Turning back was vain,
Soon his heavy mane
Bore them to the ground;
Then he stalk'd around,

Smelling to his prey,

But their fears allay

When he licks their hands
And silent by them stands.

They look upon his eyes
Filled with deep surprise;
And wondering behold
A spirit arm'd in gold.

On his head a crown,
On his shoulders down
Flow'd his golden hair.
Gone was all their care.

'Follow me,' he said,
'Weep not for the maid;
'In my palace deep,

'Lyca lies asleep.'

Then they followèd

Where the vision led,

And saw their sleeping child

Among tigers wild.

To this day they dwell

In a lonely dell,

Nor fear the wolvish howl

Nor the lion's growl.

THE CHIMNEY SWEEPER.

A LITTLE black thing among the snow,
Crying 'weep! weep!' in notes of woe!
Where are thy father and mother? Say:-
'They are both gone up to the church to pr.

'Because I was happy upon the heath,

And smil'd among the winter's snow,

'They clothed me in the clothes of death,

'And taught me to sing the notes of woe.

'And because I am happy and dance and sing,

'They think they have done me no injury,

'And are gone to praise God and His Priest and King, Who make up a heaven of our misery.'

NURSE'S SONG.

WHEN the voices of children are heard on the green,

And whisperings are in the dale,

The days of my youth rise fresh in my mind,

My face turns green and pale.

Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down,

And the dews of night arise;

Your spring and your day are wasted in play,
And your winter and night in disguise.

THE SICK ROSE.

O ROSE, thou art sick!
The invisible worm
That flies in the night,
In the howling storm,

Has found out thy bed

Of crimson joy,

And his dark secret love

Does thy life destroy.

THE FLY.

LITTLE Fly,

Thy summer's play

My thoughtless hand

Has brushed away.

Am not I

A fly like thee?

Or art not thou

A man like me?

For I dance,

And drink, and sing,
Till some blind hand

Shall brush my wing.

If thought is life,

And strength, and breath;

And the want

Of thought is death;

Then am I

A happy fly,

If I live,

Or if I die.

THE ANGEL.

I DREAMT a dream!

What can it mean?

And that I was a maiden Queen
Guarded by an Angel mild:
Witless woe was ne'er beguil'd!

And I wept both night and day,
And he wip'd my tears away;
And I wept both day and night,
And hid from him my heart's delight.

So he took his wings, and fled;
Then the morn blush'd rosy red.

I dried my tears, and arm'd my fears
With ten thousand shields and spears.

Soon my Angel came again,

I was arm'd, he came in vain;
For the time of youth was fled,
And grey hairs were on my head.