VIOLETS.

Breathing mists and whisking lamps!
What a joy O ho!

Such a lad is Lantern Jack,

When he rides the black nightmare
Through the fens, and puts a glare
In the friar's track.

Such a frolic lad, good lack!

To turn a friar on his back,

Trip him, clip him, whip him, nip him,

Lay him sprawling, smack!

Such a lad is Lantern Jack!

Such a tricksy lad, good lack!

What a joy O ho!

Follow me, follow me,

Where he sits, and you shall see!

VIOLETS.

VIOLETS, shy violets!

How many hearts with ye compare!

Who hide themselves in thickest green,

And thence unseen,

Ravish the enraptured air

With sweetness, dewy fresh and rare!

Violets, shy violets!

Human hearts to me shall be

Viewless violets in the grass,

And as I pass,

Odours and sweet imagery

Will wait on mine and gladden me!

I went sighing past the church across the moorland dreary

"Oh! never sin and want and woe this earth will leave,

And the bells but mock the wailing round, they sing so cheery. How long, O Lord! how long before Thou come again? Still in cellar, and in garret, and on moorland dreary

The orphans moan, and widows weep, and poor men toil in vain, Till earth is sick of hope deferred, though Christmas bells be cheery."

THE THREE FISHERS.

Then arose a joyous clamour from the wild fowl on the mere, Beneath the stars, across the snow, like clear bells ringing, And a voice within cried-"Listen!-Christmas carols even here! Though thou be dumb, yet o'er their work the stars and snows

are singing.

Blind! I live, I love, I reign; and all the nations through With the thunder of my judgments even now are ringing ; Do thou fulfil thy work but as yon wild-fowl do,

Thou wilt heed no less the wailing, yet hear through it angels singing."

A LAMENT.

The merry merry lark was up and singing,
And the hare was out and feeding on the lea;
And the merry merry bells below were ringing,
When my child's laugh rang through me.

Now the hare is snared and dead beside the snow-yard,
And the lark beside the dreary winter sea;
And the baby in his cradle in the churchyard
Sleeps sound till the bell brings me.

THE THREE FISHERS.

THREE fishers went sailing away to the West,
Away to the West as the sun went down;

Each thought on the woman who loved him the best,
And the children stood watching them out of the town;
For men must work, and women must weep,

And there's little to earn, and many to keep,

Though the harbour bar be moaning.

CHARLES KINGSLEY.

Three wives sat up in the lighthouse tower,

And they trimmed the lamps as the sun went down; They looked at the squall, and they looked at the shower, And the night-rack came rolling up ragged and brown. But men must work, and women must weep, Though storms be sudden, and waters deep, And the harbour bar be moaning.

Three corpses lay out on the shining sands

In the morning gleam as the tide went down,

And the women are weeping and wringing their hands.
For those who will never come home to the town;
For men must work, and women must weep,
And the sooner 'tis over, the sooner to sleep;
And good-bye to the bar and its moaning.

THE STARLINGS.

EARLY in Spring time, on raw and windy mornings,

Beneath the freezing house-eaves I heard the starlings sing— "Ah dreary March month, is this then a time for building wearily?

Sad, sad, to think that the year is but begun.”

Late in the Autumn, on still and cloudless evenings,

Among the golden reed-beds I heard the starlings sing

"Ah that sweet March month, when we and our mates were

courting merrily;

Sad, sad, to think that the year is all but done."

CHARLES MACKAY.

A COURTSHIP.

"A PENNY for thy thoughts," she said. "I think that thou art fair, That pleasantness about thee dwells

Like sunshine in the air,

And that within thine eyes there lurks
More light than day can spare!"
"Well! take thy penny if thou wilt!
Thou'st robbed me, I declare!"

་་

But that is only half my thought:

I think, if thou wert free

To take this heart-this truth-this life-This hand, that's offered thee,

I'd be the happiest man on earth."

"Be happy then!" quoth she;

“And when I pay thee for that thought, Myself shall be the fee!"

BURIED GRIEFS.

OH! let them rest, those buried griefs,
Why should we drag them to the day?
They lived their hour of storm and shower,
They lived and died and passed away.

Oh! let them rest-their graves are green; New life shall rise above the mould; The dews shall weep, the blossoms peep, The flowers of sympathy unfold.