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That I ne'er to other tongue should list, or smile at other's tale,

But remember he my lips had kiss'd, pure as those earrings pale.

When he comes back, and hears that I have dropp'd them in the well;

Oh, what will Muça think of me, I cannot, cannot tell.

'My ear-rings! my earrings! he'll say they should have been,

Not of pearl and silver, but of gold and glittering sheen;

Of jasper and of onyx, and of diamond shining clear,

Changing to the changing light, with radiance insincere ;

That changing minds unchanging gems are not befitting well;

Thus will he think, and what to say, alas! I cannot tell.

He'll think, when I to market went, I loiter'd by the way;

He'll think a willing ear I lent to all the lads might say;

He'll think some other lover's hand among my tresses noozed,

And from the ear, where he had placed them, my rings of pearl unloos'd;

He'll think, as I sat sporting so, beside this marble well,

My pearls fell in, and what to say, alas! I cannot tell.

'He'll say I am a woman, and we are all the same;

He'll say I loved, when he was here, to whisper of his flame;

But when he went to Tunis, my virgin troth had broken,

And thought no more of Muça, and cared not for his token.

My earrings! my earrings! ah! luckless, luckless well!

And what to say to Muça, alas! I cannot tell.

'I'll tell the truth to Muça, and hope he will believe

That I thought of him at morning, and thought of him at eve;

And that, musing on my lover, when down.

the sun was gone,

His earrings in my hand I held, by the fountain, all alone;

And that my mind was on the sea, when from my hand they fell;

And that deep my love lies in my heart, as they lie in the well.'

SONG OF A SPIRIT TO THE

DEPARTING CHILD.

Anon.

COME, fair child, I wait for thee
On the golden shores of eternity;

I wait with a wreath for thy shining hair,
And a robe of light for thy spirit to wear.

Come to the land of the cherubim !
Come to the land of the seraphim!
Come to the hills by immortals trod,
Come, where the pure in heart see God.

Come to the morning that knows no night-
The sunshine of everlasting light;
Come, thou art weary of earthly things;
Snatch thee, fair spirit, thy shining wings.

Few and short have thy wanderings been
Through the dark desert of earth and sin;
For thou wast told of a Saviour's love,
And thy heart was fixed on the joys above.

And since thy young spirit hath sought its
God,

And in the bright path of religion trod;

The seraph of love and the angel of peace Have fixed thine abode in the gardens of bliss.

They have built thee a home with a golden dcor,
With walls of pearl and a sapphire floor;
And a fairer light on thy dwelling falls
Than ere thou hast seen in thy father's halls.

Then come, thou lamb of God's holy fold;
Come, with thy locks of waving gold;

And thy path shall be bright with the halo of bliss,

And thy brow shall be bound with the lilies of peace.

Yes, thou art coming; thy bark is past
O'er the dark waters of life at last;

And thy bright, bright wing is in glory unfurled,

Thou hast left the dark shades of a sinful world.

Joy! joy! be the theme of the angel throng,
And the temples of Paradise ring with the song;
For a beautiful soul to our band is given,
And a deathless spirit has reached its heaven.

EARTHLY BLISS.
Young.

THE spider's most attenuated thread
Is cord, is cable, to man's slender tie
Of earthly bliss: it breaks at every breeze.

SATURDAY AFTERNOON.
IP. Willis.

I LOVE to look on a scene like this,
Of wild and careless play,

And persuade myself that I am not old,
And my locks are not yet grey;

For it stirs the blood in an old man's heart,
And makes his pulses fly,

To catch the thrill of a happy voice,
And the light of a pleasant eye.

I have walked the world for fourscore years,
And they say that I am old;

That my heart is ripe for the reaper Death,
And my years are well nigh told.
It is very true. It is very true.

I am told-and I 'bide my time ';
But my heart will leap at a scene like this,
And I half renew my prime.

Play on! play on! I am with you there,
In the midst of your merry ring;
I can feel the thrill of the daring jump,
And the rush of the breathless swing;
I hide with you in the fragrant hay,
And I whoop the smothered call,
And my feet slip up on the seedy floor,
And I care not for the fall.

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