I'll shut mine eyes to keep you in,
I'll make you fast it for your sin,

I'll count your power not worth a pin:
Alas! what hereby shall I win
If he gainsay me?

What if I beat the wanton boy,
With many a rod?

He will repay me with annoy,
Because a god.

Then sit thou safely on my knee,
And let thy bower my bosom be;
Lurk in mine eyes-I like of the.

O Cupid, so thou pity me,

Spare not, but play thee!

THOMAS Lodge.

VIRTUE.

SWEET day! so cool, so calm, so bright,
The bridal of the earth and sky!

The dew shall weep thy fall to-night;
For thou must die.

Sweet rose whose hue, angry and brave,
Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye,

Thy root is ever in its grave;

And thou must die.

SONG.

Sweet spring! full of sweet days and roses,
A box where sweets compacted lie,

Thy music shows ye have your closes;
And all must die.

Only a sweet and virtuous soul,
Like seasoned timber, never gives;

But though the whole world turn to coal,
Then chiefly lives.

GEORGE HERBERT.

SONG.

THE world goes up, and the world goes down,
And the sunshine follows the rain;
And yesterday's sneer and yesterday's frown
Can never come over again,

Sweet wife,

No, never come over again.

For woman is warm though man be cold,

And the night will hallow the day;

Till the heart which at even was weary and old
Can rise in the morning gay,

Sweet wife,

To its work in the morning gay.

D

CHARLES KINGSLEY.

49

The night came on alone:

The little stars sat, one by one,

Each on his golden throne;

The evening wind passed by my cheek,

The leaves above were stirred;

But the beating of my own heart
Was all the sound I heard.

Fast silent tears were flowing,
When something stood behind;
A hand was on my shoulder,
I knew its touch was kind:
It drew me nearer nearer,
We did not speak one word;

For the beating of our own hearts
Was all the sound we heard.

RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES.

51

LITTLE BELL.

He prayeth well, who loveth well

Both man and bird and beast.

THE ANCIENT MARINER."

PIPED the blackbird on the beechwood spray: "Pretty maid, slow wandering this way,

What's your name?" quoth he;

"What's your name? O stop, and straight unfola, Pretty maid with showery curls of gold.”

"Little Bell," said she.

Little Bell sat down beneath the rocks,
Tossed aside her gleaming golden locks:

66

Bonny bird," quoth she,

"Sing me your best song before I go." “Here's the very finest song I know, Little Bell," said he.

And the blackbird piped; you never heard
Half so gay a song from any bird,

Full of quips and wiles:

Now so round and rich, now soft and slow;

All for love of that sweet face below,

Dimpled o'er with smiles.