She wept with pity and delight,

She blush'd with love and maiden shame ; And, like the murmur of a dream,

I heard her breathe my name.

Her Bosom heav'd-she stepp'd aside ;
As conscious of my Look, she stepp'd-
Then suddenly with timorous eye
She fled to me and wept.

She half inclosed me with her arms, She press'd me with a meek embrace; And bending back her head look'd up, And gaz'd upon my face.

'Twas partly Love, and partly Fear, And partly 'twas a bashful Art

That I might rather feel than see

The Swelling of her Heart.

I calm'd her fears; and she was cafur,

And told her love with virgin Pride. And so I won my Genevieve,

My bright and beauteous Bride!

The MAD MOTHER.

Her

eyes are wild, her head is bare, The sun has burnt her coal-black hair, Her eye-brows have a rusty stain,

And she came far from over the main.

She has a baby on her arm,

Or else she were alone;

And underneath the hay-stack warm,

And on the green-wood stone,

She talked and sung the woods among; And it was in the English tongue,

K

"Sweet babe! they say that I am mad,

But nay, my heart is far too glad ;
And I am happy when I sing

Full many a sad and doleful thing:

Then, lovely baby, do not fear!

I

pray thee have no fear of me,

But, safe as in a cradle, here

My lovely baby! thou shalt be,
To thee I know too much I owe;
I cannot work thee any woe.

A fire was once within my brain;
And in my head a dull, dull pain;
And fiendish faces one, two, three,
Hung at my breasts, and pulled at me.
But then there came a sight of joy ;
It came at once to do me good;
I waked, and saw my little boy,
My little boy of flesh and blood;
Oh joy for me that sight to see!
For he was here, and only he.

Suck, little babe, oh suck again!
It cools my blood; it cools my brain;
Thy lips I feel them, baby! they
Draw from my heart the pain away.
Oh! press me with thy little hand;
It loosens something at my chest ;
About that tight and deadly band
I feel thy little fingers press'd.
The breeze I see is in the tree;
It comes to cool my babe and me.

Oh! love me, love me, little boy!
Thou art thy mother's only joy;
And do not dread the waves below,
When o'er the sea-rock's edge we go;
The high crag cannot work me harm,
Nor leaping torrents when they howl;

The babe I carry on my arm,

He saves for me my precious soul;
Then happy lie, for blest am I;

Without me my sweet babe would die.