Down along the rocky shore

Some make their home,They live on crispy pancakes Of yellow tide-foam;

Some in the reeds

Of the black mountain-lake, With frogs for their watch-dogs, All night awake.

High on the hill-top

The old King sits;

He is now so old and gray
He's nigh lost his wits.
With a bridge of white mist
Columbkill he crosses,
On his stately journeys

From Slieveleague to Rosses:

Or going up with music

On cold starry nights,

To sup with the Queen

Of the gay Northern Lights.

They stole little Bridget
For seven years long;
When she came down again
Her friends were all gone.
They took her lightly back,

Between the night and morrow;

They thought that she was fast asleep, But she was dead with sorrow.

They have kept her ever since

Deep within the lakes,

On a bed of flag-leaves,

Watching till she wakes.

By the craggy hillside,
Through the mosses bare,
They have planted thorn-trees
For pleasure here and there.
Is any man so daring

To dig one up in spite,
He shall find the thornies set
In his bed at night.

Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,
We daren't go a hunting
For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk,
Trooping all together;

Green jacket, red cap,

And white owl's feather!

WILLIAM ALLINGHAM.

KILMENY.

FROM "THE QUEEN'S WAKE."

BONNY KILMENY gaed up the glen; But it wasna to meet Duneira's men, Nor the rosy monk of the isle to see, For Kilmeny was pure as pure could be. It was only to hear the yorlin sing, And pu' the cress-flower round the spring,— The scarlet hypp, and the hindberrye, And the nut that hung frae the hazel-tree; For Kilmeny was pure as pure could be. But lang may her minny look o'er the wa', And lang may she seek i' the green-wood shaw;

Lang the laird of Duneira blame,

And lang, lang greet or Kilmeny come hame.

When many a day had come and fled,

When grief grew calm, and hope was dead,

When mass for Kilmeny's soul had been sung,

When the bedesman had prayed, and the dead-bell

rung;

Late, late in a gloamin, when all was still,

When the fringe was red on the westlin hill,
The wood was sear, the moon i' the wane,
The reek o' the cot hung over the plain,-
Like a little wee cloud in the world its lane
When the ingle lowed with an eiry leme,
Late, late in the gloamin Kilmeny came hame!

e;

"Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been?
Lang hae we sought baith holt and den,—
By linn, by ford, and green-wood tree;
Yet you are halesome and fair to see.
Where got you that joup o' the lily sheen?
That bonny snood of the birk sae green?

And these roses, the fairest that ever was seen?
Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been?"

Kilmeny looked up with a lovely grace, But nae smile was seen on Kilmeny's face; As still was her look, and as still was her ee, As the stillness that lay on the emerant lea, Or the mist that sleeps on a waveless sea. For Kilmeny had been she knew not where, And Kilmeny had seen what she could not declare. Kilmeny had been where the cock never crew, Where the rain never fell, and the wind never blew;

But it seemed as the harp of the sky had rung,
And the airs of heaven played round her tongue,
When she spake of the lovely forms she had seen,
And a land where sin had never been,-
A land of love, and a land of light,
Withouten sun or moon or night;
Where the river swa'd a living stream,
And the light a pure celestial beam:
The land of vision it would seem,
A still, an everlasting dream.

In yon green-wood there is a waik,
And in that waik there is a wene,

And in that wene there is a maike,

That neither has flesh, blood, nor bane;

And down in yon green-wood he walks his lane.
In that green wene Kilmeny lay,

Her bosom happed wi' the flowerets gay;
But the air was soft, and the silence deep,
And bonny Kilmeny fell sound asleep;
She kend nae mair, nor opened her ee,
Till waked by the hymns of a far countrye.

She 'wakened on a couch of the silk sae slim, All striped wi' the bars of the rainbow's rim; And lovely beings around were rife,

Who erst had travelled mortal life;

And aye they smiled, and 'gan to speer:
"What spirit has brought this mortal here?"

"Lang have I journeyed the world wide," A meek and reverend fere replied; "Baith night and day I have watched the fair Eident a thousand years and mair.

Yes, I have watched o'er ilk degree,
Wherever blooms femenitye;
But sinless virgin, free of stain,
In mind and body, fand I nane.
Never, since the banquet of time,
Found I a virgin in her prime,
Till late this bonny maiden I saw,
As spotless as the morning snaw.
Full twenty years she has lived as free

As the spirits that sojourn in this countrye.

I have brought her away frae the snares of men, That sin or death she may never ken."

They clasped her waist and her hands sae fair; They kissed her cheek, and they kemed her hair; And round came many a blooming fere, Saying, "Bonny Kilmeny, ye 're welcome here; Women are freed of the littand scorn; O, blest be the day Kilmeny was born! Now shall the land of the spirits see, Now shall it ken, what a woman may be!

Many a lang year in sorrow and pain,

Many a lang year through the world we 've gane, Commissioned to watch fair womankind,

For it 's they who nurice the immortal mind.

We have watched their steps as the dawning shone,

And deep in the greenwood walks alone;

By lily bower and silken bed

The viewless tears have o'er them shed;

Have soothed their ardent minds to sleep,

Or left the couch of love to weep.

We have seen! we have seen! but the time must

come,

And the angels will weep at the day of doom!