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There was comfort ever on your lip,
And the kind look on your brow
I bless you, Mary, for that same,
Though you cannot hear me now.
I thank you for the patient smile,
When your heart was fit to break
When the hunger-pain was gnawin' there,
And you hid it for my sake;
I bless you for the pleasant word,

-

When your heart was sad and sore
O, I'm thankful you are gone, Mary,
Where grief can't reach you more!

I'm biddin' you a long farewell,
My Mary, kind and true !
But I'll not forget you, darling,
In the land I'm goin' to;

They say there's bread and work for all,

And the sun shines always there But I'll not forget old Ireland,

Were it fifty times as fair!

And often in those grand old woods
I'll sit, and shut my eyes,
And my heart will travel back again
To the place where Mary lies;

And I'll think I see the little stile

Where we sat side by side,

And the springin' corn, and the bright May morn

When first you were my bride.

LADY DUFFERIN.

THE BRAES OF YARROW

"BUSK ye, busk ye, my bonnie, bonnie bride!
Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow !
Busk ye, busk ye, my bonnie, bonnie bride!
And think nae mair on the braes of Yarrow."
"Where gat ye that bonnie, bonnie bride,
Where gat ye that winsome marrow ?"
"I gat her where I daur na weel be seen,
Pu'ing the birks on the braes of Yarrow.

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Weep not, weep not, my bonnie, bonnie bride,
Weep not, weep not, my winsome marrow !

Nor let thy heart lament to leave

Pu'ing the birks on the braes of Yarrow."

"Why does she weep, thy bonnie, bonnie bride ? Why does she weep, thy winsome marrow ? And why daur ye nae mair weel be seen

Pu'ing the birks on the braes of Yarrow ?"

"Lang maun she weep, lang maun she, maun she weepLang maun she weep wi' dule and sorrow;

And lang maun I nae mair weel be seen

Pu'ing the birks on the braes of Yarrow.

"For she has tint her luver, luver dearHer luver dear, the cause of sorrow; And I hae slain the comeliest swain

That e'er pu'd birks on the braes of Yarrow.

Why rins thy stream, O Yarrow, Yarrow, reid ? Why on thy braes is heard the voice of sorrow? And why yon melancholious weeds

Hung on the bonnie birks of Yarrow ?

"What's yonder floats upo' the rueful, rueful flude?
What's yonder floats?-Oh, dule and sorrow!
'T is he, the comely swain I slew

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Upo' the dulefu' braes of Yarrow.

' Wash, oh, wash his wounds, his wounds in tears, His wounds in tears, wi' dule and sorrow;

And wrap

his limbs in mourning weeds,

And lay him on the braes of Yarrow.

"Then build, then build, ye sisters, ye sisters sad, Ye sisters sad, his tomb wi' sorrow;

And weep around, in waeful wise,

His hapless fate on the braes of Yarrow !

"Curse ye, curse ye, his useless, useless shield,
My arm that wrought the deed of sorrow,
The fatal spear that pierced his breast,
His comely breast, on the braes of Yarrow!

"Did I not warn thee not to, not to luve,
And warn from fight? But, to my sorrow,

Too rashly bold, a stronger arm thou met'st,
Thou met'st, and fell on the braes of Yarrow.

"Sweet smells the birk; green grows, green grows the

Yellow on Yarrow's banks the gowan;

Fair hangs the apple frae the rock;

Sweet the wave of Yarrow flowin'!

grass;

"Flows Yarrow sweet? As sweet, as sweet flows Tweed;

As green

its grass; its gowan as yellow;

As sweet smells on its braes the birk;
The apple from its rocks as mellow!

"Fair was thy luve ! fair, fair indeed thy luve !
In flowery bands thou didst him fetter ;
Though he was fair, and weel-beluved again,
Than I he never loved thee better.

"Busk ye, then, busk, my bonnie, bonnie bride!
Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow !
Busk ye, and lo'e me on the banks of Tweed,
And think nae mair on the braes of Yarrow."

"How can I busk a bonnie, bonnie bride ?
How can I busk a winsome marrow ?
How luve him on the banks of Tweed,
That slew my love on the braes of Yarrow?

"Oh Yarrow fields, may never, never rain,
Nor dew, thy tender blossoms cover!

For there was basely slain my luve,

My luve, as he had not been a luver.

"The boy put on his robes, his robes of green,
His purple vest 't was my ain sewin';
Ah, wretched me! I little, little kenned
He was in these to meet his ruin.

"The boy took out his milk-white, milk-white steed, Unmindful of my dule and sorrow;

But ere the toofa' of the night,

He lay a corpse on the braes of Yarrow ! "Much I rejoiced that waefu', waefu' day; I sang, my voice the woods returning; But lang ere night the spear was flown

That slew my luve and left me mourning.

"What can my barbarous, barbarous father do, But with his cruel rage pursue me?

My luver's blood is on thy spear

How canst thou, barbarous man, then woo me?

"My happy sisters may be, may be proud;

With cruel and ungentle scoffin'

May bid me seek, on Yarrow's braes,

My luver nailed in his coffin.

"My brother Douglas may upbraid, upbraid,

And strive with threatening words to muve me ;

My luver's blood is on thy spear

How canst thou ever bid me luve thee ?

"Yes, yes, prepare the bed, the bed of luve ! With bridal sheets my body cover!

Unbar, ye bridal-maids, the door!

Let in the expected husband-lover!

"But who the expected husband, husband is?
His hands, methinks, are bathed in slaughter!
Ah me! what ghastly spectre's yon

Comes in his pale shroud, bleeding after ?
“Pale as he is, here lay him, lay him down ;
Oh lay his cold head on my pillow!
Take aff, take aff these bridal weeds,

And crown my rueful head with willow.

"Pale though thou art, yet best, yet best beluved, Oh, could my warmth to life restore thee!

Yet lie all night within my arms,

No youth lay ever there before thee !

"Pale, pale indeed, O luvely, luvely youth! Forgive, forgive so foul a slaughter,

And lie all night within my arms,

No youth shall ever lie there after!"

"Return, return, O mournful, mournful bride! Return, and dry thy useless sorrow!

Thy luver heeds none of thy sighs;

He lies a corpse on the braes of Yarrow."

WILLIAM HAMILTON.

SHE AND HE

"SHE is dead!” they said to him.

"Come away;

Kiss her! and leave her! — thy love is clay!”

They smoothed her tresses of dark brown hair ;
On her forehead of marble they laid it fair;

Over her eyes, which gazed too much,
They drew the lids with a gentle touch;

up

With a tender touch they closed well
The sweet, thin lips that had secrets to tell;

About her brows, and her dear, pale face,
They tied her veil and her marriage-lace;

And drew on her white feet her white silk shoes;
Which were the whiter no eye could choose !

And over her bosom they crossed her hands;
"Come away," they said,— “God understands!"

And then there was Silence; and nothing there
But the Silence - and scents of eglantere,

And jasmine, and roses, and rosemary;
For they said, “As a lady should lie, lies she !"

And they held their breath as they left the room,
With a shudder to glance at its stillness and gloom.

But he who loved her too well to dread

The sweet, the stately, the beautiful dead

He lit his lamp, and took the key,

And turn'd it! — Alone again

- he and she!

He and she; but she would not speak,

Though he kiss'd, in the old place, the quiet cheek;

He and she; yet she would not smile,

Though he called her the name that was fondest erewhile.

He and she; and she did not move

To any one passionate whisper of love!

Then he said, " Cold lips! and breast without breath!
Is there no voice? no language of death
"Dumb to the ear and still to the sense,
But to heart and soul distinct intense?

"See, now, I listen with soul, not ear
What was the secret of dying, Dear?

"Was it the infinite wonder of all,
That you ever could let life's flower fall?

"Or was it a greater marvel to feel
The perfect calm o'er the agony steal?

"Was the miracle greatest to find how deep,
Beyond all dreams, sank downward that sleep?
"Did life roll backward its record, Dear,
And show, as they say it does, past things clear?
"And was it the innermost heart of the bliss
To find out so what a wisdom love is?

"Oh, perfect Dead! oh, Dead, most dear,
I hold the breath of my soul to hear;

"" I listen as deep as to horrible hell,
As high as to heaven ! - and you do not tell!
"There must be pleasures in dying, Sweet,
To make you so placid from head to feet!
"I would tell you, Darling, if I were dead,
And 't were your hot tears upon my brow shed.
"I would say, though the angel of death had laid
His sword on my lips to keep it unsaid.

You should not ask vainly, with streaming eyes,
Which in Death's touch was the chiefest surprise;

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