XXIV.

FROM THE FAIR MAID
OF PERTH.

THE GLEE MAIDEN.

Aн, poor Louise! the livelong day
She roams from cot to castle gay;
And still her voice and viol say,
Ah, maids, beware the woodland way,
Think on Louise.

Ah, poor Louise! The sun was high,
Itsmirch'd her cheek, it dimm'd her eye,
The woodland walk was cool and nigh,
Where birds with chiming streamlets
vie

To cheer Louise.

Ah, poor Louise! The savage bear
Made ne'er that lovely grove his lair;
The wolves molest not paths so fair-
But better far had such been there
For poor Louise.

Ah, poor Louise! In woody wold
She met a huntsman fair and bold;
His baldric was of silk and gold,
And many a witching tale he told
To poor Louise.

Ah, poor Louise! Small cause to pine
Hadst thou for treasures of the mine:
For peace of mind that gift divine,
And spotless innocence, were thine,
Ah, poor Louise!

Ah, poor Louise! Thy treasure's reft!
I know not if by force or theft,
Or part by violence, part by gift;
But misery is all that's left

THE BLOOD ORDEAL.

VIEWLESS Essence, thin and bare,
Wellnigh melted into air;
Still with fondness hovering near
The earthly form thou once didst wear;
Pause upon thy pinion's flight,
Be thy course to left or right;
Be thou doom'd to soar or sink,
Pause upon the awful brink.

Thee untimely from thy dwelling,
To avenge the deed expelling
Mystic force thou shalt retain
O'er the blood and o'er the brain.
When the form thou shalt espy
That darken'd on thy closing eye;
When the footstep thou shalt hear,
That thrill'd upon thy dying ear;

Then strange sympathies shall wake,
The flesh shall thrill, the nerves shall

And look once more at all around,
At stream and bank, and sky and
ground.

Thy life its final course has found,
And thou must die.

Yes, lay thee down,

And while thy struggling pulses flutter, Bid the grey monk his soul-mass mutter,

And the deep bell its death-tone

utter

Thy life is gone.