlit sea and the sunset sky
Are written with Love's words,
And you hear his voice unceasingly,
Like song in the time of birds.

He peeps into the warrior's heart

From the tip of a stooping plume, And the serried spears, and the many men May not deny him room.

He'll come to his tent in the weary night, And be busy in his dream,

And he 'll float to his eye in the morning light, Like a fay on a silver beam.

THE DULE'S I' THIS BONNET O' MINE.

THE dule 's i' this bonnet o' mine:
My ribbins 'll never be reet;
Here, Mally, aw 'm like to be fine,

For Jamie 'll be comin' to-neet;
He met me i' th' lone t'other day

(Aw wur gooin' for wayter to th' well), An' he begged that aw'd wed him i' May, Bi th' mass, if he'll let me, aw will!

When he took my two honds into his,

Good Lord, heaw they trembled between An' aw durstn't look up in his face,

Becose on him seein' my e'en. My cheek went as red as a rose;

There's never a mortal con tell Heaw happy aw felt-for, thae knows, One couldn't ha' axed him theirsel'.

But th' tale wur at th' end o' my tung: To let it eawt wouldn't be reet,

For aw thought to seem forrud wur wrung; So aw towd him aw 'd tell him to-neet. But, Mally, thae knows very weel,

Though it isn't a thing one should own, Iv aw'd th' pikein' o' th' world to mysel', Aw'd oather ha' Jamie or noan.

Neaw, Mally, aw 've towd thae my mind,

What would to do iv it wur thee? "Aw'd tak him just while he 'se inclined,

An' a farrantly bargain he'll be;

For Jamie's as greadly a lad

As ever stept eawt into th' sun.
Go, jump at thy chance, an' get wed;

An' mak th' best o' th' job when it's done!"

Eh, dear! but it's time to be gwon:
Aw shouldn't like Jamie to wait;
Aw connut for shame be too soon,

An' aw wouldn't for th' wuld be too late. Aw'm o'ov a tremble to th' heel:

Dost think 'at my bonnet 'll do? "Be off, lass-thae looks very weel;

He wants noan o' th' bonnet, thae foo!" EDWIN Waugh.

II.

288

"Indeed, then," says Kathleen, "don't think of the like,

For I half gave a promise to soothering Mike;

The ground that I walk on he loves, I'll be bound "-.

"Faith!" says Rory, "I'd rather love you than the ground.” '

66

Now, Rory, I'll cry if you don't let me go ; Sure I dream ev'ry night that I'm hating you so!"

"Och!" says Rory, "that same I'm delighted to hear,

For dhrames always go by conthraries, my dear.

Och! jewel, keep dhraming that same till you die,

And bright morning will give dirty night the black lie!

And 't is plazed that I am, and why not, to be sure?

Since 't is all for good luck," says bold Rory O'More.

You're more distant by far than that same! Och hone! weirasthru!

I'm alone in this world without you.

Och hone! but why should I spake
Of your forehead and eyes,
When your nose it defies

Paddy Blake, the schoolmaster, to put it in

rhyme;

Tho' there's one Burke, he says, that would call it snublime.

And then for your cheek,

Troth 't would take him a week
Its beauties to tell, as he 'd rather;
Then your lips! oh, machree!
In their beautiful glow

They a pattern might be

For the cherries to grow.

'T was an apple that tempted our mother, we know,

For apples were scarce, I suppose, long ago; But at this time o' day,

'Pon my conscience I'll say, Such cherries might tempt a man's father! Och hone! weirasthru!

I'm alone in this world without you.

Och hone! by the man in the moon.
You taze me all ways

That a woman can plaze,

For you dance twice as high with that thief,

Pat Magee,

As when you take share of a jig, dear, with

me.

Tho' the piper I bate,

For fear the old cheat

Would n't play you your favorite tune.
And when you're at mass

My devotion you crass,
For 't is thinking of you

I am, Molly Carew.

While you wear, on purpose, a bonnet so deep That I can't at your sweet pretty face get a

peep.

Oh, lave off that bonnet,

Or else I'll lave on it

The loss of my wandering sowl!

Och hone! weirasthru!

Och hone! like an owl,

Day is night, dear, to me without yon!