AT THE CONVENT GATE WISTARIA blossoms trail and fall Above the length of barrier wall And softly, now and then, The shy, staid-breasted doves will flit From roof to gateway-top, and sit And watch the ways of men. The gate's ajar. If one might peep! The grave, gray-hooded Sisters go, Look, there is one that tells her beads And see, beside the well, the two Not beautiful-not all! But each With that mild grace, outlying speech, Which comes of even mood;— The Veil unseen that women wear "A placid life—a peaceful life! What worthier-e'en your arts among- "No worthier task!" re-echoes She, Who (closelier clinging) turns with me To face the road again : —And yet, in that warm heart of hers, She means the doves', for she prefers To "watch the ways of men." THE MILKMAID A NEW SONG TO AN OLD TUNE ACROSS the grass I see her pass; She comes with tripping pace, A maid I know, and March winds blow Her hair across her face ; With a hey, Dolly! ho, Dolly! Dolly shall be mine, Before the spray is white with May, The March winds blow. I watch her go: Her eye is brown and clear; Her cheek is brown, and soft as down, (To those who see it near !)— With a hey, Dolly! ho, Dolly! Dolly shall be mine, Before the spray is white with May, What has she not that those have got,— The dames that walk in silk! If she undo her 'kerchief blue, With a hey, Dolly! ho, Dolly! Before the spray is white with May, Let those who will be proud and chill! For me, from June to June, My Dolly's words are sweet as curds— Her laugh is like a tune ; With a hey, Dolly! ho, Dolly! Dolly shall be mine, Before the spray is white with May, Break, break to hear, O crocus-spear! There'll be a bride at Easter-tide, And Dolly is her name. With a hey, Dolly! ho, Dolly! Dolly shall be mine, Before the spray is white with May, ✔ AN OLD FISH POND GREEN growths of mosses drop and bead Around the granite brink; And 'twixt the isles of water-weed The wood-birds dip and drink. Slow efts about the edges sleep; Shoot on the surface; down the deep Look down. What groves that scarcely sway! What jungle!—where some beast of prey Who knows what lurks beneath the tide ?——— Who knows what tale? Belike, Those "antres vast" and shadows hide Some patriarchal Pike;- Some tough old tyrant, wrinkle-jawed, Have but for aim to look on awed And see him wax in girth ; |