My father argued sair: my mither didna speak; But she looked in my face till my heart was like to break:

They gie'd him my hand, tho' my heart was at the

sea;

And auld Robin Gray is gudeman to me.

I hadna been a wife a week but only four,
When mournfu' as I sat on the stane at the door,
I saw my Jamie's ghaist-I couldna think it he
Till he said, "I'm come hame, my love, to marry thee."

Oh, sair did we greet, and mickle did we say;
We took but ae kiss, and we tore ourselves away:
I wish that I were dead, but I'm no like to dee;
Oh, why do I live to say, Oh, wae's me!

I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin;
I darena think o' Jamie, for that wad be a sin.
But I'll do my best a gude wife aye to be;
For auld Robin Gray is a kind man to me.

LADY ANNE LINDSAY.

A PLACE IN THY MEMORY.

A PLACE in thy memory, dearest,

Is all that I claim;

pause and look back when thou hearest The sound of my name.

Another may woo thee nearer,
Another may win and wear;

To

never may see,

As a sister remembers a brother,
Oh, dearest! remember me.

Could I be thy true lover, dearest,
Could'st thou smile on me,

I would be the fondest and nearest
That ever loved thee!

But a cloud on my pathway is glooming,
That never must burst upon thine;
And Heaven, that made thee all blooming,
Ne'er made thee to wither on mine.

Remember me, then-oh, remember
My calm, light, pure love;
Though bleak as the blasts of November
My life may prove,

99

That life will, though lonely, be sweet,

If its brightest enjoyment should be
A smile and kind word when we meet,
And a place in thy memory.

GERALD GRIFFIN.

LOVE'S FAREWELL.

SINCE there's no help, come let us kiss and part,—
Nay I have done, you get no more of me;
And I am glad, yea glad with all my heart,
That thus so cleanly I myself can free;

Shake hands forever, cancel all our vows
And when we meet at any time again,
Be it not seen in either of our brows

That we one jot of former love retain

Now at the last gasp of love's latest breath,

When his pulse failing, passion speechless lies, When faith is kneeling by his bed of death, And innocence is closing up his eyes,

--Now if thou would'st, when all have given him

over,

From death to life thou might'st him yet recover!

MICHAEL DRAYTON.

THE WANDERER.

(Rondel.)

LOVE comes back to his vacant dwelling,-
The old, old Love that we knew of yore!

We see him stand by the open door,
With his great eyes sad, and his bosom swelling.

He makes as though in our arms repelling,
He fain would lie as he lay before ;-
Love comes back to his vacant dwelling,—
The old, old Love that we knew of yore!

Ah, who shall help us from over-telling
That sweet forgotten, forbidden lore!
E'en as we doubt in our heart once more,
With a rush of tears to our eyelids welling,
Love comes back to his vacant dwelling.

AUSTIN DOBSON.

LOVE NOT.

LOVE not, love not! ye hapless sons of clay! Hope's gayest wreaths are made of earthly flow

ers

Things that are made to fade and fall away

Ere they have blossom'd for a few short hours. Love not!

Love not! the thing ye love may change!
The rosy lip may cease to smile on you,
The kindly-beaming eye grow cold and strange,
The heart still warmly beat, yet not be true.
Love not!

Love not! the thing you love may die

May perish from the gay and gladsome earth,