TO A GREEK GIRL.

(AFTER A WEEK OF LANDOR'S " HELLENICS.")

WITH breath of thyme and bees that hum,

Across the years you seem to come,

Across the years with nymph-like head,

And wind-blown brows unfilleted;

A girlish shape that slips the bud
In lines of unspoiled symmetry;
A girlish shape that stirs the blood

With pulse of Spring, Autonoë!

Where'er you pass,-where'er you go,

I hear the pebbly rillet flow;

Where'er you go,-where'er you pass,
There comes a gladness on the grass;

You bring blithe airs where'er you tread,—
Blithe airs that blow from down and sea;

You wake in me a Pan not dead,—

Not wholly dead!—Autonoë!

How sweet with you on some green sod

To wreathe the rustic garden-god;

How sweet beneath the chestnut's shade

With you to weave a basket-braid;

To watch across the stricken chords

Your rosy-twinkling fingers flee;

To woo you in soft woodland words,

With woodland pipe, Autonoë!

In vain,-in vain! The years divide:

Where Thamis rolls a murky tide,

I sit and fill my painful reams,

And see you only in my dreams ;—

A vision, like Alcestis, brought

From under-lands of Memory,

A dream of Form in days of Thought, A dream,-a dream, Autonoë!

H

"POOR MISS TO X."

It was an ancient Shepherdess,
Forlorn amid the flocks;

The tears she shed for loneliness
Would melt the hardest rocks.

IN Dickens 'twas "Princess's Place," But here 'tis "Maiden Row,"

And yet 'tis still the self-same face,

The self-same air I know:

'Tis true the name is plainly " Brown,"

'Tis true the flowers are "stocks,"

Aud yet I'd wager half-a-crown

That you are "poor Miss Tox!"

There can't, of course, be more than one;

The cases must be rare

Of maidens left to nurse alone (UNIVE

Dyspepsia and Despair;

Ah no;

CALIFY NA

that gown of youthful make,

Those tresses dark as Nox,'

Those arching brows,-I can't mistake,

You must be "poor Miss Tox!"

And then your daily ways:-I know

Exactly when you dust

The two old candlesticks of Bow

And good John Wesley's bust;

Exactly as your tea is spread

I set my pair of clocks;

(You take your morning meal in bed,

I fear-my "poor Miss Tox!")