So he brought me marjoram smelling rare―
Its sweetness filled all the air.
Oh, the days I dote on yet,
Marjoram, pansies, mignonette!

My love he sail'd across the sea,
And all to make a home for me.
Oh, sweet his last kiss on the lea,
The pansies pluck'd beneath the tree,
When he said, " 'My love, I'll send for
thee !"

Oh, the days I dote on yet,
Marjoram, pansies, mignonette!

His mother sought for me anon;
So long my name she would not own.
Ah, gladly would she now atone,
For we together make our moan!
She brought the mignonette I've sown.
Oh, the days I dote on yet,
Marjoram, pansies, mignonette !

My eye to speak,

'T was thus I won my heart's own heart, and both

Are happy now.

A DEAD MARCH

PLAY me a march, low-ton'd and slowa march for a silent tread,

Fit for the wandering feet of one who dreams of the silent dead,

My flashing cheek;

souls that are overhead.

Here for a while they smil'd and sang, alive in the interspace,

Here with the grass beneath the foot, and the stars above the face,

Now are their feet beneath the grass, and whither has flown their grace ?

Who shall assure us whence they come, or tell us the way they go?

Verily, life with them was joy, and, now they have left us, woe,

Once they were not, and now they are not, and this is the sum we know.

Then the soul of Judas Iscariot

Did make a gentle moan-
"I will bury underneath the ground
My flesh and blood and bone.

"I will bury deep beneath the soil,
Lest mortals look thereon,
And when the wolf and raven come
The body will be gone!

"The stones of the field are sharp as steel,
And hard and bold, God wot;
And I must bear my body hence
Until I find a spot!"

"T was the soul of Judas Iscariot
So grim, and gaunt, and gray,
Rais'd the body of Judas Iscariot,
And carried it away.

And as he bare it from the field
Its touch was cold as ice,
And the ivory teeth within the jaw
Rattled aloud, like dice.

As the soul of Judas Iscariot

Carried its load with pain,

The Eye of Heaven, like a lanthorn's eye, Open'd and shut again.

Half he walk'd, and half he seem'd
Lifted on the cold wind;

He did not turn, for chilly hands
Were pushing from behind.

The first place that he came unto
It was the open wold,
And underneath were prickly whins,
And a wind that blew so cold.

The next place that he came unto
It was a stagnant pool,
And when he threw the body in
It floated light as wool.

He drew the body on his back,
And it was dripping chill,
And the next place that he came unto
Was a Cross upon a hill.

A Cross upon the windy hill,
And a Cross on either side,
Three skeletons that swing thereon,
Who had been crucified.

And on the middle cross-bar sat A white Dove slumbering; Dim it sat in the dim light,

With its head beneath its wing.

And underneath the middle Cross
A grave yawn'd wide and vast,
But the soul of Judas Iscariot
Shiver'd, and glided past.

The fourth place that he came unto
It was the Brig of Dread,
And the great torrents rushing down
Were deep, and swift, and red.

He dar'd not fling the body in

For fear of faces dim,

And arms were wav'd in the wild water To thrust it back to him.

"T was the soul of Judas Iscariot Turn'd from the Brig of Dread,

And the dreadful foam of the wild water
Had splash'd the body red.

For days and nights he wander'd on
Upon an open plain,