I

Doris.

SAT with Doris, the shepherd maiden:

Her crook was laden with wreathèd flowers; I sat and wooed her through sunlight wheeling, And shadows stealing, for hours and hours.

And she, my Doris, whose lap encloses

Wild summer roses of rare perfume,

The while I sued her, kept hushed, and hearkened
Till shades had darkened from gloss to gloom.

She touched my shoulder with fearful finger :
She said, "We linger; we must not stay;
My flock's in danger, my sheep will wander :
Behold them yonder how far they stray!"

I answered bolder, "Nay, let me hear you,
And still be near you, and still adore ;
No wolf nor stranger will touch one yearling;
Ah! stay, my darling, a moment more."

She whispered, sighing: "There will be sorrow
Beyond to-morrow, if I lose to-day;
My fold unguarded, my flock unfolded,
I shall be scolded, and sent away.”

Said I, replying: "If they do miss you,

They ought to kiss you when you get home; And well rewarded by friends and neighbor Should be the labor from which you come."

"They might remember," she answered meekly,
“That lambs are weakly and sheep are wild;
But if they love me 't is none so fervent;
I am a servant, and not a child.”

Then each hot ember glowed quick within me,
And love did win me to swift reply:

"Ah! do but prove me, and none shall blind you
Nor fray, nor find you, until I die.”

She blushed and started, and stood awaiting,
As if debating in dreams divine;

But I did brave them— I told her plainly
She doubted vainly; she must be mine.

So we twin-hearted, from all the valley
Did rouse and rally the nibbling ewes,
And homeward drove them, we two together,
Through blooming heather and gleaming dews.

That simple duty fresh grace did lend her
My Doris tender, my Doris true:
That I, her warder, did always bless her,
And often press her to take her due.

And now in beauty she fills my dwelling-
With love excelling, and undefiled;
And love doth guard her, both fast and fervent,
No more a servant, nor yet a child.

ARTHUR MUNBY.

Hero to Leander.

OH, go not yet, my love,

The night is dark and vast;

The white moon is hid in her heaven above,

And the waves climb high and fast.

Oh, kiss me, kiss me, once again,

Lest thy kiss should be the last.

Oh, kiss me ere we part;

Grow closer to my heart.

My heart is warmer surely than the bosom of the main.

HERO TO LEANDER.

O joy! O bliss of blisses!

My heart of hearts art thou.
Come, bathe me with thy kisses,
My eyelids and my brow.
Hark how the wild rain hisses,
And the loud sea roars below.

Thy heart beats through thy rosy limbs,
So gladly doth it stir;

Thine eye in drops of gladness swims.

I have bathed thee with the pleasant myrrh;

Thy locks are dripping balm;

Thou shalt not wander hence to-night,

I'll stay thee with my kisses.

To-night the roaring brine

Will rend thy golden tresses;

The ocean with the morrow light

Will be both blue and calm;

49

And the billow will embrace thee with a kiss as soft as mine.

No Western odors wander

On the black and moaning sea,
And when thou art dead, Leander,
My soul must follow thee!

Oh, go not yet, my love,

Thy voice is sweet and low;
The deep salt wave breaks in above

Those marble steps below.

The turret stairs are wet

That lead into the sea.

Leander! go not yet.
The pleasant stars have set :

Oh, go not, go not yet,

Or I will follow thee.

ALFRED TENNYSON.

'T

Ailleen.

IS not for love of gold I go,

'Tis not for love of fame;

Though Fortune should her smile bestow,

And I may win a name,

Ailleen,

And I may win a name.

And yet it is for gold I go,

And yet it is for fame,

That they may deck another brow,

And bless another name,

Ailleen,

And bless another name.

For this, but this, I go― for this
I lose thy love awhile,
And all the soft and quiet bliss
Of thy young, faithful smile,
Ailleen,

Of thy young, faithful smile.

And I go to brave a world I hate,
And woo it o'er and o'er,
And tempt a wave, and try a fate
Upon a stranger shore,

Ailleen,

Upon a stranger shore.

Oh, when the bays are all my own,

I know a heart will care!

Oh, when the gold is wooed and won,
I know a brow shall wear,

Ailleen,

I know a brow shall wear!

B

A Woman's Question.

EFORE I trust my fate to thee,

Or place my hand in thine,

Before I let thy Future give

Color and form to mine,

Before I peril all for thee, question thy soul to-night for me.

I break all slighter bonds, nor feel

A shadow of regret :

Is there one link within the Past

That holds thy spirit yet?

Or is thy Faith as clear and free as that which I can pledge to thee?

Does there within thy dimmest dreams

A possible future shine,

! Wherein thy life could henceforth breathe,

Untouched, unshared by mine?

If so, at any pain or cost, oh, tell me before all is lost.

Look deeper still. If thou canst feel

Within thy inmost soul,

That thou hast kept a portion back,

While I have staked the whole :

Let no false pity spare the blow, but in true mercy tell

me so.