"Underneath the old oak-trees

With green chaplets I would crown him; Do him dearer courtesies

Than a queen could smile upon him For his famous victories;

"While my noble knight would tell Hard adventures, wild and daring; How the wizard-robber fell,

And the flames, the midnight scaring, Shot up from his citadel;

"How the potent Fairy King

Was his Genius and his leaguer; Of the wondrous Horn and Ring; And the Goblet, to lips eager With wine gushing, like a spring;

"How he passed through forests old,
Haunts of drear, mysterious dangers,
Where the Giants have their hold,
And the scaly Dragon-rangers
Guard enchanted heaps of gold;

"How the Hush! what strains are those?

Some enchantment o'er me creeping?"

Soft and slow her eyelids close

She droops sideways-she is sleeping,

While the music ebbs and flows;

Sleeping, cheek upon her arm,

Her unknotted hair loose straying;

Naught can fall to her of harm

With the placid moonlight playing On her eyelids like a charm.

Lo, a thousand merry sprites,
Their lithe bodies sparkling, flashing,
Shower of animated lights,

Like the crystal rain a dashing
Wind from frosty branches smites;

To the small, sweet, tinkling sound'
Merrily skip, dance, and hover,
Singing this fantastic round:

"Happy and free,
Merrily we

Flit through the dells,
Sleep in the cells

Of flower-cups and bells.
Zephyr and Moonlight

Know where we bide,
Hidden from noonlight,

Snugly we hide!

Zephyr, Moonlight, never tell

Where the Fairy people dwell!"

Tu whit, tu whoo! tu whit, tu whoo! Sleep and Fairies fly together. From the grove glides Helen, too,

Slowly, slowly, wondering whether It was all a dream, or true.

BOKER.

DIRGE FOR A SOLDIER.

CLOSE his eyes-his work is done;
What to him is friend or foeman,
Rise of moon, or set of sun,

Hand of man, or kiss of woman?
Lay him low, lay him low,

In the clover or the snow;

What cares he? he cannot know:
Lay him low.

As man may, he fought his fight-
Proved his truth by his endeavour;
Let him sleep in solemn night,

Sleep forever and forever.

Lay him low, lay him low,

In the clover or the snow;

What cares he? he cannot know:
Lay him low.

Fold him in his country's Stars,
Roll the drum and fire the volley;
What to him are all our wars-
What but Death bemocking Folly?
Lay him low, lay him low,
In the clover or the snow;
What cares he? he cannot know:
Lay him low.

Leave him to God's watching eye,

Trust him to the hand that made him.
Mortal love weeps idly by-

God alone has power to aid him.

Lay him low, lay him low,

In the clover or the snow;

What cares he? he cannot know:
Lay him low.

SONNET.

NAY, not to thee-to Nature will I tie

The gather'd blame of every pettish mood;

And when thou frown'st, I'll frown upon the wood, Saying, "How wide its gloomy shadows lie!" Or, gazing straight into the day's bright eye, Predict ere night a second fatal flood; Or vow the poet's sullen solitude Has changed my vision to a darksome dye. But when thou smil'st, I'll not look above

To wood or sky; my hand I will not lay Upon the temple of my sacred love,

To blame its living fires with base decay; But whisper to thee, as I nearer move, "Love, thou dost add another light to day."