The voice I hear this passing night was heard She stood in tears amid the alien corn; Charm'd magic casements opening on the foam VIII. Forlorn! the very word is like a bell To toll me back from thee to my sole self! Was it a vision, or a waking dream? KEATS. N THE LABORATORY. (ANCIEN REGIME.) I. OW that I, tying thy glass mask tightly, through these faint smokes curl May gaze ing whitely, As thou pliest thy trade in this devil's smithy— Which is the poison to poison her, prithee? II. He is with her; and they know that I know Where they are; what they do they believe my tears flow While they laugh, laugh at me, at me fled to the drear Empty church to pray God in for them!-I am here. III. Grind away, moisten and mash up thy paste, Than go where men wait me and dance at the IV. That in the mortar—you call it a gum? Ah, the brave tree whence such gold oozings come! And yonder soft phial, the exquisite blue, V. Had I but all of them, thee and thy treasures, VI. Soon, at the King's, but a lozenge to give live! To light a pastille, and Elise, with her head, And her breast, and her arms, and her hands, should drop dead! VII. Quick-is it finish'd? The colour's too grim! VIII. What a drop! She's not little, no minion like me— To that pulse's magnificent come-and-go. IX. For only last night, as they whisper'd, I brought My own eyes to bear on her so, that I thought Could I keep them one half minute fix'd, she would fall, Shrivell'd; she fell not; yet this does it all! X. Not that I bid you spare her the pain! XI. Is it done? take my mask off! Nay, be not morose. XII. Now, take all my jewels, gorge gold to your fill, You may kiss me, old man, on my mouth if you will! But brush this dust off me, lest horror it brings Ere I know it-next moment I dance at the King's. ROBERT BROWNING. L INSCRIPTION FOR A FOUNTAIN. RE (MORE GRÆCO.) EST! this little Fountain runs Nor the cold of winter days. Lest he may not slake his thirst: And thank the great god Pan for all! BARRY CORNWALL. THE RUOSE THAT DECK'D HER OOR BREAST. [DORSET DIALECT.] Jenny were her Roberd's bride Two happy years, an' then 'e died; And zoo1 the wold vo'ke2 maide her come Varsiaken,3 to her mâiden huome, But Jenny's merry tongue were dum'; Zoo, so. Wold vo'ke, old folk. 3 Varsiaken, forsaken. An' roun' her comely neck she wore The ruose did deck her breast. She wa'k'd' aluone wi' eyeballs wet An' ruose that touch'd her soul to ink1 Var5 at her weddèn, jist avore An' then her cheäk wi' youthvul blood A little biaby wi' his fiace, To smile an' nessle in the pliace Wher the ruose did deck her breast. WILLIAM BARNES. › Spik, 1 Moornèn, mourning. 2 Wa'k'd, walked. lavender. Dink, think. ("D" is an Anglo-Saxon letter, used by Mr. Barnes, and nearly equivalent to "th.") Var, for. Yert, yet. Bloodywa'iors, (warriors,) 5 7 name given to the garden wall-flower. |