LADY DUFFERIN.

When the hunger pain was gnawin' there, It haunts me still, though many a year las fled, And you hid it for my sake ;

Like some wild melody! I bless you for the pleasant word,

Alone it hange When your heart was sad and sore,

Over a mouldering heirloom, its companion, 0, I'm thankful you are gone, Mary,

An oaken chest, half eaten by the worm, Where grief can't reach you more !

But richly carved by Antony of Trent

With Scripture stories from the Life of Christ, I'm biddin' you a long farewell,

A chest that came from Venice, and had held My Mary — kind and true !

The ducal robes of some old Ancestor, But I'll not forget you, darling,

That by the way

it may be true or false In the land I'm goin' to ;

But don't forget the picture; and you will not They say there's bread and work for all,

When you have heard the tale they told me there. And the sun shines always there, – But I'll not forget old Ireland,

She was an only child, - her name Ginevra, Were it fifty times as fair !

The joy, the pride, of an indulgent Father;

And in her fifteenth year became a bride, And often in those grand old woods

Marrying an only son, Francesco Doria, I'll sit, and shut my eyes,

Her playmate from her birth, and her first love. And my heart will travel back again To the place where Mary lies ;

Just as she looks there in her bridal dress, And I'll think I see the little stile

She was all gentleness, all gayety, Where we sat side by side,

Her pranks the favorite theme of every tongue. And the springin' corn, and the bright May morn, But now the day was come, the day, the hour ; When first you were my bride.

Now, frowning, smiling, for the hundredth time,
The nurse, that ancient lady, preached decorum ;
And, in the lustre of her youth, she gave

Her hand, with her heart in it, to Francesco.
GINEVRA.

Great was the joy ; but at the Nuptial Feast, If ever you should come to Modena,

When allsate down, the Bride herself was wanting, Where among other trophies may be seen

Nor was she to be found ! Her father cried, Tassoni's bucket (in its chain it hangs (72)

“'T is but to make a trial of our love !" Within that reverend tower, the Guirlandina),

And filled his glass to all ; but his hand shook, Stop at a Palace near the Reggio-gate,

And soon from guest to guest the panic spread. Dwelt in of old by one of the Orsini.

'T was but that instant she had left Francesco, Its noble gardens, terrace above terrace,

Laughing and looking back, and flying still, And rich in fountains, statues, cypresses,

Her ivory tooth imprinted on his finger. Will long detain you ; but, before you go,

But now, alas, she was not to be found ; Enter the house -- forget it not, I pray

Nor from that hour could anything be guessed, And look awhile upon a picture there.

But that she was not !

Weary of his life, *T is of a Lady in her earliest youth,

Francesco flew to Venice, and, embarking, The last of that illustrious family ;

Flung it away in battle with the Turk. Done by Zampieri (73) -- but by whom I care not. Orsini lived, — and long might you have seen He who observes it, ere he passes on,

An old man wandering as in quest of something, Gazes his fill, and comes and comes again, Something he could not find, he knew not what. That he may call it up when far away.

When he was gone, the house remained awhile

Silent and tenantless, — then went to strangers. She sits inclining forward as to speak, Her lips half open, and her finger up,

Full fifty years were past, and all forgotten, As though she said " Beware!” her vest of gold When on an idle day, a day of search Broidered with flowers, and clasped from head to Mid the old lumber in the Gallery, foot,

That mouldering chest was noticed ; and 't was said An emerald stone in every golden clasp ; By one as young, as thoughtless as Ginevra, And on her brow, fairer than alabaster,

“Why not remove it from its lurking-place ?" A coronet of pearls.

'T was done as soon as said ; but on the way But then her face,

It burst, it fell ; and lo, a skeleton, So lovely, yet so arch, so full of mirth,

With here and there a pearl, an emerald stone, The overflowings of an innocent heart,

A golden clasp, clasping a shred of gold.

SAMUEL ROGERS.

All else had perished, save a wedding-ring, I will go down to her, I and none other,
And a small seal, her mother's legacy,

Close with her, kiss her, and mix her with me; Engraven with a name, the name of both, Cling to her, strive with her, hold her fast. “Ginevra."

O fair white mother, in days long past
There then had she found a grave! Born without sister, born without brother,
Within that chest had she concealed herself, Set free my soul as thy soul is free.
Fluttering with joy, the happiest of the happy;
When a spring-lock, that lay in ambush there, O fair green-girdled mother of mine,
Fastened her down forever !

Sea, that art clothed with the sun and the rain,
Thy sweet hard kisses are strong like wine,

Thy large embraces are keen like pain !

Save me and hide me with all thy waves,
THE MISTLETOE BOUGH.

Find me one grave of thy thousand graves,

Those pure cold populous graves of thine, The mistletoe hung in the castle hall,

Wrought without hand in a world without stain. The holly branch shone on the old oak wall ; And the baron's retainers were blithe and gay, I shall sleep, and move with the moving ships, And keeping their Christmas holiday.

Change as the winds change, veer in the tide ; The baron beheld with a father's pride

My lips will feast on the foam of thy lips, His beautiful child, young Lovell's bride ; I shall rise with thy rising, with thee subside. While she with her bright eyes seemed to be Sleep, and not know if she be, if she were, The star of the goodly company.

Filled full with life to the eyes and hair,

As a rose is fulfilled to the rose-leaf tips “I'm weary of dancing now," she cried ;

With splendid summer and perfume and pride. " Here tarry a moment, -- I'll hide, I 'll hide ! And, Lovell, be sure thou ’rt first to trace

This woven raiment of nights and days, The clew to my secret lurking-place.”

Were it once cast off and unwound from me, Away she ran, - and her friends began

Naked and glad would I walk in thy ways, Each tower to search, and each nook to scan;

Alive and aware of thy waves and thee; And young Lovellcried, “O, where dost thou hide? Clear of the whole world, hidden at home, I'm lonesome without thee, my own dear bride.'

Clothed with the green, and crowned with the foam, They sought her that night ! and they sought her A pulse of the life of thy straits and bays,

A vein in the heart of the streams of the sea. next day ! And they sought her in vain when a week passed

away!
In the highest, the lowest, the loneliest spot,
Young Lovell sought willly, — but found her not.
And years flew by, and their grief at last
Was told as a sorrowful tale long past ;

ANNABEL LEE.
And when Lovell appeared, the chililren cried,

It was many and many a year ago, “See ! the old man weeps for his fairy bride.”

In a kingdom by the sea, At length an oak chest, that had long lain hid,

That a maiden lived, whom you may know Was found in the castle, they raised the lid,

By the name of Annabel Lee; And a skeleton form lay mouldering there

And this maiden she lived with no other thought In the bridal wreath of that lady fair !

Than to love, and be loved by me.
O, sad was her fate ! - in sportive jest
She hid from her lord in the old oak chest.

I was a child and she was a child,
It closed with a spring ! — and, dreadful doom,

In this kingdom by the sea ; The bride lay clasped in her living tomb !

But we loved with a love that was more than love,

I and my Annabel Lee, -
With a love that the wingéd seraphs of heaven

Coveted her and me.

ALGERXON CHARLES SWINBURNE.

THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY.

THE DISAPPOINTED LOVER.

I will go back to the great sweet mother,

Mother and lover of men, the sea.

And this was the reason that long ago,

In this kingilom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling

My beautiful Annabel Lee;