THE WHISTLE.

The moonshine stealing o'er the scene Had blended with the lights of eve; And she was there, my hope, my joy,

My own dear Genevieve !

She leaned against the arméd man, The statue of the armed knight; She stood and listened to my lay,

Amid the lingering light.

Few sorrows hath she of her own, My hope ! my joy ! my Genevieve ! She loves me best, whene'er I sing

The songs that make her grieve.

I played a soft and doleful air,
I sang an old and moving story, -
An old rude song, that suited well

That ruin wild and hoary.

“You have heard," said a youth to his sweet

heart, who stood,
While he sat on a corn-sheaf, at daylight's

decline,
"You have heard of the Danish boy's whistle of

wood ? I wish that that Danish boy's whistle were mine." “And what would you do with it !- tell me,”

she said, While an arch smile played over her beautiful

face. "I would blow it,” he answered ; "and then my

fair maid Would fly to my side, and would here take her

place." “Is that all you wish it for?- That may be yours

Without any magic," the fair maiden cried : “A favor so slight one's good nature secures" ;

And she playfully seated herself by his side. “I would blow it again," said the youth, "and

the charm Would work so, that not even Modesty's check Would be able to keep from my neck your fine arm": She smiled, - and she laid her fine arm round

his neck. “Yet once more would I blow, and the music

divine Would bring me the third time an exquisite

bliss : You would lay your fair cheek to this brown one

of mine, And your lips, stealing past it, would give me

a kiss."

She listened with a flitting blush,
With downoast eyes and modest grace;
For well she knew, I could not choose

But gaze upon her face.

I told her of the Knight that wore Upon his shield a burning brand ; And that for ten long years he wooed

The Lady of the Land.

I told her how he pined : and ah! The deep, the low, the pleading tone With which I sang another's love

Interpreted my own.

She listened with a flitting blush,
With downcast eyes, and modest grace;
And she forgave me, that I gazed

Too fondly on her face,

And how she wept, and clasped his knees; 1
And how she tended him in vain ;
And ever strove to expiate

The scorn that crazed his brain ;
And that she nursed him in a cave,
And how his madness went away,
When on the yellow forest-leaves

A dying man he lay; .

– His dying words — but when I reached That tenderest strain of all the ditty, My faltering voice and pausing harp

Disturbed her soul with pity!

All impulses of soul and sense
Had thrilled my guileless Genevieve ;
The music and the doleful tale,

The rich and balmy eve;
And hopes, and fears that kindle hope,
An undistinguishable throng,
And gentle wishes long subdued,

Subdued and cherished long.

She wept with pity and delight,
She blushed with love, and virgin shame;
And like the murmur of a dream,

I heard her breathe my name.

Her bosom heaved, — she stepped aside,
As conscious of my look she stept, -
Then suddenly, with timorous eye

She fled to me and wept.

'T is to woo a bonnie lassie
When the kye come hame.

When the kye come hame,
When the kye come hame, -
'Tween the gloamin' an' the mirk,

When the kye come hame. 'T is not beneath the burgonet,

Nor yet beneath the crown ; 'T is not on couch o' velvet,

Nor yet in bed o' down : 'T is beneath the spreading birk,

In the glen without the name, Wi' a bonnie bonnie lassie,

When the kye come hame. There the blackbird bigs his nest,

For the mate he lo'es to see, And on the tapmost bough

0, a happy bird is he! There he pours his melting ditty,

And love is a' the theme; And he 'll woo his bonnie lassie,

When the kye come hame. When the blewart bears a pearl,

And the daisy turns a pea,
And the bonnie lucken gowan

Has fauldit up his ee,
Then the lavrock, frae the blue lift,

Draps down and thinks nae shame
To woo his bonnie lassie,

When the kye come hame.
See yonder pawky shepherd, .

That lingers on the hill :
His yowes are in the fauld,

And his lambs are lying still ; Yet he downa gang to bed,

For his heart is in a flame, To meet his bonnie lassie

When the kye come hame. When the little wee bit heart

Rises high in the breast, And the little wee bit starn

Rises red in the east, 0, there's a joy sae dear

That the heart can hardly frame ! Wi' a bonnie bonnie lassie,

When the kye come hame. Then since all Nature joins

In this love without alloy, 0, wha wad prove a traitor

To Nature's dearest joy? Or wha wad choose a crown,

Wi' its perils an' its fame, And miss his bonnie lassie, When the kye come hame ?

JAMES HOGG.

She half enclosed me with her arms,
She pressed me with a meek embrace;
And bending back her head, looked up,

And gazed upon my face.
'T was partly love, and partly fear,
And partly 't was a bashful art
That I might rather feel than see

The swelling of her heart.

I calmed her fears, and she was calm,
And told her love with virgin pride;
And so I won my Genevieve,
My bright and beauteous Bride.

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.

WHEN THE KYE COME HAME.

COME, all ye jolly shepherds,

That whistle through the glen I I'll tell ye o' a secret

That courtiers dinna ken : What is the greatest bliss

That the tongue o' man can name ?