MY LOVE.

Not as all other women are Is she that to my soul is dear; Her glorious fancies come from far, Beneath the silver evening star, And yet her heart is ever near.

Great feelings hath she of her own, Which lesser souls may never know; G.o.d giveth them to her alone, And sweet they are as any tone Wherewith the wind may choose to blow.

She is most fair, and thereunto Her life doth rightly harmonize; Feeling or thought that was not true Ne'er made less beautiful the blue Unclouded heaven of her eyes.

She is a woman: one in whom The springtime of her childish years Hath never lost its fresh perfume, Though knowing well that life hath room For many blights and many tears.

I love her with a love as still As a broad river's peaceful might, Which, by high tower and lowly mill, Seems wandering its own wayward will, And yet doth ever flow aright.

And, on its full, deep breast serene, Like quiet isles my duties lie; It flows around them and between, And makes them fresh and fair and green, Sweet homes wherein to live and die.

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

NORA'S VOW.

Hear what Highland Nora said,-- "The Earlie's son I will not wed, Should all the race of nature die, And none be left but he and I.

For all the gold, for all the gear, And all the lands both far and near, That ever valor lost or won, I would not wed the Earlie's son."

"A maiden's vows," old Callum spoke, "Are lightly made, and lightly broke; The heather on the mountain's height Begins to bloom in purple light; The frost wind soon shall sweep away That l.u.s.ter deep from glen and brae; Yet Nora, ere its bloom be gone, May blithely wed the Earlie's son."--

"The swan," she said, "the lake's clear breast May barter for the eagle's nest; The Awe's fierce stream may backward turn, Ben-Cruaichan fall, and crush Kilchurn; Our kilted clans, when blood is high, Before their foes may turn and fly; But I, were all these marvels done, Would never wed the Earlie's son."

Still in the water lily's shade Her wonted nest the wild swan made; Ben-Cruaichan stands as fast as ever, Still downward foams the Awe's fierce river; To shun the clash of foeman's steel, No Highland brogue has turned the heel: But Nora's heart is lost and won, --She's wedded to the Earlie's son!

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

SONG.

Who is Silvia? what is she, That all our swains commend her?

Holy, fair and wise is she; The heaven such grace did lend her That she might admired be.

Is she kind, as she is fair?

For beauty lives with kindness.

Love doth to her eyes repair, To help him of his blindness; And, being helped, inhabits there.

Then to Silvia let us sing, That Silvia is excelling; She excels each mortal thing Upon the dull earth dwelling; To her let us garlands bring.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

_From "The Two Gentlemen of Verona."_

[Ill.u.s.tration: SILVIA.]

THE OUTLAW.

O Brignall banks are wild and fair, And Greta woods are green, And you may gather garlands there Would grace a summer queen.

And as I rode by Dalton Hall Beneath the turrets high, A maiden on the castle wall Was singing merrily,-- "O, Brignall banks are fresh and fair, And Greta woods are green; I'd rather rove with Edmund there, Than reign our English queen."

--"If, maiden, thou wouldst wend with me, To leave both tower and town, Thou first must guess what life lead we, That dwell by dale and down.

And if thou canst that riddle read, As read full well you may, Then to the greenwood shalt thou speed As blithe as Queen of May."

Yet sung she, "Brignall banks are fair, And Greta woods are green; I'd rather rove with Edmund there, Than reign our English queen.

"I read you by your bugle horn And by your palfrey good, I read for you a ranger sworn, To keep the king's greenwood."

--"A ranger, lady, winds his horn, And 'tis at peep of light; His blast is heard at merry morn, And mine at dead of night."

Yet sung she, "Brignall banks are fair, And Greta woods are gay; I would I were with Edmund there, To reign his Queen of May!

"With burnished brand and musketoon, So gallantly you come, I read you for a bold dragoon That lists the tuck of drum."

--"I list no more the tuck of drum, No more the trumpet hear; But when the beetle sounds his hum, My comrades take the spear.

And O! though Brignall banks be fair And Greta woods be gay, Yet mickle must the maiden dare, Would reign my Queen of May!

"Maiden! a nameless life I lead, A nameless death I'll die!

The fiend, whose lantern lights the mead Were better mate than I!

And when I'm with my comrades met Beneath the greenwood bough, What once we were we all forget, Nor think what we are now.

Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair, And Greta woods are green, And you may gather garlands there Would grace a summer queen."

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

_From "Rokeby."_

OH, WERT THOU IN THE CAULD BLAST.

Oh, wert thou in the cauld blast, On yonder lea, on yonder lea, My plaidie to the angry airt, I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee: Or did misfortune's bitter storms Around thee blaw, around thee blaw, Thy bield should be my bosom, To share it a', to share it a'.

Or were I in the wildest waste, Sae black and bare, sae black and bare, The desert were a paradise, If thou wert there, if thou wert there: Or were I monarch o' the globe, Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign, The brightest jewel in my crown Wad be my queen, wad be my queen.

ROBERT BURNS.