THE MILKING-MAID. THE year stood at its equinox, And bluff the North was blowing, She wore a kerchief on her neck, She milked into a wooden pail, Too pointless for the city. To run down by the early train, Whirl down with shriek and whistle, And feel the bluff north blow again, And mark the sprouting thistle And spy the scarce-blown violet banks, Alas! one point in all my plan My serious thoughts demur to: Perhaps my rose is over-blown, CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTL SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY. SHE walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies, And all that's best of dark and bright Meets in her aspect and her eyes, Thus mellowed to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less Had half impaired the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress Or softly lightens o'er her face, Where thoughts serenely sweet express How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. And on that cheek and o'er that brow A mind at peace with all below, CASTARA. LORD BYRON LIKE the violet, which alone Prospers in some happy shade, My Castara lives unknown, To no ruder eye betrayed; For she's to herself untrue Who delights i' the public view. Such is her beauty as no arts Have enriched with borrowed grace. Her high birth no pride imparts, For she blushes in her place. Folly boasts a glorious blood, She is noblest being good. Cautious, she knew never yet What a wanton courtship meant; Nor speaks loud to boast her wit, In her silence eloquent. Of herself survey she takes, But 'tween men no difference makes. She obeys with speedy will Her grave parents' wise commands; And so innocent, that ill She nor acts, nor understands. She sails by that rock, the court, Where oft virtue splits her mast; And retiredness thinks the port, Where her fame may anchor cast. Virtue safely cannot sit Where vice is enthroned for wit. She holds that day's pleasure best Sweetly spends a winter's night. O'er that darkness whence is thrust Prayer and sleep, oft governs lust. She her throne makes reason climb, While wild passions captive lie; And each article of time, Her pure thoughts to heaven fly; All her vows religious be, And she vows her love to me. Guard well thy soul, beloved; Truth, dwelling there, Then shall I deem, beloved, ANONYMOUS. HER LIKENESS. A GIRL, who has so many wilful ways She would have caused Job's patience to for sake him ; Yet is so rich in all that's girlhood's praise, A little better she would surely make him. This womanhede, and change not, only grow; From maid to matron, youth to age, may creep, And in perennial blessedness, still reap On every hand of that which she doth sow. DINAH MARIA MULOCK. BLACK AND BLUE EYES. THE brilliant black eye May in triumph let fly All its darts without caring who feels 'em ; But the soft eye of blue, Though it scatter wounds too, Is much better pleased when it heals 'em! Dear Fanny! The black eye may say, "Come and worship my ray; By adoring, perhaps you may move me!" But the blue eye, half hid, Says, from under its lid, "I love, and am yours, if you love me !" Dear Fanny! Then tell me, O why, In that lovely blue eye, Not a charm of its tint I discover; The only blue pair That ever said "No" to a lover? The birds that wanton in the air Know no such liberty. When flowing cups run swiftly round Our careless heads with roses crowned, When healths and draughts go free, Fishes that tipple in the deep Know no such liberty. When, linnet-like confinéd, I And glories of my King; Stone walls do not a prison make, COLONEL RICHARD LOVELACE |