But I can milk and marry, Fill pail,

I can milk and marry.

Wheugh, wheugh! he has whistled through
He has whistled through the water.
Fill, fill, with a will, a will,

For he 's whistled through the water,
And he's whistling down

The way to the town,

And it's not "The Farmer's Daughter!"

Churr, churr! goes the cockchafer,

The sun sets over the water,

Churr, churr! goes the cockchafer,

I'm too late for my Harry!

And, O, if he goes a-soldiering,

I could not see a leaf on the tree,

And now I could count them, one, two, three,
Count them over and over,

Leaf from leaf like lips apart,
Like lips apart for a lover.

And the hillside beats with my beating heart,
And the apple-tree blushes all over,

And the May bough touched me and made me

start,

And the wind breathes warm like a lover.

Wheugh, wheugh! he has whistled through,
My Harry! my lad my lover!
Set the sun and fall the dew,
Heigh-ho, merry world, what's to do
That you're smiling over and over?
Up on the hill and down in the dale,
And along the tree-tops over the vale
Shining over and over,

Low in the grass and high on the bough,
Shining over and over,

O world, have you ever a lover?
You were so dull and cold just now,
O world, have you ever a lover?

It seems so light, --can the sun be set?
The dews must be heavy, my cheeks are wet,

I could cry to have hurt the daisies !

Harry is near, Harry is near,

My heart's as sick as if he were here,
My lips are burning, my cheeks are wet,
He has n't uttered a word as yet,
But the air's astir with his praises.
My Harry!

The air's astir with your praises.

He has scaled the rock by the pixy's stone, He's among the kingcups, he picks me one, I love the grass that I tread upon

When I go to my Harry!

-

He has jumped the brook, he has climbed the knowe,

There's never a faster foot I know,

But still he seems to tarry.

O Harry! O Harry! my love, my pride,
My heart is leaping, my arms are wide!
Roll up, roll up, you dull hillside,
Roll up, and bring my Harry!
They may talk of glory over the sea,
But Harry's alive, and Harry 's for me,
My love, my lad, my Harry!

Come spring, come winter, come sun, come

AUF WIEDERSEHEN!

SUMMER.

THE little gate was reached at last,
Half hid in lilacs down the lane;
She pushed it wide, and, as she past,
A wistful look she backward cast,
And said, "Auf wiedersehen!"
With hand on latch, a vision white

Lingered reluctant, and again
Half doubting if she did aright,
Soft as the dews that fell that night,

She said, "Auf wiedersehen!”

The lamp's clear gleam flits up the stair;
I linger in delicious pain;
Ah, in that chamber, whose rich air
To breathe in thought I scarcely dare,
Thinks she, "Auf wiedersehen!"

"T is thirteen years: once more I press
The turf that silences the lane ;

I hear the rustle of her dress,
I smell the lilacs, and―ah yes,
I hear, "Auf wiedersehen!"

Sweet piece of bashful maiden art!

The English words had seemed too fain, But these they drew us heart to heart, Yet held us tenderly apart;

"My ear-rings! my ear-rings! they were pearls in silver set,

That when my Moor was far away, I ne'er should him forget,

That I ne'er to other tongue should list, nor smile on other's tale,

But remember he my lips had kissed, pure as those ear-rings pale.

When he comes back, and hears that I have dropped them in the well,

O, what will Muça think of me, Icannot, cannot tell.

"My ear-rings! my ear-rings he'll say they should have been,

Not of pearl and of silver, but of gold and glittering sheen,

Ofjasperand of onyx, and of diamond shining clear. Changing to the changing light, with radiance insincere ;

That changeful mind unchanging gems are not

and what to say, alas ! I can

"He'll say I am a woman, and we are all the same; He'll say I loved when he was here to whisper of

his flame

But when he went to Tunis my virgin troth had broken,

And thought no more of Muça, and cared not for his token.

But thou giv'st little heed, for I speak to one who knows

That she who chides her lover, forgives him ere

he goes.

"It wearies me, mine enemy, that I must weep

and bear

What fills thy heart with triumph, and fills my

own with care.

For what to say to Muça, alas! I cannot tell.

“I'll tell the truth to Muça, and I hope he will believe,

That I have thought of him at morning, and thought of him at eve;

That musing on my lover, when down the sun was gone,

His ear-rings in my hand I held, by the fountain all alone;

And that my mind was o'er the sea, when from my hand they fell,

And that deep his love lies in my heart, as they lie in the well." JOHN GIBSON LOCKHART.

thou know'st I feel

That cruel words as surely kill as sharpest blades of steel.

'T was the doubt that thou wert false that wrung my heart with pain;

But, now I know thy perfidy, I shall be well again. I would proclaim thee as thou art - but every maiden knows

That she who chides her lover, forgives him ere he goes."

Thus Fatima complained to the valiant Raduan, Where underneath the myrtles Alhambra's fountains ran:

The Moor was inly moved, and blameless as he was, He took her white hand in his own, and pleaded thus his cause:

"O lady, dry those star-like eyes, - their dimness does me wrong;

If my heart be made of flint, at least 't will keep thy image long;

Thou hast uttered cruel words, less for those,

- but I grieve the

Since she who chides her lover forgives him ere he goes."

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

SOMEBODY.

SOMEBODY's courting somebody, Somewhere or other to-night; Somebody's whispering to somebody, Somebody's listening to somebody,

Under this clear moonlight.

Near the bright river's flow,
Running so still and slow,
Talking so soft and low,

She sits with somebody.
Pacing the ocean's shore,
Edged by the foaming roar,
Words never used before

Sound sweet to somebody.
Under the maple-tree
Deep though the shadow be,

Merrily, cheerily, noisily whirring,

Swings the wheel, spins the reel, while the foot's stirring;

Sprightly, and lightly, and airily ringing, Thrills the sweet voice of the young maiden singing.

The maid shakes her head, on her lip lays her fingers,

Steals up from her seat, -longs to go, and yet lingers;

A frightened glance turns to her drowsy grandmother,

Puts one foot on the stool, spins the wheel with the other.

Lazily, easily, swings now the wheel round; Slowly and lowly is heard now the reel's sound; Noiseless and light to the lattice above her The maid steps, then leaps to the arms of her lover.

A SPINSTER'S STINT.

SIX skeins and three, six skeins and three !
Good mother, so you stinted me,
And here they be, ay, six and three !

Stop, busy wheel! stop, noisy wheel!
Long shadows down my chamber steal,
And warn me to make haste and reel.
"T is done, the spinning work complete,
O heart of mine, what makes you beat
So fast and sweet, so fast and sweet.

I must have wheat and pinks, to stick
My hat from brim to ribbon, thick,
Slow hands of mine, be quick, be quick!

OTHELLO'S DEFENCE.

signiors,

My very noble and approved good masters,
That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter,
It is most true; true, I have married her :
The very head and front of my offending

speech,

And little blessed with the soft phrase of peace;
For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith,
Till now, some nine moons wasted, they have used
Their dearest action in the tented field;
And little of this great world can I speak,
More than pertains to feats of broil and battle;
And therefore little shall I grace my cause,
In speaking for myself. Yet, by your gracious
patience,

I will a round unvarnished tale deliver

Took once a pliant hour; and found good means
To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart,
That I would all my pilgrimage dilate,
Whereof by parcels she had something heard,
But not intentively: I did consent;
And often did beguile her of her tears,
When I did speak of some distressful stroke,
That my youth suffered. My story being done,
She gave me for my pains a world of sighs:
She swore,
in faith 't was strange, 't was pass-
ing strange;

charms,

What conjuration, and what mighty magic,
For such proceeding I am charged withal, —-
I won his daughter.

BRABANTIO. A maiden never bold;

Of spirit so still and quiet, that her motion
Blushed at herself; and she- in spite of nature,
Of years, of country, credit, everything,
To fall in love with what she feared to look on!
It is a judgment maimed, and most imperfect,
That will confess perfection so could err
Against all rules of nature; and must be driven
To find out practices of cunning hell,
Why this should be. I therefore vouch again,
That with some mixtures powerful o'er the blood,
Or with some dram conjured to this effect,
He wrought upon her.

Отн.

I'll present

How I did thrive in this fair lady's love,
And she in mine.

Her father loved me; oft invited me ;
Still questioned me the story of my life,
From year to year; -the battles, sieges, fortunes,
That I have passed.

I ran it through, even from my boyish days,
To th' very moment that he bade me tell it :
Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances,
Of moving accidents by flood and field;
Of hair-breadth 'scapes i' the imminent deadly
breach;

Of being taken by the insolent foe,
And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence,
And portance in my travel's history:
Wherein of antres vast, and deserts idle,
Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads
touch heaven,

She wished she had not heard it, yet she wished That Heaven had made her such a man: she thanked me;

And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her,
I should teach him how to tell my story,
And that would woo her. Upon this hint, I spake:
She loved me for the dangers I had passed;
And I loved her that she did pity them.
This only is the witchcraft I have used:
Here comes the lady, let her witness it.

Enter DESDEMONA, IAGO, and Attendants.
DUKE. I think this tale would win my daugh-