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nge, her hearte was gladsome now.

nge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, e as she sat upon the thorne; outh was there,

n rent her haire,

sad despaire

I was borne!"

ge, she perished forlorne.

ge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, rde as she sat upon the briar; lovely Childe,

was meek and mild,

he smiled

sire;

ge, a Cherub mote admire.

But I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, And sadly sang the Birde as it perched upon a bier; That joyous smile was gone,

And the face was white and wan,

As the downe upon the Swan
Doth appear,

As I laye a-thynkynge-oh! bitter flowed the tear!

As I laye a-thynkynge, the golden sun was sinking,
O merrie sang that Birde as it glittered on her breast
With a thousand glorious dyes,

While, soaring to the skies,

'Mid the stars she seemed to rise,
As to her nest;

As I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge,
As I laye a-thynkynge, her meaning was expressed:-
"Follow, follow me away,

It boots not to delay,"

'Twas so she seemed to saye,

"HERE IS REST!"

Richard Harris Barham [1788—1845]

THE HARP OF SORROW

SORROW has a harp of seven strings

And plays on it unceasing all the day;

The first string sings of love that is long dead,
The second sings of lost hopes buried;
The third of happiness forgot and fled.
Of vigil kept in vain the fourth cord sings,
And the fifth string of roses dropped away.
The sixth string calls and is unanswered,
The seventh with your name for ever rings-
I listen for its singing all the day!

Ethel Clifford [18

THE JOURNEY ONWARDS
As slow our ship her foamy track
Against the wind was cleaving,

Her trembling pennant still looked back

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The shower-sodden earth, the earth-colored streams, They breathe on me awake, and moan to me in dreams, And yonder ivy fondling the broke castle-wall,

It pulls upon my heart till the wild tears fall.

The cabin-door looks down a furze-lighted hill,
And far as Leighlin Cross the fields are green and still;
But once I hear the blackbird in Leighlin hedges call,
The foolishness is on me, and the wild tears fall!
Louise Imogen Guiney [1861-

SPIRIT OF SADNESS

SHE loved the Autumn, I the Spring,
Sad all the songs she loved to sing;
And in her face was strangely set
Some great inherited regret.

Some look in all things made her sigh,

Yea! sad to her the morning sky:
"So sad! so sad its beauty seems".

I hear her say it still in dreams.

But when the day grew gray and old,
And rising stars shone strange and cold,
Then only in her face I saw
A mystic glee, a joyous awe.

Spirit of Sadness, in the spheres
Is there an end of mortal tears?
Or is there still in those great eyes
That look of lonely hills and skies?
Richard Le Gallienne [1866-

NO MORE

THIS is the Burden of the Heart,
The Burden that it always bore:
We live to love; we meet to part;

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