SONG OF WOOD-NYMPHS. COME here, come here, and dwell Come here, come here, and tell Is it for love (sweet pain!) That thus thou dar'st complain Unto our pleasant shades, our summer leaves, Where naught else grieves? Come here, come here, and lie By whispering stream! Here no one dares to die For love's sweet dream; But health all seek, and joy, And shun perverse annoy, And race along green paths till close of day, And laugh- alway! Or else, through half the year, On rushy floor, We lie by waters clear, While skylarks pour Their songs into the sun! And when bright day is done, We hide 'neath bells of flowers or nodding corn, And dream till morn! BARRY CORNWALL I saw the green gnome sitting, with his cheek | And we saw the kirk before us, as we trotted upon his hand. down the fells, Then he started up to see me, and he ran with | And nearer, clearer, o'er us, rang the welcome of He kissed me twice, he kissed me thrice, but when he kissed again, I called aloud upon the name of Him who died for men. Sing, sing! ring, ring! pleasant Sabbath bells! Chime, rhyme! chime, rhyme! thorough dales and dells! Rhyme, ring! chime, sing! pleasant Sabbath bells! Chime, sing! rhyme, ring! over fields and fells! O faintly, faintly, faintly, calling men and maids to pray, So faintly, faintly, faintly rang the bells far away; And as I named the Blessed Name, as in our need we can, The ugly green green gnome became a tall and comely man His hands were white, his beard was gold, his eyes were black as sloes, His tunic was of scarlet woof, and silken were his hose; A pensive light from Faëryland still lingered on his cheek, His voice was like the running brook, when he began to speak; "O, you have cast away the charm my step-dame put on me, Seven years I dwelt in Faëryland, and you have set me free. O, I will mount thy palfrey white, and ride to kirk with thee, And, by those little dewy eyes, we twain will wedded be!" Back we galloped, never stopping, he before and I behind, And the autumn leaves were dropping, red and yellow, in the wind: And the sun was shining clearer, and my heart was high and proud, As nearer, nearer, nearer rang the kirk bells sweet and loud, the bells. Ring, sing ring, sing! pleasant Sabbath bells! Chime, rhyme! chime, rhyme ! thorough dales and dells! Rhyme, ring! chime, sing! pleasant Sabbath bells! Chime, sing! rhyme, ring! over fields and fells! ROBERT BUCHANAN. LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI. "O, WHAT can ail thee; knight-at-arms, Alone and palely loitering? The sedge has withered from the lake, "O, what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, And the harvest 's done. "I see a lily on thy brow With anguish moist and fever-dew, And on thy cheeks a fading rose Fast withereth too." "I met a lady in the meads, "I made a garland for her head, And bracelets too, and fragrant zone; She looked at me as she did love, And made sweet moan. "I set her on my pacing steed, And nothing else saw all day long ; For sidelong would she bend, and sing A fairy's song. "She found me roots of relish sweet, And honey wild and manna-dew; And sure in language strange she said, 'I love thee true.' "She took me to her elfin grot, And there she wept, and sighed full sore. And there I shut her wild, wild eyes With kisses four. "And there she lulled me asleep, And there I dreamed-ah, woe betide!— The latest dream I ever dreamed On the cold hill's side. "The wind to the waves is calling, The moonlight is fading away; "The wind to the waves is calling, "The ocean is heaving and sobbing, The sea-mews scream in the spray; And thy heart is wildly throbbing, Thou beautiful water-fay!" "My heart is wildly swelling, And it beats in burning truth; For I love thee past all telling, Thou beautiful mortal youth." - HENRY HEINE (German). Translation of CHARLES G. LELAND. THE waters purled, the waters swelled, A fisher sat near by, And earnestly his line beheld With tranquil heart and eye; He sees the waves divide, She sang to him, she spake to him, - In cruel mood, my tender brood, Ah! didst thou know how sweetly there The little fishes dwell, Thou wouldst come down their lot to share, And be forever well. "Bathes not the smiling sun at nightThe moon too in the waves ? Comes he not forth more fresh and bright The waters purled, the waters swelled, She spake to him, she sang to him; GOETHE. Translation of CHARLES T. BROOKS. THE NIGHTINGALE AND GLOW-WORM. The keen demands of appetite; He spied, far off, upon the ground, "Did you admire my lamp," quoth he, "As much as I your minstrelsy, You would abhor to do me wrong, As much as I to spoil your song; For 't was the self-same Power divine Taught you to sing, and me to shine; That you with music, I with light, Might beautify and cheer the night." The songster heard his short oration, And, warbling out his approbation, Released him, as my story tells, And found a supper somewhere else. And so all her schemes for the future were ended. This moral, I think, may be safely attached, "Reckon not on your chickens before they are hatched." JEFFREYS TAYLOR. THE TOAD'S JOURNAL [It is said that Belzoni, the traveller in Egypt, discovered a living toad in a temple which had been for ages buried in the sand.] IN a land for antiquities greatly renowned A traveller had dug wide and deep under ground, The roll which this reptile's long history records, Half opened the other, but could not tell why; Began half to wish for a neighbor at hand To loosen the stone, which was fast in the sand; Pulled harder, then dozed, as I found 't was no use; Awoke the next summer, and lo! it was loose. Crawled forth from the stone when completely awake; Crept into a corner and grinned at a snake. In the pleasant moist shade of a strawberry-bed. me, And others that hopped, most enchanting to see. Was fretful at first, and then shed a few tears." MORAL. It seems that life is all a void, JANE TAYLOR. THE PHILOSOPHER TOAD. Down deep in a hollow, so damp and so cold, Where oaks are by ivy o'ergrown, The gray moss and lichen creep over the mould, Lying loose on a ponderous stone. Now within this huge stone, like a king on his throne, A toad has been sitting more years than is known; And strange as it seems, yet he constantly deems The world standing still while he's dreaming his dreams, |