'Flank to flank are the three steeds gone, Sister Helen,

But the lady's dark steed goes alone.'

'And lonely her bridegroom's soul hath flown,

Little brother.'

(O Mother, Mary Mother,

The lonely ghost, between Hell and Heaven!)

'Oh the wind is sad in the iron chill,

Sister Helen,

And weary sad they look by the hill.'

'But he and I are sadder still,

Little brother!'

(0 Mother, Mary Mother,

Most sad of all, between Hell and Heaven !)

See, see, the wax has dropped from its place, Sister Helen,

And the flames are winning up apace !'

'Yet here they burn but for a space,

Little brother!'

(O Mother, Mary Mother,

Here for a space, between Hell and Heaven !)

"Ah! what white thing at the door has cross'd,

Sister Helen?

Ah! what is this that sighs in the frost?'

'A soul that's lost as mine is lost,

Little brother!'

(0 Mother, Mary Mother,

Lost, lost, all lost, between Hell and Heaven!)

STRATTON WATER.

'O HAVE you seen the Stratton flord That's great with rain to day?

It runs beneath your wall, Lord Sands, Full of the new-mown hay.

'I led your hounds to Hutton bank
To bathe at early morn:

They got their bath by Borrowbrake
Above the standing corn.'

Out from the castle-stair Lord Sands
Looked up the western lea;

The rook was grieving on her nest,
The flood was round her tree.

Over the castle-wall Lord Sands

Looked down the eastern hill:

The stakes swam free among the boats, The flood was rising still.

'What's yonder far below that lies So white against the slope?'

'O it's a sail o' your bonny barks The waters have washed up.'

'But I have never a sail so white,
And the water's not yet there.'
'O it's the swans o' your bonny lake
The rising flood doth scare.'

'The swans they would not hold so still,

So high they would not win.

'O it's Joyce my wife has spread her smock

And fears to fetch it in.'

'Nay, knave, it's neither sail nor swans,

Nor aught that you can say;

For though your wife might leave her smock, Herself she'd bring away.'

Lord Sands has passed the turret-stair,

The court, and yard, and all;

The kine were in the byre that day,

The nags were in the stall.

Lord Sands has won the weltering slope
Whereon the white shape lay:

The clouds were still above the hill,
And the shape was still as they.

Oh pleasant is the gaze of life
And sad is death's blind head,
But awful are the living eyes

In the face of one thought dead !

'In God's name, Janet, is it me Thy ghost has come to seek?'

'Nay, wait another hour, Lord Sands,Be sure my ghost shall speak.'

A moment stood he as a stone, Then grovelled to his knee. 'O Janet, O my love, my love,

Rise up and come with me!' 'O once before you bade me come, And it's here you have brought me !

'O many's the sweet word, Lord Sands, You've spoken oft to me;

But all that I have from you to-day

Is the rain on my body.