There was comfort ever on your lip, I thank you for the patient smile, I bless you for the pleasant word, When your They say there's bread and work for all, And often in those grand old woods And I'll think I see the little stile Where we sat side by side, And the springin' corn, and the bright May morn When first you were my bride. LADY DUFFERIN. THE BRAES OF YARROW "BUSK ye, busk ye, my bonnie, bonnie bride! "Where gat ye that bonnie, bonnie bride, 16 Where gat ye that winsome marrow ? I gat her where I daur na weel be seen, "Weep not, weep not, my bonnie, bonnie bride, Nor let thy heart lament to leave Pu'ing the birks on the braes of Yarrow." "Why does she weep, thy bonnie, bonnie bride ? Why does she weep, thy winsome marrow ? And why daur ye nae mair weel be seen Pu'ing the birks on the braes of Yarrow ?" 'Lang maun she weep, lang maun she, maun she weep- "For she has tint her luver, luver dear That e'er pu'd birks on the braes of Yarrow. Hung on the bonnie birks of Yarrow ? "What's yonder floats upo' the rueful, rueful flude ? - Upo' the dulefu' braes of Yarrow. "Wash, oh, wash his wounds, his wounds in tears, His wounds in tears, wi' dule and sorrow; And wrap his limbs in mourning weeds, And lay him on the braes of Yarrow. "Then build, then build, ye sisters, ye sisters sad, Ye sisters sad, his tomb wi' sorrow; And weep around, in waeful wise, His hapless fate on the braes of Yarrow ! "Curse ye, curse ye, his useless, useless shield, His comely breast, on the braes of Yarrow ! Thou met'st, and fell on the braes of Yarrow. "Sweet smells the birk; green grows, green grows the grass; Yellow on Yarrow's banks the gowan; Fair hangs the apple frae the rock; Sweet the wave of Yarrow flowin'! "Flows Yarrow sweet? As sweet, as sweet flows Tweed; As green its grass; its gowan as yellow; As sweet smells on its braes the birk; "Fair was thy luve ! fair, fair indeed thy luve ! "Busk ye, then, busk, my bonnie, bonnie bride! "How can I busk a bonnie, bonnie bride ? My luve, as he had not been a luver. "The boy put on his robes, his robes of green, "The boy took out his milk-white, milk-white steed, Unmindful of my dule and sorrow; But ere the toofa' of the night, He lay a corpse on the braes of Yarrow ! "What can my barbarous, barbarous father do, My luver's blood is on thy spear How canst thou, barbarous man, then woo me? "My happy sisters may be, may be proud; With cruel and ungentle scoffin' May bid me seek, on Yarrow's braes, My luver nailed in his coffin. My brother Douglas may upbraid, upbraid, And strive with threatening words to muve me ; My luver's blood is on thy spear How canst thou ever bid me luve thee? Yes, yes, prepare the bed, the bed of luve ! Unbar, ye bridal-maids, the door! Let in the expected husband-lover! "But who the expected husband, husband is ? His hands, methinks, are bathed in slaughter! Ah me! what ghastly spectre's yon Comes in his pale shroud, bleeding after ? "Pale as he is, here lay him, lay him down ; And crown my rueful head with willow. "Pale though thou art, yet best, yet best beluved, No youth lay ever there before thee! "Pale, pale indeed, O luvely, luvely youth! Forgive, forgive so foul a slaughter, And lie all night within my arms, No youth shall ever lie there after!" “Return, return, O mournful, mournful bride! Return, and dry thy useless sorrow! Thy luver heeds none of thy sighs; He lies a corpse on the braes of Yarrow." WILLIAM HAMILTON. SHE AND HE "SHE is dead!" they said to him. "Come away; Kiss her! and leave her! thy love is clay !” They smoothed her tresses of dark brown hair; Over her eyes, which gazed too much, up With a tender touch they closed well And drew on her white feet her white silk shoes; And over her bosom they crossed her hands; And jasmine, and roses, and rosemary; And they held their breath as they left the room, He lit his lamp, and took the key, And turn'd it! Alone again he and she! He and she; but she would not speak, Though he kiss'd, in the old place, the quiet cheek; He and she; yet she would not smile, Though he called her the name that was fondest erewhile. He and she; and she did not move To any one passionate whisper of love! Then he said, "Cold lips! and breast without breath! Is there no voice? no language of death "Dumb to the ear and still to the sense, But to heart and soul distinct — intense? See, now, I listen with soul, not ear— "Was the miracle greatest to find how deep, "Oh, perfect Dead! oh, Dead, most dear, "You should not ask vainly, with streaming eyes, |