In the dark, in the dew,
All my love goes out to you,
Flutters like a bird in pain,
Dies and comes to life again;
While you whisper, "Sweetest, hark:

Some one's sighing in the dark,

In the dark, in the dew!»

In the dark, in the dew,
All my heart cries out to you,
As I cast it at your feet,
Sweet indeed, but not too sweet;
Wondering will you hear it beat,
Beat for you, and bleed for you,
In the dark, in the dew!

MARY NEWMARCH PRESCOTT.

BIRD SONG FROM ALEXANDER AND CAMPASPE›

HAT bird so sings, yet does so wail?

WH

Oh, 'tis the ravished nightingale;

"Jug, jugjug, jug- teren," she cries,

And still her woes at midnight rise.

Brave prick-song! who is't now we hear?

None but the lark so shrill and clear;

Now at heaven's gates she claps her wings,—

The morn not waking till she sings.

Hark, hark! with what a pretty throat
Poor Robin Redbreast tunes his note!
Hark, how the jolly cuckoos sing
"Cuckoo," to welcome in the spring.

JOHN LYLY.

I would privately set there

My net there to catch her: In Erin no maiden

Is able to match her.

And Nelly, dear God!

Why! you should not thus flee me:

I long to be near thee

And hear thee and see thee;

My hand on the Bible,

And I swearing and kneeling,

And giving thee part

Of the heart you are stealing.

I've a fair yellow casket

And it fastened with crystal,

And the lock opens not

To the shot of a pistol.

To Jesus I pray,

And to Columbkill's Master,

That Mary may guide thee

Aside from disaster.

We may be, O maiden

Whom none may disparage,

Some morning a-hearing

The sweet mass of marriage;

But if fate be against us,

To rend us and push us,

I shall mourn as the blackbird

At eve in the bushes.

O God! were she with me

Where the gull flits and tern,

Or in Paris the smiling,

Or an isle in Loch Erne,

I would coax her so well,

I would tell her my story, And talk till I won her,

My sunshine of glory!

DOUGLAS HYDE.

THE SEA-FOWLER

HE baron hath the landward park, the fisher hath the sea; But the rocky haunts of the sea-fowl belong alone to me.

THE

The baron hunts the running deer, the fisher nets the brine;
But every bird that builds a nest on ocean-cliffs is mine.

Come on then, Jock and Alick, let's to the sea-rocks bold:
I was trained to take the sea-fowl ere I was five years old.

The wild sea roars, and lashes the granite crags below,
And round the misty islets the loud strong tempests blow.

And let them blow! Roar wind and wave, they shall not me dismay:

I've faced the eagle in her nest and snatched her young away.

The eagle shall not build her nest, proud bird although she be,
Nor yet the strong-winged cormorant, without the leave of me.
The eider-duck has laid her eggs, the tern doth hatch her young,
And the merry gull screams o'er her brood; but all to me belong.
Away, then, in the daylight, and back again ere eve:
The eagle could not rear her young unless I gave her leave.

The baron hath the landward park, the fisher hath the sea;
But the rocky haunts of the sea-fowl belong alone to me.

MARY HOWITT,

PACK, CLOUDS, AWAY

ACK, clouds, away; and welcome, day;

PACK

With night we banish sorrow:

Sweet air, blow soft; mount, lark, aloft,

To give my love good-morrow.

Wings from the wind to please her mind, ·
Notes from the lark I'll borrow:
Bird, prune thy wing; nightingale, sing,

To give my love good-morrow.
To give my love good-morrow,
Notes from them all I'll borrow.

Wake from thy nest, robin redbreast;
Sing, birds, in every furrow;

And from each hill let music shrill
Give my fair love good-morrow!
Blackbird and thrush in every bush,

Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow,
You pretty elves, amongst yourselves,
Sing my fair love good-morrow.
To give my love good-morrow,
Sing, birds, in every furrow.

THOMAS HEYWOOD.

M

ANNIE LAURIE

AXWELTON braes are bonnie

Where early fa's the dew,
And it's there that Annie Laurie
Gie'd me her promise true; -
Gie'd me her promise true,

Which ne'er forgot will be:
And for bonnie Annie Laurie
I'd lay me doune and dee.

Her brow is like the snaw-drift;
Her throat is like the swan;

Her face it is the fairest

That e'er the sun shone on;-
That e'er the sun shone on-
And dark-blue is her ee:
And for bonnie Annie Laurie
I'd lay me doune and dee.

Like dew on the gowan lying
Is the fa' o' her fairy feet;
Like the winds in summer sighing,
Her voice is low and sweet; -
Her voice is low and sweet,

And she's a' the world to me:

And for bonnie Annie Laurie

I'd lay me doune and dee.

WILLIAM DOUGLAS of Kirkcudbright.