I have left a good woman who never was here,
The stranger he made reply.

But that my draught should be better for that
I pray you answer me why.

St. Keyne, quoth the countryman, many a time
Drank of this crystal well,

And before the Angel summoned her
She laid on the water a spell.

If the husband of this gifted Well
Shall drink before his wife,
A happy man thenceforth is he

For he shall be master for life.

But if the wife should drink of it first
God help the husband then!

The stranger stoopt to the Well of St. Keyne,
And drank of the waters again.

You drank of the Well I warrant betimes?

He to the countryman said.

But the countryman smil'd as the stranger spake, And sheepishly shook his head.

I hasten'd as soon as the wedding was done
And left my wife in the porch.

But i'faith she had been wiser than me,

For she took a bottle to church.

R. S. Y.

THE SEAS.

I.

When Ormuz bade the flooded earth be dry
And for the waters scoop'd their final home,
O'er each abyss Ferouers of the sky

Took charge, lest once again the surges roam.
On trembling Kaf reposed the throne of flame
While the four Spirits wait their destined brides to claim.

II.

The giant sovereign of the Peaceful Main
Arose majestic as his silent flood;

Then Ormuz beckoned from the immortal train
The goddess Pleasure, and her hand bestowed.
Swift to the sea in swimming dance she fled
And softer-curling billows kist her sparkling tread.

III.

The indented shore with airy haste she sought,
To arch the musky wood and roseate bower;
The nightingale from wavering boughs she taught
The warbled luxury of song to pour ;

Love uncontroul'd thro' her warm empire roves
From Ind's voluptuous banks to Otaheite's groves.

IV.

The humbler Spirit of the Midland Sea

Now bent before the throne his graceful head. Fair Taste approach'd; the youth arose with glee Gazed and with transport seiz'd the laurell'd Maid. In his pure wave she bathed her willing feet, And round its myrtled brink rear'd many a hallow'd seat.

V.

Soon on the shore she cast a dwelling eye
Where Inspiration o'er Idumean palms
First learnt to wave his seraph-wing on high;
Thence wandered statelier to Natolian realms,
Where with the lightning of empyreal frame

Her Homer's tongue she steep'd in unrekindled flame.

VI.

Slow is her lingering way from Greece, averse, Till not a winding bay or shaded cape Remains unwatered with the dew of verse. Twice to Hesperia's coast she bent her step, And saw with rapture o'er its olived height The fore-world's crimson eve, the dawn of modern light.

VII.

The Baltic Genius then with sounding stride
Advancing, bow'd before the Lord of power;
Received stern Valor for his blooming bride

And to his amber'd strand the Virgin bore.
The steel-clad Goddess loud her love confest,
Play'd with his icy beard, and clasp'd his rugged breast.

VIII.

He who the wide Atlantic Ocean binds

Now upwards turn'd a trembling hoping eye, His prayer great Ormuz cast not to the winds But gave his last best gift, dear Liberty. Rich tears of joy the exulting Spirit shed

And bore the zoneless nymph triumphant to his bed.