THE FAIREST THING IN MORTAL EYES.

To make my lady's obsequies,

My love a minster wrought;
And, in the chantry, service there
Was sung by doleful thought.
The tapers were of burning sighs,
That light and odor gave;

And sorrows, painted o'er with tears,
Enlumined her grave;

And round about, in quaintest guise,

Was carved: "Within this tomb there lies

The fairest thing in mortal eyes."

Above her lieth spread a tomb,

Of gold and sapphires blue:
The gold doth show her blessedness,
The sapphires mark her true;
For blessedness and truth in her
Were livelily portrayed,

When gracious God with both His hands

Her goodly substance made.

He framed her in such wondrous wise,

She was, to speak without disguise,

The fairest thing in mortal eyes.

A DEATH-BED.

No more, no more! my heart doth faint
When I the life recall

Of her, who lived so free from taint,
So virtuous deemed by all,
That in herself was so complete,

I think that she was ta'en
By God to deck His paradise,
And with his saints to reign;

Whom, while on earth, each one did prize
The fairest thing in mortal eyes.

But naught our tears avail, or cries:

All soon or late in death shall sleep;

Nor living wight long time may keep
The fairest thing in mortal eyes.

CHARLES, DUKE OF ORLEANS. (French.)

Translation of Rev. HENRY FRANCIS CARY.

A DEATH-BED.

HER suffering ended with the day;

Yet lived she at its close,

And breathed the long, long night away,

In statue-like repose.

But when the sun, in all his state,

Illumed the eastern skies,

She passed through Glory's morning-gate,

And walked in Paradise!

JAMES ALDRICH.

ANNABEL LEE.

It was many and many a year ago,

In a kingdom by the sea,

That a maiden lived, whom you may know,

By the name of Annabel Lee;

And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love, and be loved by, me.

I was a child, and she was a child,

In this kingdom by the sea;

But we loved with a love that was more than love,

I and my Annabel Lee:

With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,

In this kingdom by the sea,

A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;

So that her high-born kinsmen came,
And bore her away from me,

To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not so happy in heaven,

Went envying her and me.

Yes! that was the reason (as all men know),
In this kingdom by the sea,

THE LITTLE BROWN MAN.

That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we,

Of many far wiser than we;

And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the démons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee,

And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

And so, all the night-tide I lie down by the side
Of my darling, my darling, my life, and my bride,
In her sepulchre there by the sea,

In her tomb by the sounding sea.

EDGAR ALLAN POE.

THE LITTLE BROWN MAN.

A LITTLE man we've here,

All in a suit of brown,

Upon town;

He's as brisk as bottled beer,

And, without a shilling rent,

Lives content:

THE LITTLE BROWN MAN.

"For d'ye see," says he, "my plan,

D'ye see," says he, "my plan,

My plan, d'ye see, 's to-laugh at that!" Sing merrily, sing merrily, the Little Brown Man!

When every mad grisette

He has toasted, till his score

Holds no more,

Then, head and ears in debt,

66

When the duns and bums abound

All around,

'D'ye see," says he, "my plan,

D'ye see," says he, "my plan,

My plan, d'ye see, 's to-laugh at that!

Sing merrily, sing merrily, the Little Brown Man!

When the rain comes through his attic,
And he lies all day abed,

Without bread;

When the winter winds rheumatic

Make him blow his nails, for dire

Want of fire,

"D'ye see," says he, "my plan,

D'ye see," says he, "my plan,

My plan, d'ye see, 's to-laugh at that!" Sing merrily, sing merrily, the Little Brown Man!

His wife, a dashing figure,

Makes shift to pay her clothes

By her beaux;

The gallanter they rig her,