Like a fungus,

both.

Within, there were carpets and cushions of dust,
The wood was half rot, and the metal half rust,
Old curtains, half cobwebs, hung grimly aloof;
'T was a Spiders' Elysium from cellar to roof.

There, king of the spiders, the Dirty Old Man
Lives busy and dirty as ever he can ;
With dirt on his fingers and dirt on his face,
For the Dirty Old Man thinks the dirt no disgrace.

From his wig to his shoes, from his coat to his shirt,
His clothes are a proverb, a marvel of dirt ;
The dirt is pervading, unfading, exceeding,
Yet the Dirty Old Man has both learning and
breeding.

Fine dames from their carriages, noble and fair,
Have entered his shop, less to buy than to stare;
And have afterwards said, though the dirt was
so frightful,

The Dirty Man's manners were truly delightful.
Upstairs might they venture, in dirt and in gloom,
To peep at the door of the wonderful room
Such stories are told about, none of them true!-
The keyhole itself has no mortal seen through.

That room, forty years since, folk settled and decked it.

The luncheon's prepared, and the guests are expected.

The handsome young host he is gallant and gay, For his love and her friends will be with him to-day.

With solid and dainty the table is drest,

The wine beams its brightest, the flowers bloom their best ;

Yet the host need not smile, and no guests will appear,

For his sweetheart is dead, as he shortly shall hear.

Full forty years since turned the key in that door. 'Tis a room deaf and dumb mid the city's uproar. The guests, for whose joyance that table was spread, May now enter as ghosts, for they're every one dead.

Through a chink in the shutter dim lights come and go;

The seats are in order, the dishes a-row :

But the luncheon was wealth to the rat and the

mouse

Whose descendants have long left the Dirty Old House.

Cap and platterare masked in thick layers of dust; The flowers fallen to powder, the wine swathed in crust;

WILLIAM ALLINGHAM.

LAMENT OF THE BORDER WIDOW.

[This ballad relates to the execution of Cockburne of Hender

land, a border freebooter, hanged over the gate of his own tower by

James V. in his famous expedition, in 1529, against the marauders tle, the monument of Cockburne and his lady is still shown. The following inscription is still legible, though defaced: "HERE LYES PERYS OF COKBURNE AND HIS WYFE MARJORY." SIR WALTER SCOTT.] My love he built me a bonnie bower, And clad it a' wi' lily flower; A brawer bower ye ne'er did see, Than my true-love he built for me.

of the border. In a deserted burial-place near the ruins of the cas

There came a man, by middle day,
He spied his sport, and went away;
And brought the king that very night,
Who brake my bower, and slew my knight.
He slew my knight, to me sae dear;
He slew my knight, and poin'd his gear :
My servants all for life did flee,
And left me in extremitie.

I sewed his sheet, making my mane;
I watched the corpse mysell alane;
I watched his body night and day;
No living creature came that way.

I took his body on my back,

And whiles I gaed, and whiles I sat ;

I digged a grave, and laid him in,
And happed him with the sod sae green.
But think na ye my heart was sair,
When I laid the moul' on his yellow hair?
O, think na ye my heart was wae,
When I turned about, away to gae ?

Nae living man I'll love again,
Since that my lively knight is slain;
Wi' ae lock o' his yellow hair
I'll chain my heart forevermair.

ANONYMOUS

THE KING OF DENMARK'S RIDE. WORD was brought to the Danish king (Hurry!)

That the love of his heart lay suffering, And pined for the comfort his voice would bring; (0, ride as though you were flying!)

Better he loves each golden curl

On the brow of that Scandinavian girl
Than his rich crown jewels of ruby and pearl:
And his rose of the isles is dying!

Thirty nobles saddled with speed;

(Hurry!)

Each one mounting a gallant steed
Which he kept for battle and days of need;
(0, ride as though you were flying!)
Spurs were struck in the foaming flank ;
Worn-out chargers staggered and sank;
Bridles were slackened, and girths were burst;
But ride as they would, the king rode first,
For his rose of the isles lay dying!

His nobles are beaten, one by one;

(Hurry!)

They have fainted, and faltered, and homeward

gone;

His little fair page now follows alone,

For strength and for courage trying! The king looked back at that faithful child; Wan was the face that answering smiled; They passed the drawbridge with clattering din, Then he dropped; and only the king rode in Where his rose of the isles lay dying!

The king blew a blast on his bugle horn;
(Silence !)

No answer came; but faint and forlorn
An echo returned on the cold gray morn,
Like the breath of a spirit sighing.
The castle portal stood grimly wide;
None welcomed the king from that weary ride;
For dead, in the light of the dawning day,
The pale sweet form of the welcomer lay,

Who had yearned for his voice while dying!

The panting steed, with a drooping crest,
Stood weary.

The king returned from her chamber of rest,
The thick sobs choking in his breast;

And, that dumb companion eying,

The tears gushed forth which he strove to check;
He bowed his head on his charger's neck :
"O steed, that every nerve didst strain,
Dear steed, our ride hath been in vain
To the halls where my love lay dying!

CAROLINE NORTON.

HIGH-TIDE ON THE COAST OF LINCOLNSHIRE.

THE old mayor climbed the belfry tower,
The ringers ran by two, by three;
"Pull! if ye never pulled before;

Good ringers, pull your best," quoth hee.

The swannerds, where their sedges are,
Moved on in sunset's golden breath;
The shepherde lads I heard afarre,
And my sonne's wife, Elizabeth;
Till, floating o'er the grassy sea,
Came downe that kyndly message free,
The Brides of Mavis Enderby.

Then some looked uppe into the sky,
And all along where Lindis flows
To where the goodly vessels lie,

And where the lordly steeple shows.

They sayde, "And why should this thing be,
What danger lowers by land or sea?
They ring the tune of Enderby.

"For evil news from Mablethorpe,
Of pyrate galleys, warping down,
For shippes ashore beyond the scorpe,

They have not spared to wake the towne ;
But while the west bin red to see,
And storms be none, and pyrates flee,
Why ring The Brides of Enderby ?

I looked without, and lo! my sonne

Came riding downe with might and main ; He raised a shout as he drew on,

Till all the welkin rang again : "Elizabeth! Elizabeth!"

(A sweeter woman ne'er drew breath Than my sonne's wife, Elizabeth.)

"The olde sea-wall" (he cryed) "is downe!

The rising tide comes on apace; And boats adrift in yonder towne

Go sailing uppe the market-place!"

He shook as one that looks on death:

"God save you, mother!" straight he sayth; "Where is my wife, Elizabeth?"

"Good sonne, where Lindis winds away
With her two bairns I marked her long;
And ere yon bells beganne to play,
Afar I heard her milking-song."
He looked across the grassy sea,
To right, to left, Ho, Enderby!
They rang The Brides of Enderby.

With that he cried and beat his breast;
For lo! along the river's bed
A mighty eygre reared his crest,
And uppe the Lindis raging sped.
It swept with thunderous noises loud,
Shaped like a curling snow-white cloud,
Or like a demon in a shroud.

And rearing Lindis, backward pressed,
Shook all her trembling bankes amaine ;
Then madly at the eygre's breast
Flung uppe her weltering walls again.

Upon the roofe we sate that night;
The noise of bells went sweeping by ;

I marked the lofty beacon light

Stream from the church tower, red and high,-
A lurid mark, and dread to see ;
And awsome bells they were to mee,
That in the dark rang Enderby.

They rang the sailor lads to guide,
From roofe to roofe who fearless rowed;
And I, - my sonne was at my side,
And yet the ruddy beacon glowed;
And yet he moaned beneath his breath,
"O, come in life, or come in death!

O lost my love, Elizabeth!"

And didst thou visit him no more?

Thou didst, thou didst, my daughter deare,

The waters laid thee at his doore

Ere yet the early dawn was clear:
Thy pretty bairns in fast embrace,
The lifted sun shone on thy face,
Downe drifted to thy dwelling-place.

That flow strewed wrecks about the grass,
That ebbe swept out the flocks to sea,
A fatal ebbe and flow, alas!

-

To manye more than myne and mee; But each will mourne his own (she sayth) And sweeter woman ne'er drew breath Than my sonne's wife, Elizabeth.

I shall never hear her more

By the reedy Lindis shore,

"Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!" calling, Ere the early dews be falling;

I shall never hear her song,

"Cusha! Cusha!" all along, Where the sunny Lindis floweth, Goeth, floweth,

From the meads where melick groweth, Where the water, winding down, Onward floweth to the town.

I shall never see her more,

Where the reeds and rushes quiver, Shiver, quiver,

Stand beside the sobbing river, –

THE MORNING-GLORY.

WE wreathed about our darling's head
The morning-glory bright;

Her little face looked out beneath

So full of life and light,

So lit as with a sunrise,
That we could only say,
"She is the morning-glory true,
And her poor types are they."

So always from that happy time
We called her by their name,
And very fitting did it seem,

For sure as morning came,
Behind her cradle bars she smiled

To catch the first faint ray,

As from the trellis smiles the flower
And opens to the day.

But not so beautiful they rear

Their airy cups of blue,

As turned her sweet eyes to the light,
Brimmed with sleep's tender dew;
And not so close their tendrils fine

Round their supports are thrown,

As those dear arms whose outstretched plea Clasped all hearts to her own.

There is a solitary tomb, with rankling weeds o'ergrown,

A single palm bends mournfully beside the mouldering stone

Amidst whose leaves the passing breeze with fit

ful gust and slow

Seems sighing forth a feeble dirge for him who sleeps below.

Beside, its sparkling drops of foam a desert fountain showers;

And, floating calm, the lotus wreathes its red and scented flowers,

Here lurks the mountain fox unseen beside the vulture's nest;

And steals the wild hyena forth, in lone and silent quest.

Is this deserted resting-place the couch of fallen might?

And ends the path of glory thus, and fame's inspiring light?

Chief of a progeny of kings renowned and feared afar,

How is thy boasted name forgot, and dimmed thine honor's star!

Approach, — what saith the graven verse? "Alas for human pride!

Dominion's envied gifts were mine, nor earth her praise denied.

Thou traveller, if a suppliant's voice find echo in thy breast,

0, envy not the little dust that hides my mortal rest !"

HELVELLYN.

ANONYMOUS.

-

Remote from public road or dwelling,
Pathway, or cultivated land, -
From trace of human foot or hand.
There sometimes doth a leaping fish
Send through the tarn a lonely cheer;
The crags repeat the raven's croak
In symphony austere ;

Thither the rainbow comes, the cloud,
And mists that spread the flying shroud;
And sunbeams; and the sounding blast,
That, if it could, would hurry past,
But that enormous barrier holds it fast.
Not free from boding thoughts, awhile
The shepherd stood; then makes his way
O'er rocks and stones, following the dog
As quickly as he may;

Nor far had gone before he found
A human skeleton on the ground.
The appalled discoverer with a sigh
Looks round to learn the history.

From those abrupt and perilous rocks
The man had fallen, that place of fear!
At length upon the shepherd's mind
It breaks, and all is clear.
He instantly recalled the name,
And who he was, and whence he came ;
Remembered, too, the very day

On which the traveller passed this way.

But hear a wonder, for whose sake
This lamentable tale I tell!

A lasting monument of words

This wonder merits well.

The dog, which still was hovering nigh, Repeating the same timid cry,

This dog had been through three months' space

A dweller in that savage place.

Yes, proof was plain, that, since the day

When this ill-fated traveller died,

The dog had watched about the spot,

Or by his master's side.

How nourished here through such long time
He knows who gave that love sublime,
And gave that strength of feeling, great
Above all human estimate!

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

HELVELLYN.

[In the spring of 1805 a young gentleman of talents, and of a most amiable disposition, perished by losing his way on the mountain Helvellyn. His remains were not discovered till three months af terwards, when they were found guarded by a faithful terrier, his constant attendant during frequent solitary rambles through the wilds of Cumberland and Westmoreland.]

I CLIMBED the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn, Lakes and mountains beneath me gleamed misty and wide: