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Believe Me, if All Those Endearing Young Charms.

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For the black bat, night, has flown!

Come into the garden, Maud,

I am here at the gate alone;

And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad; And the musk of the roses blown.

For a breeze of morning moves,

And the planet of Love is on high, Beginning to faint in the light that she loves On a bed of daffodil sky,—

To faint in the light of the sun that she loves, To faint in its light, and to die.

All night have the roses heard

The flute, violin, bassoon;

All night has the casement jessamine stirred
To the dancers dancing in tune,-
Till a silence fell with the waking bird,
And a hush with the setting moon.

I said to the lily, "There is but one
With whom she has heart to be gay.
When will the dancers leave her alone?
She is weary of dance and play."
Now half to the setting moon are gone,
And half to the rising day;

Low on the sand and loud on the stone
The last wheel echoes away.

I said to the rose, "The brief night goes
In babble and revel and wine.
O young lord-lover, what sighs are those
For one that will never be thine?

But mine, but mine," so I sware to the rose

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Forever and ever mine !"

And the soul of the rose went into my blood,
As the music clashed in the hall;
And long by the garden lake I stood,
For I heard your rivulet fall

From the lake to the meadow, and on to the wood,
Our wood that is dearer than all;

From the meadow your walks have left so sweet That whenever a March wind sighs,

He sets the jewel print of your feet

In violets blue as your eyes,
To the woody hollows in which we meet,
And the valleys of Paradise.

The slender acacia would not shake
One long milk bloom on the tree;
The white lake blossom fell into the lak
As the pimpernel dozed on the lea ;
But the rose was awake all night for your sake,
Knowing your promise to me;

The lilies and roses were all awake,
They sighed for the dawn and thee.
Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls,
Come hither! the dances are done;
In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls,
Queen lily and rose in one;

Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls,
To the flowers, and be their sun.

There has fallen a splendid tear
From the passion flower at the gate.

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A breath, a touch like this has shaken! And ruder words will soon rush in

To spread the breach that words begin;
And eyes forget the gentle ray
They wore in courtship's smiling day;
And voices lose the tone that shed
A tenderness round all they said;
Till fast declining, one by one,
The sweetnesses of love are gone,
And hearts, so lately mingled, seem
Like broken clouds,-or like the stream,
That, smiling, left the mountain's brow,
As though its waters ne'er could sever
Yet, ere it reached the plain below,

Breaks into floods that part forever. O you, that have the charge of Love, Keep him in rosy bondage bound,

As in the fields of bliss above

He sits, with flowerets fettered round ;— Loose not a tie that round him clings, Nor ever let him use his wings; For even an hour, a minute's flight Will rob the plumes of half their light. Like that celestial bird,-whose nest

Is found beneath far Eastern skies,— Whose wings, though radiant when at rest, Lose all their glory when he flies!

-Thomas Moore.

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And left the red clouds to preside o'er the scene,
While lanely I stray in the calm summer gloamin',
To muse on sweet Jessie, the Flower o' Dumblane.

How sweet is the brier, wi' its saft fauldin' blossom
And sweet is the birk wi' its mantle o' green:
Yet sweeter and fairer, and dear to this bosom,
Is lovely young Jessie, the Flower o' Dumblane.

She's modest as ony, and blithe as she's bonnie,—
For guileless simplicity marks her its ain;

And far be the villain, divested of feeling,

[blane.

Wha'd blight in its bloom the sweet Flower o' Dum

Sing on, thou sweet mavis, thy hymn to the e'ening!-
Thou'rt dear to the echoes of Calderwood Glen:
Sae dear to this bosom, sae artless and winning,
Is charming young Jessie, the Flower o' Dumblane.

How lost were my days till I met wi' my Jessie!
The sports o' the city seemed foolish and vain;

I ne'er saw a nymph I would ca' my dear lassie [blane.
Till charmed wi' sweet Jessie, the Flower o' Dum-

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Duncan Gray Cam' Here to Woo.

UNCAN GRAY cam' here to woo

Ha, ha the wooing o't!

On blythe Yule night when we were fou―
Ha, ha! the wooing o't!

Maggie coost her head fu' high,
Looked asklent and unco skeigh,
Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh-

Ha, ha the wooing o't!

Duncan fleeched and Duncan prayed-
Ha, ha! the wooing o't!
Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig-

Ha, ha the wooing o't!
Duncan sighed baith out and in,
Grat his een baith bleer't and blin',
Spak o' lowpin o'er a linn-

Ha, ha! the wooing o't!

Time and chance are but a tide-
Ha, ha! the wooing o't!

Slighted love is sair to bide

Ha, ha! the wooing o't!

Shall I, like a fool. quoth he,
For a haughty hizzie dee?
She may gae to-France for me!
Ha, ha! the wooing o't!

How it comes let doctors tell-
Ha, ha! the wooing o't!
Meg grew sick as he grew heal-
Ha, ha! the wooing o't!
Something in her bosom wrings-
For relief a sigh she brings;
And O, her een they speak sic things!
Ha, ha! the wooing o't!

Duncan was a lad o' grace

Ha, ha! the wooing o't!
Maggie's was a piteous case-

Ha, ha! the wooing o't!
Duncan could na be her death:
Swelling pity smoored his wrath.
Now they're crouse and canty baith,
Ha, ha! the wooing o't!

-Robert Burns.

How the Gentlemen Do Before Marriage.

H! then they come flattering,

OH!

Soft nonsense chattering,

Praising your pickling,

Playing at tickling,

Love verses writing,
Acrostics inditing,

If your finger aches, fretting,
Fondling and petting,
"My loving"-"my doving,"
"Petseying,"-"wetseying,"
Now sighing, now dying,
Now dear diamonds buying,

Or yards of chantilly, like a great big silly,
Cashmere shawls-brandy balls,
Oranges, apples,-gloves Gros de Naples,
Sweet pretty "skuggies”—ugly pet puggies;
Now with an earring themselves endearing,
Or squandering guineas upon Sevignes,
Now fingers squeezing, or playfully teasing,
Bringing you bull's eyes, casting you sheep's eyes,
Looking in faces while working braces,

Never once heeding what they are reading;
But soiling one's hose by pressing one's toes;

Or else so zealous, and nice and jealous of all the fellows,
Darting fierce glances if ever one dances with a son of
France's;

Or finding great faults, or threatening assaults when-
ever you "valtz;"

Or fuming and fussing enough for a dozen, if you romp

with your cousin;

Continually stopping, when out a shopping, and bank notes dropping,

Not seeking to win money, calling it "tin" money, and
promising pin money;

Like picnics at Twickenham, off lovely cold chicken,
ham, and champagne to quicken 'em;
Detesting one's walking without John too goes stalking,
to prevent the men talking;

Think you still in your teens, wont let you eat "greens,"
and hate crinolines;

Or heaping caresses, if you curl your black tresses, or wear low-neck'd dresses;

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