Till all his juice is dried, and all his joints "Who'd serve the state? for if I carv'd my name He sang his song, and I replied with mine: I set the words, and added names I knew. 66 Sleep, Ellen Aubrey, sleep, and dream of me : Sleep, Ellen, folded in thy sister's arm, And sleeping, haply dream her arm is mine. 66 Sleep, Ellen, folded in Emilia's arm; Emilia, fairer than all else but thou, For thou art fairer than all else that is. 66 Sleep, breathing health and peace upon her breast: Sleep, breathing love and trust against her lip: I go to-night I come to-morrow morn. 66 'I go, but I return: I would I were The pilot of the darkness and the dream. Sleep, Ellen Aubrey, love, and dream of me." So sang we each to either, Francis Hale, My friend; and I, that having wherewithal, Did what I would; but ere the night we rose The limit of the hills; and as we sank With one green sparkle ever and anon Dipt by itself, and we were glad at heart. WALKING TO THE MAIL. John. I'm glad I walk'd. How fresh the meadows look Above the river, and, but a month ago, The whole hill-side was redder than a fox. Is yon plantation where this byway joins James. Yes. James. The mail? John. And when does this come by? John. What is it now? James. A quarter to. John. Whose house is that I see Beyond the watermills? James. Sir Edward Head's: But he's abroad: the place is to be sold. John. Oh, his. He was not broken. James. No, sir, he, Vex'd with a morbid devil in his blood That veil'd the world with jaundice, hid his face He lost the sense that handles daily life- James. Nay, who knows? he's here and there. But let him go; his devil goes with him, James. You saw the man but yesterday: Sets forth, and meets a friend who hails him, "What! You're flitting!" "Yes, we're flitting," says the ghost, (For they had pack'd the thing among the beds,) 66 'Oh well,” says he, "you flitting with us too— Jack, turn the horses' heads and home again.” John. He left his wife behind; for so I heard. John. Oh yet but I remember, ten years back- Lessening in perfect cadence, and a skin As clean and white as privet when it flowers. James. Ay, ay, the blossom fades, and they that loved At first like dove and dove were cat and dog. She was the daughter of a cottager, Out of her sphere. What betwixt shame and pride, Like men, like manners: like breeds like, they say. That fit us like a nature second-hand ; Which are indeed the manners of the great. John. But I had heard it was this bill that past, Should break his sleep by night, and his nice eyes |