For our gentle child will weep,

If the theme be dark and deep;

And we will not draw a single, single tear,
Mother dear!

Childhood should be all divine,

Mother dear!

And like an endless summer shine;
Gay as Edward's shouts and cries,
Bright as Agnes' azure eyes:

Therefore bid thy song be merry;—dost thou hear,
Mother dear?

*

• 26.

Barry Cornwall

MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS.

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here;
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer;
Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe,
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.
Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North,
The birthplace of valor, the country of worth;
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,
The hills of the Highlands forever I love.
Farewell to the mountains high covered with snow;
Farewell to the straths and green valley below;
Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods;
Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods.
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here,
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer;
Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe,
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.

Robert Burns.

*27*

THE WIND AND THE MOON.

Said the Wind to the Moon, "I will blow you out.

You stare

In the air

Like a ghost in a chair,

Always looking what I am about.

I hate to be watched; I will blow you out."

The wind blew hard, and out went the Moon.

So, deep
On a heap

Of cloudless sleep,

Down lay the Wind, and slumbered soon-
Muttering low-"I've done for that Moon."

He turned in his bed; she was there again!
On high
In the sky

With her ghost eye,

The Moon shone white and alive and plain;
Said the Wind-" I will blow you out again."

The Wind blew hard, and the Moon grew dim. "With my sledge

And

my wedge

I have knocked off her edge.

If only I blow right fierce and grim

The creature will soon be dimmer than dim."

He blew, and he blew, and she thinned to a thread.

"One puff
More's enough

To blow her to snuff!

One good puff more where the last was bred,

And glimmer, glum will go the thread."

He blew a great blast and the thread was gone;

In the air
Nowhere

Was a moonbeam bare;

Far off and harmless the sky-stars shone;
Sure and certain the Moon was gone!

The Wind took to his revels once more

On down,

In town,

Like a merry-mad clown,

He leaped and halloed with whistle and roar.

"What's that?" The glimmering thread one more

He flew in a rage-he danced and blew;

But in vain

Was the pain

Of his bursting brain;

For still broader the moon-scrap grew,

The broader he swelled his big cheeks, and blew.

Slowly she grew-till she filled the night
And shone

On her throne

In the sky alone,

A matchless, wonderful, silvery light,
Radiant and lovely, the queen of the night.

Said the Wind: "What a marvel of power am I !
With my breath,

Good faith,

I blew her to death

First blew her away right out of the sky-
Then blew her in; what strength am I!”

But the Moon knew nothing about the affair;

For high

In the sky

With her one white eye,

Motionless miles above the air,

She had never heard the great Wind blare.

George MacDonald

once !

* *28*

THE FAIRIES.

Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,
We daren't go a-hunting
For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk,
Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,

And white owl's feather.

Down along the rocky shore
Some make their home;
They live on crispy pancakes
Of yellow tide-foam;
Some in the reeds

Of the black mountain lake, With frogs for their watch-dogs, All night awake.

High on the hill-top
The old king sits;

He is now so old and grey
He's nigh lost his wits.
With a bridge of white mist

Columbkill he crosses,

On his stately journeys

From Slieveleague to Rosses;

Or going up with music

On cold starry nights,

To sup with the queen

Of the gay Northern Lights.

They stole little Bridget
For seven years long;
When she came down again,
Her friends were all gone.
They took her lightly back,

Leave the deer, leave the steer,
Leave nets and barges;
Come with your fighting gear,
Broadswords and targes.

Come as the winds come, when
Forests are rended;

Come as the waves come, when
Navies are stranded.
Faster come, faster come,
Faster and faster-

Chief, vassal, page and groom,
Tenant and master!

Fast they come, fast they come—
See how they gather!
Wide waves the eagle-plume,
Blended with heather.

Cast your plaids, draw your blades,
Forward each man set!

Pibroch of Donuil Dhu,

Knell for the onset!

Sir Walter Scott.

*

37*

LADY MOON.

Lady Moon, Lady Moon, where are you roving?
Over the sea.

Lady Moon, Lady Moon, whom are you loving?
All who love me.

Are you not tired with rolling, and never
Resting to sleep?

Why look so pale, and so sad, as forever

Wishing to weep

?

Ask me not this, little child, if you love me;

You are too bold;