"The morn is merry June, I trow―

The rose is budding fain;

But she shall bloom in winter snow

Ere we two meet again."

He turned his charger as he spake
Upon the river shore;

He gave his bridle-rein a shake,

Said, "Adieu for evermore,

My love!

And adieu for evermore."

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

AULD ROBIN GRAY.

WHEN the sheep are in the fauld and the kye a' at hame,

When a' the weary world to sleep are gane,
The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my e'e,
While my gudeman lies sound by me.

Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and sought me for his bride;

But saving a crown, he had naething else beside. To mak' the crown a pound, my Jamie gaed to

sea;

And the crown and the pound, they were baith for me!

He hadna been awa' a week but only twa,

When my mither she fell sick, and the cow was

stown awa;

My father brak his arm-my Jamie at the seaAnd Auld Robin Gray came a-courtin' me.

My father couldna work,-my mither couldna

spin;

I toiled day and night, but their bread I couldna

win;

And Rob maintained them baith, and, wi' tears in

his e'e,

Said, "Jennie, for their sakes, will you marry me?"

My heart it said na, for I looked for Jamie back; But hard blew the winds, and his ship was a wrack;

His ship was a wrack! Why didna Jamie dee? Or why was I spared to cry, Wae is me!

My father argued sair-my mither didna speak, But she looked in my face till my heart was like to break;

They gied him my hand, but my heart was in the

sea;

And so Auld Robin Gray, he was gudeman to me.

I hadna been his wife, a week but only four, When, mournfu' as I sat on the stane at the door, I saw my Jamie's ghaist-I couldna think it he, Till he said, "I'm come hame, love, for to marry thee!"

O sair, sair did we greet, and mickle did we say: Ae kiss we took-nae mair-I bad him gang

away.

I wish that I were dead, but I'm no like to dee, And why do I live to say, Wae is me!

I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin;
I darena think o' Jamie, for that wad be a sin.
But I will do my best a gude wife aye to be,
For Auld Robin Gray, he is kind unto me.

LADY ANNE BARNARD.

TO A PORTRAIT.

A PENSIVE photograph

Watches me from the shelf

Ghost of old love, and half

Ghost of myself!

How the dear waiting eyes

Watch me and love me yet—

Sad home of memories,

Her waiting eyes!

Ghost of old love, wronged ghost,

Return though all the pain

Of all once loved, long lost,
Come back again.

Forget not, but forgive!

Alas, too late I cry.

We are two ghosts that had their

chance to live,

And lost it, she and I.

ARTHUR SYMONS.

MAUD MULLER.

MAUD MULLER, on a summer's day,
Raked the meadow sweet with hay.

Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth
Of simple beauty and rustic health.

Singing, she wrought, and her merry glee
The mock-bird echoed from his tree.

But, when she glanced to the far-off town,
White from its hill-slope looking down,

The sweet song died, and a vague unrest
And a nameless longing filled her breast,—

A wish, that she hardly dared to own,
For something better than she had known.

The Judge rode slowly down the lane,
Smoothing his horse's chestnut mane.

He drew his bridle in the shade

Of the apple-trees, to greet the maid,

And ask a draught from the spring that flowed
Through the meadow, across the road.

She stooped where the cool spring bubbled up,
And filled for him her small tin cup,

And blushed as she gave it, looking down
On her feet so bare, and her tattered gown.

"Thanks!" said the Judge, "a sweeter draught From a fairer hand was never quaffed."

He spoke of the grass and flowers and trees,
Of the singing birds and the humming bees;

Then talked of the haying, and wondered whether The cloud in the west would bring foul weather.

And Maud forgot her brier-torn gown,
And her graceful ankles, bare and brown,

And listened, while a pleased surprise
Looked from her long-lashed hazel eyes.

At last, like one who for delay
Seeks a vain excuse, he rode away.

Maud Muller looked and sighed: "Ah me!
That I the Judge's bride might be!

"He would dress me up in silks so fine, And praise and toast me at his wine.

"My father should wear a broadcloth coat, My brother should sail a painted boat.

"I'd dress my mother so grand and gay,
And the baby should have a new toy each day.

"And I'd feed the hungry and clothe the poor, And all should bless me who left our door."