With a hey, Dolly! ho, Dolly!
Dolly shall be mine,

Before the spray is white with May,
Or blooms the eglantine.

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,
Or blooms the eglantine.

Break, break to hear, O crocus-spear!
O tall Lent-lilies flame!
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,
Or blooms the eglantine.

GE

AN OLD FISH POND

REEN 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;
Swift-darting water-flies

Shoot on the surface; down the deep
Fast-following bubbles rise.

Look down. What groves that scarcely sway!
What "wood obscure," profound!
What jungle!-where some beast of prey

Might choose his vantage-ground!

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,
To whom the sky, the earth,

Have but for aim to look on awed

And see him wax in girth ;

Hard ruler there by right of might;
An ageless Autocrat,

Whose "good old rule" is "Appetite,
And subjects fresh and fat; "—

While they poor souls!-in wan despair
Still watch for signs in him;
And dying, hand from heir to heir
The day undawned and dim,

When the pond's terror too must go;
Or creeping in by stealth,

Some bolder brood, with common blow,
Shall found a Commonwealth.

Or say, perchance the liker this!-
That these themselves are gone;
That Amurath in minimis,-

Still hungry, lingers on,

With dwindling trunk and wolfish jaw

Revolving sullen things,

But most the blind unequal law
That rules the food of Kings ;-

The blot that makes the cosmic All
A mere time-honoured cheat ;-
That bids the Great to eat the Small,
Yet lack the Small to eat!

Who knows! Meanwhile the mosses bead
Around the granite brink;

And 'twixt the isles of water-weed
The wood-birds dip and drink.

AN EASTERN APOLOGUE

(TO E. H. P.)

MELIK the Sultán, tired and wan,

Nodded at noon on his diván.

Beside the fountain lingered near
JAMIL the bard, and the vizier-

Old Yusuf, sour and hard to please; Then JAMÍL sang, in words like these.

Slim is Butheina-slim is she
As boughs of the Aráka tree!

"Nay," quoth the other, teeth between, "Lean, if you will,-I call her lean."

Sweet is Butheina-sweet as wine,
With smiles that like red bubbles shine!

"True, by the Prophet!" YUSUF said. "She makes men wander in the head!"