A STANZA FROM "THYRSIS." Yet God deems not thine aeried sight STO 179 J. R. Lowell. A MOUNTAIN STORM. TORM in the night! for thrice I heard the rain Rushing; and once the flash of a thunderboltMethought I never saw so fierce a fork Struck out the streaming mountain-side and show'd WH Tennyson. A STANZA FROM "THYRSIS." HERE is the girl, who, by the boatman's door, Above the locks, above the boating throng, Unmoored our skiff, when through the Wytham flats, Red loosestrife and blond meadow-sweet among, And darting swallows, and light water-gnats, We tracked the shy Thames shore? Where are the mowers, who, as the tiny swell Of our boat passing heaved the river-grass, Stood with suspended scythe to see us pass?They all are gone, and thou art gone as well. Matthew Arnold. A ROWENA DARLING. CHESTERFIELD HILL: WESTERN MASSACHUSETTS. HEAP of mortar, brick, and stone, O'ergrown with shrubs, o'errun with vines, That here was once a house and home, How ill the careless sense divines, Rowena Darling. Not careless his, my friend's, who loves Rowena Darling. Here, once upon a time, he tells, It could not know a sweeter name, Rowena Darling! Here where the birches' silver gleam Rowena Darling. Here whisks about the squirrel brown; But standing here I can but think Of other days and sweeter things, Here baked the apples in a row; Rowena Darling. Here cracked the chestnuts, ripe and sweet; THE BUSH ABOON TRAQUAIR. 181 Here-ah, I seem to see them now You warmed your pretty buskined feet, And here, when burned the embers low, And old folks long had been asleep, Your heart stood still to hear a voice That whispered-Oh! how warm and deep Rowena-Darling! Alas, how many years have fled Since hearth and heart were warm and bright, And all the room and all the world Glowed with your love's supreme delight, Rowena Darling. This rose-bush growing by the door, Perhaps you planted long ago; I pluck and kiss, for your dear sake, Its fairest, be it so or no, Rowena Darling! J. W. Chadwick. THE BUSH ABOON TRAQUAIR. ILL ye gang wi' me and fare WILL To the bush aboon Traquair? Oure the high minchmuir we'll up and awa', This bonny simmer noon, While the sun shines fair aboon, And the licht sklents saftly doun on holm and ha'. And what wad ye do there, A lang dreich road, ye had better let it be ; I' the hillside lirk, There's nocht i' the world for man to see. But the blythe lilt o' that air, I need nae mair, it's eneuch for me; Sae tide what may, I'll awa' and see. And what saw ye there, At the bush aboon Traquair? Or what did ye hear that was worth your heed? Thro' the gowden afternoon, And the Quair burn singing down to the vale o' Tweed. And birks saw I three or four, Wi' gray moss bearded owre, The last that are left o' the birken shaw, Fond luvers did convene, Thae bonny, bonny gloamins that are lang awa'. Frae mony a but and ben, By muirland, holm, and glen, They cam ane hour to spen' on the greenwood swaird; But lang ha'e lad an' lass Been lying 'neth the grass The green, green grass o' Traquair kirkyard. TO MARGUERITE. They were blest beyond compare, When they held their trysting there, Amang thae greenest hills shone on by the sun; The lownest and the best, I' Traquair kirkyard when a' was dune. Now the birks to dust may rot, Names o' luvers be forgot, Nae lads and lasses there ony mair convene; Keeps the bush aboon Traquair, 183 And the luve that ance was there, aye fresh and green. J. C. Shairp. Y TO MARGUERITE. ES in the sea of life enisl'd, With echoing straits between us thrown, Dotting the shoreless watery wild, We mortal millions live alone. The islands feel the enclasping flow, And then their endless bounds they know. But when the moon their hollows light And lovely notes, from shore to shore, Oh then a longing like despair Is to their farthest caverns sent; |