When the brook-side, bank and grove,
All with blossoms laden,

Shine with beauty, breathe of love,—
Woo the timid maiden.

Woo her, when, with rosy blush,

Summer eve is sinking;

When, on rills that softly gush,

Stars are softly winking;

When, through boughs that knit the bower,

Moonlight gleams are stealing; Woo her, till the gentle hour Wakes a gentler feeling.

Woo her, when autumnal dyes
Tinge the woody mountain;
When the drooping foliage lies
In the half-choked fountain;
that tells how fast

Let the scene,

Youth is passing over,

Warn her, ere her bloom is past,

To secure her lover.

Woo her, when the north winds call

At the lattice nightly;
When, within the cheerful hall,
Blaze the faggots brightly;

While the wintry tempest round

Sweeps the landscape hoary, Sweeter in her ear shall sound

Love's delightful story.

THE LADY MAGDALENE.

MARY HOWITT.

A Legend of an English Hall.

PART I.

IN a brave old house dwells Magdalene,
And with her there are three-
The blithe old man, the gardener;
And the good Dame Margery;

And a priest, who cometh now and then,
With a high and shaven crown,
With a foot that trod so silently,
And a long, black, camlet gown.

All up and down the galleries
Went the Lady Magdalene,
A-looking at the pictures old,

That on the walls were seen.

"And who is this, Dame Margery, With the gold chain and the sword?" "Oh, that was thy father, Magdalene, And he was a noble lord!"

"And who is this boy, Dame Margery, With the greyhound at his side?" "Ah! that was thy brother, Magdalene; But at four years old he died!"

L

"And tell me, I prithee, Margery,
Who's this with the downcast eye?—
It troubles my heart, Dame Margery,
But to pass that lady by."

No answer at all made Margery,
For a little season's space;
And again the maiden Magdalene
Looked up into her face.

"There are chambers many," quoth Magdalene, "And many a stately bed;

And many a room so beautiful,
All green, and gold, and red.

"How is it, I pray, Dame Margery,
That all alone I dwell?

I have asked the question of myself,
And I'm sure I cannot tell.

"In the village street, Dame Margery,
Even in winter weather,

I see the children, sevens and eights,
All playing there together.

"But, in this large and grand old house, I pray, how may it be,

That I am thus alone, alone,

With none for company?

"I look into the distant fields,

On the terrace as I stand,

And see the mothers walking there,
With their children by the hand.

"And now, I pray, Dame Margery,
Who's this with the golden hair?
An earnest love is in my heart
For the lady pictured there."

Sore troubled was she, Dame Margery-
The tears were in her eye,

And she wiped them with her withered hand,
As thus she made reply.

"That lady is fair, sweet Magdalene,

Was ever fair and mild;

She was thy mother, Magdalene;

I nursed her when a child.

66 Ah, me! and I can remember wellBut all those times are fled

When there were children and friends enow, To sleep in every bed.

"When the great hall-table was too small For the guests who sat to meat;

And the serving men were in liveries green, With fair shoes on their feet.

"There were thirty horses then i' th' stall, And grooms, nigh half-a-score;

I then was a maiden, reckoned fair-
But all those times are o'er !

"The house, i' troth, is silent now,
And hath a look of gloom-

I can remember when there were lights
And music in every room!

"The jackdaws now, and the swallows, build In the chimneys cold and tall;

The ivy creeps o'er the window-glass,
And green damps on the wall.

"I can remember, Magdalene,

When the shrubs, that grow so wild, Were set, scarce bigger than my handThy mother was then a child.\\

"Now, there's good old John, the gardener,
Thinks those times will come again;
Mayhap they may, sweet Magdalene,
But, I'm sure, I know not when !"

PART II.

On the terrace broad walked Magdalene,
With gentle steps and slow;
And blithe old John, the gardener,

Was working down below.

And aye sung the blithe old gardener-
"The bird upon the tree,

Is merry i' th' budding spring-time,
And I am as merry as he."