I held him wise, and when he talked to me Of snakes and birds, and which G.o.d loved the best, I thought his knowledge marked the boundary Where men grew blind, though angels knew the rest.

If he said "Hush!" I tried to hold my breath; Wherever he said "Come!" I stepped in faith.

II

Long years have left their writing on my brow, But yet the freshness and the dew-fed beam Of those young mornings are about me now, When we two wandered toward the far-off stream With rod and line. Our basket held a store Baked for us only, and I thought with joy That I should have my share, though he had more, Because he was the elder and a boy.

The firmaments of daisies since to me Have had those mornings in their opening eyes, The bunched cowslip's pale transparency Carries that sunshine of sweet memories,

And wild-rose branches take their finest scent From those blest hours of infantine content.

III

Our mother bade us keep the trodden ways, Stroked down my tippet, set my brother's frill, Then with the benediction of her gaze Clung to us lessening, and pursued us still

Across the homestead to the rookery elms, Whose tall old trunks had each a gra.s.sy mound, So rich for us, we counted them as realms With varied products: here were earth-nuts found,

And here the Lady-fingers in deep shade; Here sloping toward the Moat the rushes grew, The large to split for pith, the small to braid; While over all the dark rooks cawing flew, And made a happy strange solemnity, A deep-toned chant from life unknown to me.

IX

We had the selfsame world enlarged for each By loving difference of girl and boy: The fruit that hung on high beyond my reach He plucked for me, and oft he must employ

A measuring glance to guide my tiny shoe Where lay firm stepping-stones, or call to mind "This thing I like my sister may not do, For she is little, and I must be kind."

Thus boyish Will the n.o.bler mastery learned Where inward vision over impulse reigns, Widening its life with separate life discerned, A Like unlike, a Self that self restrains.

His years with others must the sweeter be For those brief days he spent in loving me.

GEORGE ELIOT.

_Home_

O Falmouth is a fine town with ships in the bay, And I wish from my heart it's there I was to-day; I wish from my heart I was far away from here, Sitting in my parlour and talking to my dear.

For it's home, dearie, home--it's home I want to be.

Our topsails are hoisted, and we'll away to sea.

O the oak and the ash and the bonnie birken tree They're all growing green in the old countree.

In Baltimore a-walking a lady I did meet With her babe on her arm as she came down the street; And I thought how I sailed, and the cradle standing ready For the pretty little babe that has never seen its daddie.

And it's home, dearie, home,--

O, if it be a la.s.s, she shall wear a golden ring; And if it be a lad, he shall fight for his king; With his dirk and his hat and his little jacket blue He shall walk the quarter-deck as his daddie used to do.

And it's home, dearie, home,--

O, there's a wind a-blowing, a-blowing from the west, And that of all the winds is the one I like the best, For it blows at our backs, and it shakes our pennon free, And it soon will blow us home to the old countree.

For it's home, dearie, home--it's home I want to be.

Our topsails are hoisted, and we'll away to sea.

O the oak and the ash and the bonnie birken tree They're all growing green in the old countree.

WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY.

_Love Will Find Out the Way_

Over the mountains And over the waves, Under the fountains And under the graves; Under floods that are deepest, Which Neptune obey, Over rocks that are steepest, Love will find out the way.

Where there is no place For the glow-worm to lie, Where there is no s.p.a.ce For receipt of a fly; Where the midge dares not venture Lest herself fast she lay, If Love come, he will enter And will find out the way.

OLD ENGLISH.

_The Sailor's Wife_

And are ye sure the news is true?

And are ye sure he's weel?

Is this a time to think o' wark?

Ye jades, lay by your wheel; Is this the time to spin a thread.

When Colin's at the door?

Reach down my cloak, I'll to the quay, And see him come ash.o.r.e.

For there's nae luck about the house, There's nae luck at a'; There's little pleasure in the house When our gudeman's awa.

And gie to me my bigonet, My bishop's satin gown; For I maun tell the baillie's wife That Colin's in the town.

My Turkey slippers maun gae on, My stockins pearly blue; It's a' to pleasure our gudeman, For he's baith leal and true.

Rise, la.s.s, and mak a clean fireside, Put on the muckle pot; Gie little Kate her b.u.t.ton gown And Jock his Sunday coat; And mak their shoon as black as slaes, Their hose as white as snaw; It's a' to please my ain gudeman, For he's been long awa.

There's twa fat hens upo' the coop Been fed this month and mair; Mak haste and thraw their necks about, That Colin weel may fare; And spread the table neat and clean, Gar ilka thing look braw, For wha can tell how Colin fared When he was far awa?

Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech, His breath like caller air; His very foot has music in't As he comes up the stair.

And will I see his face again?

And will I hear him speak?

I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought, In troth I'm like to greet!

If Colin's weel, and weel content, I hae nae mair to crave; And gin I live to keep him sae, I'm blest aboon the lave: And will I see his face again?

And will I hear him speak?

I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought, In troth I'm like to greet.

For there's nae luck about the house, There's nae luck at a'; There's little pleasure in the house When our gudeman's awa.

WILLIAM J. MICKLE.