Her nose is straight and handsome, her | O lovely Mary Donnelly, your beauty's eyebrows lifted up, Her chin is very neat and pert, and smooth like a china cup, Her hair's the brag of Ireland, so weighty and so fine; It's rolling down upon her neck, and gathered in a twine. The dance o' last Whit-Monday night exceeded all before; No pretty girl for miles about was missing from the floor; But Mary kept the belt of love, and O, but she was gay! She danced a jig, she sung a song, that took my heart away. When she stood up for dancing, her steps were so complete The music nearly killed itself to listen to her feet; The fiddler moaned his blindness, he heard her so much praised, But blessed himself he wasn't deaf when once her voice she raised. And evermore I'm whistling or lilting what you sung, Your smile is always in my heart, your name beside my tongue; But you've as many sweethearts as you'd count on both your hands, And for myself there's not a thumb or little finger stands. O, you're the flower o' womankind in country or in town; The higher I exalt you, the lower I'm cast down. If some great lord should come this way, and see your beauty bright, And you to be his lady, I'd own it was but right. O, might we live together in a lofty palace hall, Where joyful music rises, and where scarlet curtains fall! O, might we live together in a cottage mean and small; With sods of grass the only roof, and mud the only wall! my distress; It's far too beauteous to be mine, but I'll never wish it less. The proudest place would fit your face, and I am poor and low; But blessings be about you, dear, whereever you may go! THE FAIRIES. Up the airy mountain, And white owl's feather! Down along the rocky shore Of the black mountain-lake, With frogs for their watch-dogs, All night awake. High on the hill-top He is now so old and gray From Slieveleague to Rosses; Or going up with music To sup with the queen Of the gay Northern Lights. They stole little Bridget For seven years long; When she came down again Her friends were all gone. They took her lightly back, Between the night and morrow; They thought that she was fast asleep, But she was dead with sorrow. [SON of Gabriel; born at London in 1828; educated at King's College. His love of art led him to found, in connection with Holman Hunt, Millais, and others, what is known as the "PreRaphaelite" school of painting; is widely known through his designs for illustrated works. His Early Italian Poets, a volume of translations, appeared in 1861. Dante and his Circle, in 1874, a revised edition of the preceding; and a volume of Poems in 1870. As a poet he is associated with that school of latter-day singers of which Morris and Swinburne are also notable members. Died April 9, 1882.] THE SEA-LIMITS. CONSIDER the sea's listless chime: Is the sea's end: our sight may pass No quiet, which is death's, - it hath As the world's heart of rest and wrath, Listen alone among the woods; Hark where the murmurs of thronged men Surge and sink back and surge again, Still the one voice of wave and tree. Gather a shell from the strown beach MARY MAGDALENE AT THE DOOR OF SIMON THE PHARISEE. "WHY wilt thou cast the roses from thine hair? Nay, be thou all a rose, - wreath, lips, and cheek. Nay, not this house, - that banquer- See how they kiss and enter; come Till at our ear love's whispering night What, sweet one, - hold'st thou still | It lies in heaven, across the flood the foolish freak? Nay, when I kiss thy feet they'll leave the stair." "Oh loose me! See'st thou not my Bridegroom's face That draws me to Him? For His feet my kiss, My hair, my tears He craves today: and oh! What words can tell what other day and place Shall see me clasp those blood-stained feet of His? He needs me, calls me, loves me: let me go!" THE BLESSED DAMOZEL. THE blessed damozel leaned out And the stars in her hair were seven. Her robe, ungirt from clasp to hem, But a white rose of Mary's gift, Herseemed she scarce had been a day. It was the rampart of God's house By God built over the sheer depth The which is space begun; So high, that looking downward thence She scarce could see the sun. Of ether, as a bridge. Beneath, the tides of day and night With flame and darkness ridge The void, as low as where this earth Spins like a fretful midge. CHRISTINA GEORGİNA RÖSSETTİ. 591 CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI. 1830-1894 [DAUGHTER of Gabriele Rossetti, and sister of D. G. Rossetti; born at London, Dec. 5, 1830. Author of Goblin Market and Other Poems, 1862; The Prince's Progress and Other Poems, 1866; Commonplace and Other Short Stories in Prose, 1870; Sing Song, A Nursery Rhyme Book, 1872; Speaking Likenesses, 1874; Annus Domini, a Prayer for every day in the year, 1874; A Pageant and Other Poems, 1881; Called to be Saints, 1881. Died 1894.] % * Lo, I have brought my gift, my lord, "Here's my half of the golden chain "Here's my half of the faded leaves He strove to match her scorn with scorn, " Lady," he said, "Maude Clare," he said, "Maude Clare:" - and hid his face. Shall I meet other wayfarers at night? [DAUGHTER of Mr. Wm. Ingelow, late of Ipswich, Suffolk; born about 1830. Her first vol. ume of poems came out in 1863, and five years afterwards A Story of Doom and Other Poems appeared. Miss Ingelow's other published works have been in prose, viz.: Studies for Stories, 1864; Stories told to a Child; Mopsa, the Fairy, 1869; Off the Skelligs, 1873; Fated to be Free, 1875; Sarah de Berenger, 1880; Don John, 1883. Her poems have obtained a remark. able degree of popularity, both in this country and in England.] THE COMING IN OF THE "MERMAIDEN." THE moon is bleached as white as wool, Some with their heart-hunger sighed, And just dropping under; Every star is gone but three, And they hang far asunder There's a sea-ghost all in gray, I am not satisfied with sleep, A vessel! To the old pier end She's in-and they are sleeping. O! now with fancied greetings blest, The stars are gone, the rose-bloom comes No blush of maid is sweeter; |