march

name

ince,

"Sleep, Ellen Aubrey, sleep, and dream of me: Sleep, Ellen, folded in thy sister's arm,

And sleeping, haply dream her arm is mine.

66

Sleep, Ellen, folded in Emilia's arm;

Emilia, fairer than all else but thou,

For thou art fairer than all else that is.

"Sleep, breathing health and peace upon her breast: Sleep, breathing love and trust against her lip:

I go to-night: I come to-morrow morn.
"I go, but I return: I would I were
The pilot of the darkness and the dream.
Sleep, Ellen Aubrey, love, and dream of me."

So sang we each to either, Francis Hale,
The farmer's son who lived across the bay,
My friend; and I, that having wherewithal,
And in the fallow leisure of my life,

Did what I would; but ere the night we rose
And saunter'd home beneath a moon, that, just

WALKING TO THE MAIL.

John. I'm glad I walk'd.

How fresh the meadows look

Above the river, and, but a month ago,

The whole hill-side was redder than a fox.

Is yon plantation where this byway joins
The turnpike?

James. Yes.

John. And when does this come by?

James. The mail? At one o'clock.

John. What is it now?

James. A quarter to.

John. Whose house is that I see

Beyond the watermills?

James. Sir Edward Head's:

But he's abroad: the place is to be sold.

John. Oh, his. He was not broken.

From all men, and commercing with hims He lost the sense that handles daily lifeThat keeps us all in order more or lessAnd sick of home went overseas for chang John. And whither ?

James. Nay, who knows? he's.

But let him go; his devil goes with him,

As well as with his tenant, Jocky Dawes.

John. What's that?

A woman like a butt, and harsh as crabs.

John. Oh yet but I remember, ten years back-
'Tis now at least ten years—and then she was-
You could not light upon a sweeter thing:
A body slight and round, and like a pear
In growing, modest eyes, a hand, a foot
Lessening in perfect cadence, and a skin

As clean and white as privet when it flowers.

James. Ay, ay, the blossom fades, and they that loved At first like dove and dove were cat and dog.

She was the daughter of a cottager,

Out of her sphere. What betwixt shame and pride,
New things and old, himself and her, she sour'd
To what she is: a nature never kind!

Like men, like manners: like breeds like, they say.

Kind nature is the best: those manners next