Lost nae time, for weel we knew,
In our sleeves fu' weel we knew,
When the gloaming came that night,
Duck nor drake, nor hen nor cock,
Would be found by candlelight.

When our chaffering a' was done, All was paid for, sold and done, We drew a glove on ilka hand, We sweetly curtsied each to each, And deftly danced a saraband.

The market lasses looked and laughed, Left their gear and looked and laughed; They made as they would join the game, But soon their mithers, wild and wud, Wi' whack and screech they stopped the

same.

Sae loud the tongues o' raudies grew,
The flitin' and the skirlin' grew,
At a' the windows i' the place,
Wi' spoons and knives, wi' needle or awl,

Was thrust out ilka hand and face.

And down each stair they thronged anon;

Gentle, simple, thronged anon; Souter and tailor, frowzy Nan, The ancient widow young again Simpering behind her fan.

Without choice, against their will,

Doited, dazed against their will, The market lassie and her mither, The farmer and his husbandman, Hand in hand danced a' thegether.

Slow at first, but faster soon,

Still increasin' wild and fast, Hoods and mantles, hats and hose, Blindly doffed, and frae them cast, Left them naked, heads and toes.

They would hae torn us limb frae limb,

Dainty limb frae dainty limb; But never ane o' them could win Across the line that I had drawn Wi' bleeding thumb a-witherskin.

There was Jeff the provost's son,
Jeff the provost's only son;
There was Father Auld himsel',
The Lombard frae the hostelrie,
And the lawyer Peter Fell.

All goodly men we singled out,
Waled them well and singled out,

And drew them by the left hand in, —
Mysie the priest, and Elspie won
The Lombard, Nort the lawyer curle,
And I my mysel' the provost's son.
Then wi' cantrip kisses seven,

Three times round wi' kisses seven,
Warped and woven there spun we,
Arms and legs and flaming hair,
Like a whirlwind on the sea.

Like the wind that sucks the sea,

Over and in and on the sea,
And ilka man o' all the four
Good sooth, it was a mad delight:
Shut his eyes and laughed outright,
Langhed as long as they had breath,

Laughed while they had sense or breath;
And close about us coiled a mist
Of gnats and midges, wasps and flies;
Like the whirlwind shaft it rist.
Drawn up was I right off my feet,

Into the mist and off my feet;
And, dancing on each chimney-top,
I saw a thousand darling imps
Keeping time wi' skip and hop.

We'll gang ance mair to yon town,
Wi' better luck to yon town:
We'll walk in silk and cramoisie,
And I shall wed the prevost's son;
My lady o' the town I'll be!

For I was born a crowned king's child,
Born and nursed a king's child,
King o' a land ayont the sea,
Where the Blackamoor kissed me first
And taught me art and glamourie.

The Lombard shall be Elspie's man,
Elspie's gowden husbandman;
Nort shall take the lawyer's hand;
The priest shall swear another vow.
We'll dance again the saraband!

JOSEPH BRENNAN.

COME TO ME, DEAREST.

COME to me, dearest, I'm lonely with out thee,

Day-time and night-time, I'm thinking about thee;

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behold thee;

Were at an end, Confucius came forth And wandered as of old with other men, Giving his counsel unto many kings; But still the hand of grief was on hi heart,

And his dark hue set forth his darkened hours.

And of the melody whose key is God. Now I will travel to the land of Kin, And know this sage of music, great Siang,

And learn the secret lore which hides within

All sweet well-ordered sounds." He went his way,

Nor rested till he stood before the man.

Thus spoke Siang unto Confucius:
"Of all the arts, great Music is the art
To raise the soul above all earthly storms;
For in it lies that purest harmony
Which lifts us over self and up to
God.

Thou who hast studied deeply the Koua-The eight great symbols of created things

Knowest the sacred power of the line Which when unbroken flies to all the worlds

As light unending, but in broken forms Falls short as sky and earth, clouds, winds, and fire,

The deep blue ocean and the mountain high,

And the red lightning hissing in the wave. The mighty law which formed what thou

canst see,

As clearly lives in all that thou canst hear,

And more than this, in all that thou canst feel.

Here, take thy lute in hand. I teach the air

Made by the sage Wen Wang of ancient days."

And when Siang would teach him more, he said:

"Not yet, my master, I would seize the thought,

The subtle thought which hides within

the tune.

To which the master answered: "It is well.

Take five days more!" time was passed

And when the

Unto Siang thus spoke Confucius:
"I do begin to see,
yet what I see

Is very dim. I am as one who looks And nothing sees except a luminous cloud:

Give me but five more days, and at the end

If I have not attained the great idea
Hidden of old within the melody,
I will leave music as beyond my power."
"Do as thou wilt, O pupil!" cried Siang
In deepest admiration; "never yet
Had I a scholar who was like to thee."

And on the fifteenth day Confucius rose And stood before Siang, and cried aloud: "The mist which shadowed me is blown away,

I am as one who stands upon a cliff
And gazes far and wide upon the world,
For I have mastered every secret thought,
Yea, every shadow of a feeling dim
Which flitted through the spirit of Wen
Wang

When he composed that air. I speak to him,

I hear him clearly answer me again;

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That which I never yet myself beheld, Though I have played the sacred song for years,

Striving with all my soul to penetrate Its mystery unto the master's form, Whilst thou hast reached it at a single bound:

Henceforth the gods alone can teach thee tune."

MINE OWN.

AND O, the longing, burning eyes!
And O, the gleaming hair

Which waves around me, night and day,
O'er chamber, hall, and stair!

And O, the step, half dreamt, half heard!
And memories of merriment
And O, the laughter low!
Which faded long ago!

O, art thou Sylph,

-or truly Self, —
Or either at thy choice?
O, speak in breeze or beating heart,
But let me hear thy voice!

"O, some do call me Laughter, love;
And some do call me Sin":-
"And they may call thee what they will,
So I thy love may win.

"And some do call me Wantonness, And some do call me Play" :"O, they might call thee what they would If thou wert mine alway!"

And some do call me Tears, And some there be who name me Hope, And some that name me Fears.

"And some do call me Gentle Heart, And some Forgetfulness" :"And if thou com'st as one or all, Thou comest but to bless!"

"And some do call me Life, sweetheart,
And some do call me Death;
And he to whom the two are one
Has won my heart and faith."

She twined her white arms round his neck:

The tears fell down like rain. "And if I live or if I die,

We'll never part again."

Pure as snow on Himalayan ranges, Heaven-descended, soon to heaven withdrawn,

Ever dwells the lesser in the greater;

In God's love the human: we by these Know he holds Love's simplest stammering sweeter

Than cold praise of wordy Pharisees.

UNKNOWN.

THE FISHERMAN'S FUNERAL

UP on the breezy headland the fisherman's grave they made,

Where, over the daisies and clover bells, the birchen branches swayed; Above us the lark was singing in the cloudless skies of June,

Ganges,

Was Urvasi, Daughter of the Dawn.

But it happened that the gentle maiden Loved one Puru-avas,-fateful name!— And her heart, with its sweet secret laden, Faltered when her time of utterance

came.

"I love"-then she stopped, and people wondered;

"I love"--she must guard her secret well;

Then from sweetest lips that ever blundered,

"I love Puru-avas," trembling fell.

Ah, what terror seized on poor Urvasi!

Misty grew the violets of her eyes, And her form bent like a broken daisy, While around her rose the mocking cries.

But great Indra said, "The maid shall marry

Him whose image in her faithful heart She so near to that of God doth carry, Scarce her lips can keep their names apart."

Call it then not weakness or dissembling,

If, in striving the high name to reach, Through our voices runs the tender trembling

Of an earthly name too dear for speech!..

chanting their ceaseless tune: For the creamy line was curving along the hollow shore,

Where the dear old tides were flowing that he would ride no more. The dirge of the wave, the note of the bird,

and the priest's low tone were blent In the breeze that blew from the moor

land, all laden with country scent; But never a thought of the new-mown hay tossing on sunny plains, Or of lilies deep in the wild-wood, or roses gemming the lanes, Woke in the hearts of the stern bronzed

men who gathered around the

grave, Where lay the mate who had fought with

them the battle of wind and wave.

How boldly he steered the coble across the foaming bar,

When the sky was black to the eastward

and the breakers white on the Scar!

| How his keen eye caught the squall ahead, how his strong hand furled the sail, As we drove o'er the angry waters before the raging gale!

How cheery he kept all the long dark night; and never a parson spoke Good words, like those he said to us, when at last the morning broke!

So thought the dead man's comrades, as silent and sad they stood, While the prayer was prayed, the blessing said, and the dull earth struck the wood;