Ever, evermore the while in a slow silence she kept smiling, While the silver tears ran faster down the blushing of her

cheeks;

Then with both her hands enfolding both of his, she softly

told him,

"Bertram, if I say I love thee,

speaks!"

'tis the vision only

Softened, quickened to adore her, on his knee he fell before

her

And she whispered low in triumph-" It shall be as I have

sworn !

Very rich he is in virtues,—very noble-noble, certes ; And I shall not blush in knowing that men call him lowly born!"

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

Bertha in the Lane.

PUT the broidery-frame away,

For my sewing is all done!

The last thread is used to-day,
And I need not join it on.
Though the clock stands at the noon,
I am weary! I have sewn,

Sweet, for thee, a wedding-gown.

Sister, help me to the bed,

And stand near me, dearest-sweet!

Do not shrink nor be afraid,

Blushing with a sudden heat!

No one standeth in the street ?—
By God's love I go to meet,
Love I thee with love complete.

Lean thy face down! drop it in

These two hands, that I may hold "Twixt their palms thy cheek and chin, Stroking back the curls of gold. 'Tis a fair, fair face, in soothLarger eyes and redder mouth Than mine were in my first youth!

Thou art younger by seven years—
Ah! so bashful at my gaze
That the lashes, hung with tears,
Grow too heavy to upraise?
I would wound thee by no touch
Which thy shyness feels as such—
Dost thou mind me, dear, so much?

Have I not been nigh a mother
To thy sweetness ?-tell me, dear,
Have we not loved one another
Tenderly, from year to year;
Since our dying mother mild
Said, with accents undefiled,
"Child, be mother to this child?"

Mother, mother, up in heaven,

Stand up on the jasper sea,

And be witness I have given

All the gifts required of me ;—

Hope that blessed me, bliss that crowned,

Love that left me with a wound,

Life itself, that turned around!

Mother, mother, thou art kind,

Thou art standing in the room,—

In a molten glory shrined,

That rays off into the gloom!

But thy smile is bright and bleak,
Like cold waves-I cannot speak ;
I sob in it, and grow weak.

Ghostly mother, keep aloof

One hour longer from my soul

For I still am thinking of

Earth's warm-beating joy and dole!

On my finger is a ring

Which I still see glittering,

When the night hides everything.

Little sister, thou art pale!

Ah, I have a wandering brain-
But I lose that fever bale,

And my thoughts grow calm again.
Lean down closer-closer still!
I have words thine ear to fill,-
And would kiss thee at my will.

Dear, I heard thee in the spring,

Thee and Robert-through the trees,—

When we all went gathering

Boughs of May-bloom for the bees.

Do not start so! think, instead,

How the sunshine overhead

Seemed to trickle through the shade.

What a day it was, that day!
Hills and vales did openly
Seem to heave and throb away,
At the sight of the great sky;
And the silence, as it stood
In the glory's golden flood,
Audibly did bud—and bud!

Through the winding hedgerows green, How we wandered, I and you,— With the bowery tops shut in,

And the gates that showed the view! How we talked there! thrushes soft Sang our pauses out,—or oft Bleatings took them, from the croft.

Till the pleasure, grown too strong,
Left me muter evermore;
And, the winding road being long,
I walked out of sight, before;
And so, wrapt in musings fond,
Issued (past the wayside pond)
On the meadow-lands beyond.

I sat down beneath the beech
Which leans over to the lane,
And the far sound of your speech
Did not promise any pain ;
And I blessed you full and free;
With a smile stooped tenderly
O'er the May-flowers on my knee.

But the sound grew into word

As the speakers drew more near—
Sweet, forgive me that I heard

What you wished me not to hear.
Do not weep so-do not shake-
Oh, I heard thee, Bertha, make
Good true answers for my sake.

Yes, and he too ! let him stand

In thy thoughts, untouched by blame. Could he help it, if my hand

He had claimed with hasty claim?

That was wrong perhaps—but then
Such things be--and will, again!
Women cannot judge for men.

Had he seen thee, when he swore
He would love but me alone?
Thou wert absent--sent before

To our kin in Sidmouth town.
When he saw thee, who art best,
Past compare, and loveliest,
He but judged thee as the rest.

Could we blame him with grave words,
Thou and I, dear, if we might?
Thy brown eyes have looks like birds
Flying straightway to the light;
Mine are older.-Hush !-look out-
Up the street! Is none without ?
How the poplar swings about!

And that hour-beneath the beech-
When I listened in a dream,
And he said, in his deep speech,
That he owed me all esteem-
Each word swam in on my brain
With a dim, dilating pain,

Till it burst with that last strain.

I fell flooded with a dark,

In the silence of a swoon;

When I rose, still, cold, and stark, There was night,-I saw the moon; And the stars, each in its place, And the May-blooms on the grass, Seemed to wonder what I was.