Thou mayst prove false: at lover's perjuries,
They say, Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo,
If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully:
Or if thou think'st I am too quickly won,
I'll frown and be perverse, and say thee nay,
So thou wilt woo; but, else, not for the world.
In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond;
And therefore thou mayst think my 'havior light:
But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true
Than those that have more cunning to be strange.
I should have been more strange, I must confess,
But that thou overheard'st, ere I was ware,
My true love's passion: therefore, pardon me;
And not impute this yielding to light love,
Which the dark night hath so discovered.

ROM. If my heart's dear love JUL. Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract to-night: It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden; Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be, Ere one can say, It lightens. Sweet, good night! This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet. Good night, good night! as sweet repose and rest Come to thy heart as that within my breast! ROM. O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied? JUL. What satisfaction canst thou have tonight?

(Re-enter JULIET, above.)

JUL. Three words, dear Romeo, and good night, indeed.

If that thy bent of love be honorable,
Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow
By one that I'll procure to come to thee,
Where, and what time, thou wilt perform the rite;
And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay,
And follow thee, my lord, throughout the world.
NURSE. [Within.] Madam !

JUL. I come anon :--- But if thou mean'st not well,

Love goes toward love, as school-boys from their books;

But love from love, toward school with heavy looks. [Retiring.]

(Re-enter JULIET, above.)

JUL. Hist! Romeo, hist!-O, for a falconer's voice,

To lure this tercel-gentle back again!
Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud;
Else would I tear the cave where echo lies,
And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine
With repetition of my Romeo's name.

ROM. It is my soul, that calls upon my name :
How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night,
Like softest music to attending ears!
JUL. Romeo!
ROM.
JUL.

My dear!

At what o'clock to-morrow

JUL. I gave thee mine before thou didst request it:

And yet I would it were to give again.

ROM. Wouldst thou withdraw it? for what purpose, love?

JUL. But to be frank, and give it thee again. And yet I wish but for the thing I have: My bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love is deep; the more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite.

[NURSE calls within.] I hear some noise within. Dear love, adieu !Anon, good nurse!- Sweet Montague, be true. Stay but a little, I will come again. [Exit above. ROM. O blessed, blesséd night! I am afeard, Being in night, all this is but a dream, Too flattering-sweet to be substantial.

ROM. Let me stand here till thou remember it. JUL. Ishall forget, to have thee still stand there, Remembering how I love thy company.

ROM. And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget, Forgetting any other home but this.

JUL. 'Tis almost morning; I would have thee gone:

And yet no farther than a wanton's bird;
Who lets it hop a little from her hand,
Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves,
And with a silk thread plucks it back again,
So loving-jealous of his liberty.

ROM. I would I were thy bird.
JUL.
Sweet, so would I :
Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing.

The side she breshed felt full o' sun
Ez a south slope in Ap'il.

She thought no v'ice hed sech a swing
Ez hisn in the choir;

My when he made Ole Hundred ring,
She knowed the Lord was nigher.

An' she'd blush scarlit, right in prayer,
When her new meetin'-bunnet
Felt somehow thru' its crown a pair
O' blue eyes sot upon it.

Thet night, I tell ye, she looked some!
She seemed to 've gut a new soul,
For she felt sartin-sure he'd come,

Down to her very shoe-sole.

--

She heered a foot, an' knowed it tu,
A-raspin' on the scraper,
All ways to once her feelin's flew
Like sparks in burnt-up paper.

He kin' o' l'itered on the mat,
Some doubtfle o' the sekle,
His heart kep' goin' pity-pat,
But hern went pity Zekle.

An' yit she gin her cheer a jerk

Ez though she wished him furder, An' on her apples kep' to work, Parin' away like murder.

"You want to see my Pa, I s'pose?"

"Wal... no... I come dasignin' "To see my Ma? She's sprinklin' clo'es Agin to-morrer's i'nin'."

To say why gals acts so or so,

Or don't, 'ould be presumin'; Mebby to mean yes an' say no

Comes nateral to women.

He stood a spell on one foot fust,

Then stood a spell on t' other, An' on which one he felt the wust

He could n't ha' told ye nuther.

Says he, "I'd better call agin";

Says she, "Think likely, Mister"; Thet last word pricked him like a pin, An'... Wal, he up an' kist her.

When Ma bimeby upon 'em slips,
Huldy sot pale ez ashes,
All kin' o' smily roun' the lips

An' teary roun' the lashes.

For she was jes' the quiet kind
Whose naturs never vary,
Like streams that keep a summer mind
Snowhid in Jenooary.

The blood clost roun' her heart felt glued

Too tight for all expressin`,
Tell mother see how metters stood,
And gin 'em both her blessin'.

Then her red come back like the tide
Down to the Bay o' Fundy,

An' all I know is they was cried
In meetin' come nex' Sunday.

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

THE LAIRD O' COCKPEN.

THE laird o' Cockpen he's proud and he's great,
His mind is ta'en up with the things o' the state;
He wanted a wife his braw house to keep,
But favor wi' wooin' was fashious to seek.

Down by the dyke-side a lady did dwell,
At his table-head he thought she'd look well;
M'Lish's ae daughter o' Claverse-ha' Lee,
A penniless lass wi' a lang pedigree.

His wig was weel pouthered, and as gude as new;
His waistcoat was white, his coat it was blue;
He put on a ring, a sword, and cocked hat,
And wha could refuse the Laird wi' a' that?

He took the gray mare, and rade cannily —
And rapped at the yett o' Claverse-ha' Lee :
"Gae tell Mistress Jean to come speedily ben,
She's wanted to speak to the Laird o' Cock pen."

Mistress Jean was makin' the elder-flower wine :
"And what brings the Laird at sic a like time?"
She put aff her apron, and on her silk gown,
Her mutch wi' red ribbons, and gaed awa' down.

And when she cam' ben, he bowed fu' low,
And what was his errand he soon let her know;
Amazed was the Laird when the lady said "Na";
And wi' a laigh curtsey she turned awa'.

Dumbfoundered he was- nae sigh did he gie;
He mounted his mare - he rade cannily ;
And aften he thought, as he gaed through the glen,
She's daft to refuse the Laird o' Cockpen.

And now that the Laird his exit had made,
Mistress Jean she reflected on what she had said;
"Oh! for ane I'll get better, it's waur I'll get ten,
I was daft to refuse the Laird o' Cockpen."

Next time that the Laird and the lady were seen, They were gaun arm-in-arm to the kirk on the

THE LITTLE MILLINER.

My girl hath violet eyes and yellow hair,
A soft hand, like a lady's, small and fair,
A sweet face pouting in a white straw bonnet,
A tiny foot, and little boot upon it;
And all her finery to charm beholders

Is the gray shawl drawn tight around her shoulders,
The plain stuff-gown and collar white as snow,
And sweet red petticoat that peeps below.
But gladly in the busy town goes she,
Summer and winter, fearing nobodie;
She pats the pavement with her fairy feet,
With fearless eyes she charms the crowded street;
And in her pocket lie, in lieu of gold,
A lucky sixpence and a thimble old.

We lodged in the same house a year ago :
She on the topmost floor, I just below,
She, a poor milliner, content and wise,
I, a poor city clerk, with hopes to rise;
And, long ere we were friends, I learnt to love
The little angel on the floor above.
For, every morn, ere from my bed I stirred,
Her chamber door would open, and I heard,
And listened, blushing, to her coming down,
And palpitated with her rustling gown,
And tingled while her foot went downward slow,
Creaked like a cricket, passed, and died below;
Then peeping from the window, pleased and sly,
I saw the pretty shining face go by,
A sunbeam in the quiet morning street.
Healthy and rosy, fresh from slumber sweet, -

And every night, when in from work she tript, Red to the ears I from my chamber slipt, Her low "Good evening," as she passed me there. That I might hear upon the narrow stair And when her door was closed, below sat I, And hearkened stilly as she stirred on high, Watched the red firelight shadows in the room, Fashioned her face before me in the gloom, And heard her close the window, lock the door, Moving about more lightly than before, And thought, "She is undressing now!" and O, My cheeks were hot, my heart was in a glow! And I made pictures of her, standing bright Before the looking-glass in bed-gown white, Unbinding in a knot her yellow hair, Then kneeling timidly to say a prayer; Till, last, the floor creaked softly overhead, 'Neath bare feet tripping to the little bed, Till the faint sounds about the streets were gone; And all was hushed. Yet still I hearkened on, And saw her slumbering with lips apart, One little hand upon her little heart, The other pillowing a face that smiled

In slumber like the slumber of a child,
The bright hair shining round the small white ear,

The soft breath stealing visible and clear,
And mixing with the moon's, whose frosty gleam
Made round her rest a vaporous light of dream.

How free she wandered in the wicked place, Protected only by her gentle face!

A little figure, in a cotton gown,
Looking upon the fire and stooping down,
Her side to me, her face illumed, she eyed
Two chestnuts burning slowly, side by side, -
Her lips apart, her clear eyes strained to see,
Her little hands clasped tight around her knee,

see?

She heard of wantonness and misery;

The city closed around her night and day,
But lightly, happily, she went her way.
Nothing of evil that she saw or heard
Could touch a heart so innocently stirred,
By simple hopes that cheered it through the storm,
And little flutterings that kept it warm.
No power had she to reason out her needs,
To give the whence and wherefore of her deeds;
But she was good and pure amid the strife,
By virtue of the joy that was her life.
Here, where a thousand spirits daily fall,
Where heart and soul and senses turn to gall,
She floated, pure as innocent could be,
Like a small sea-bird on a stormy sea,
Which breasts the billows, wafted to and fro,
Fearless, uninjured, while the strong winds blow,
While the clouds gather, and the waters roar,
And mighty ships are broken on the shore.

'T was when the spring was coming, when the

snow

Had melted, and fresh winds began to blow,
And girls were selling violets in the town,
That suddenly a fever struck me down.
The world was changed, the sense of life was pained,
And nothing but a shadow-land remained;
Death came in a dark mist and looked at me,
I felt his breathing, though I could not see,
But heavily I lay and did not stir,
And had strange images and dreams of her.
Then came a vacancy: with feeble breath,
I shivered under the cold touch of Death,
And swooned among strange visions of the dead,
When a voice called from heaven, and he fled;
And suddenly I wakened, as it seemed,
From a deep sleep wherein I had not dreamed.
And it was night, and I could see and hear,
And I was in the room I held so dear,
And unaware, stretched out upon my bed,
I hearkened for a footstep overhead.

But all was hushed. I looked around the room, And slowly made out shapes amid the gloom. The wall was reddened by a rosy light,

A faint fire flickered, and I knew 't was night,
Because below there was a sound of feet
Dying away along the quiet street,
When, turning my pale face and sighing low,
I saw a vision in the quiet glow:

And tinting her white neck to rosy red,
Her features bright, and beautiful, and pure,
With childish fear and yearning half demure

O sweet, sweet dream! I thought, and strained mine eyes,

Fearing to break the spell with words and sighs

Softly she stooped, her dear face sweetly fair, And sweeter since a light like love was there, Brightening, watching, more and more elate, As the nuts glowed together in the grate, Crackling with little jets of fiery light, Till side by side they turned to ashes white,Then up she leapt, her face cast off its fear For rapture that itself was radiance clear, And would have clapped her little hands in glee, But, pausing, bit her lips and peeped at me, And met the face that yearned on her so whitely, And gave a cry and trembled, blushing brightly, While, raised on elbow, as she turned to flee, 'Polly!" I cried, — and grew as red as she !

It was no dream! for soon my thoughts were clear,

And she could tell me all, and I could hear:
How in my sickness friendless I had lain,
How the hard people pitied not my pain;
How, in despite of what bad people said,
She left her labors, stopped beside my bed,
And nursed me, thinking sadly I would die;
How, in the end, the danger passed me by ;
How she had sought to steal away before
The sickness passed, and I was strong once more.
By fits she told the story in mine ear,
And troubled all the telling with a fear
Lest by my cold man's heart she should be chid,
Lest I should think her bold in what she did;
But, lying on my bed, I dared to say,
How I had watched and loved her many a day,
How dear she was to me, and dearer still
For that strange kindness done while I was ill,
And how I could but think that Heaven above
Had done it all to bind our lives in love.
And Polly cried, turning her face away,
And seemed afraid, and answered "yea" no:
“nay”;

Then stealing close, with little pants and sighs,
Looked on my pale thin face and earnest eyes,
And seemed in act to fling her arms about
My neck, then, blushing, paused, in fluttering
doubt,

bing, That I might feel how gladly hers was throbbing!

Ah! ne'er shall I forget until I die
How happily the dreamy days went by,
While I grew well, and lay with soft heart-beats,
Heark'ning the pleasant murmur from the streets,
And Polly by me like a sunny beam,
And life all changed, and love a drowsy dream!
'T was happiness enough to lie and see
The little golden head bent droopingly
Over its sewing, while the still time flew,
And my fond eyes were dim with happy dew!
And then, when I was nearly well and strong,
And she went back to labor all day long,
How sweet to lie alone with half-shut eyes,
And hear the distant murmurs and the cries,
And think how pure she was from pain and
sin,

And how the summer days were coming in!
Then, as the sunset faded from the room,
To listen for her footstep in the gloom,
To pant as it came stealing up the stair,
To feel my whole life brighten unaware
When the soft tap came to the door, and when
The door was opened for her smile again!
Best, the long evenings!-when, till late at night,
She sat beside me in the quiet light,
And happy things were said and kisses won,
And serious gladness found its vent in fun.
Sometimes I would draw close her shining head,
And pour her bright hair out upon the bed,
And she would laugh, and blush, and try to scold,
While "Here," I cried, "I count my wealth in
gold!"

Once, like a little sinner for transgression,
She blushed upon my breast, and made confession:
How, when that night I woke and looked around,
I found her busy with a charm profound,
One chestnut was herself, my girl confessed,
The other was the person she loved best,
And if they burned together side by side,
He loved her, and she would become his bride;
And burn indeed they did, to her delight,
And had the pretty charm not proven right?
Thus much, and more, with timorous joy, she
said,

While her confessor, too, grew rosy red, -
And close together pressed two blissful faces,
As I absolved the sinner, with embraces.

And here is winter come again, winds blow,
The houses and the streets are white with snow;
And in the long and pleasant eventide,
Why, what is Polly making at my side?
What but a silk gown, beautiful and grand,
We bought together lately in the Strand!

And wear right queenly 'neath a honey-moon! And who shall match her with her new straw bonnet,

Her tiny foot and little boot upon it,
Embroidered petticoat and silk gown new,
And shawl she wears as few fine ladies do?
And she will keep, to charm away all ill,
The lucky sixpence in her pocket still;
And we will turn, come fair or cloudy weather,
To ashes, like the chestnuts, close together!

ROBERT BUCHANAN.

WIDOW MALONE.

DID you hear of the Widow Malone,
Ohone!
Who lived in the town of Athlone,
Alone !

O, she melted the hearts
Of the swains in them parts:
So lovely the Widow Malone,

Ohone !

So lovely the Widow Malone.
Of lovers she had a full score,
Or more,

And fortunes they all had galore,
In store;

From the minister down
To the clerk of the Crown
All were courting the Widow Malone,
Ohone !
All were courting the Widow Malone.
But so modest was Mistress Malone,
'T was known
That no one could see her alone,
Ohone !

Let them ogle and sigh,
They could ne'er catch her eye,
So bashful the Widow Malone,
Ohone !

So bashful the Widow Malone.
Till one Misther O'Brien, from Clare,
(How quare!

It's little for blushing they care
Down there.)

Put his arm round her waist,
Gave ten kisses at laste,
"O," says he, "you're my Molly Malone,
My own!

O," says he, "you're my Molly Malone!
And the widow they all thought so shy,
My eye!
Ne'er thought of a simper or sigh,
For why?