LADY CLARE

"If I come drest like a village maid,
I am but as my fortunes are:
I am a beggar born," she said,
"And not the Lady Clare."

Play me no tricks," said Lord Ronald, "For I am yours in word and deed. Play me no tricks," said Lord Ronald, "Your riddle is hard to read."

Oh, and proudly stood she up!

Her heart within her did not fail:

She look'd into Lord Ronald's eyes,
And told him all her nurse's tale.

He laughed a laugh of merry scorn:

He turned and kissed her where she stood:

"If you are not the heiress born,

And I," said he, "the next in blood

“If you are not the heiress born,
And I," said he, "the lawful heir,
We two will wed to-morrow morn,
And you shall still be Lady Clare."

ALFRED TENNYSON.

95

MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS

MY heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here;

My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer;

Chasing the wild deer and following the roe,

My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.

Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North,
The birthplace of valor, the country of worth;
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,

The hills of the Highlands forever I love.

Farewell to the mountains high covered with snow; Farewell to the straths and green valleys below; Farewell to the forests and wild hanging woods; Farewell to the torrents and loud pouring floods. My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here, My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer; Chasing the wild deer and following the roe, My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.

ROBERT BURNS

ONE BY ONE

ONE by one the sands are flowing,

One by one the moments fall;

Some are coming, some are going;
Do not strive to grasp them all.

One by one thy duties wait thee-
Let thy whole strength go to each,
Let no future dreams elate thee,

Learn thou first what these can teach.

One by one bright girts from heaven)
Joys are sent thee here below;
Take them readily when given-
Ready, too, to let them go.

One by one thy griefs shall meet thee;
Do not fear an arméd band;
One will fade as others greet thee—
Shadows passing through the land.

Do not look at life's long sorrow;
See how small each moment's pain;
God will help thee for to-morrow,
So, each day, begin again.

98

ONE BY ONE

Every hour that fleets so slowly

Has its task to do or bear;
Luminous the crown, and holy,
When each gem is set with care,

Do not linger with regretting,
Or for passing hours despond;
Nor, thy daily toil forgetting,
Look too eagerly beyond.

Hours are golden links, God's token,
Reaching heaven; but, one by one,
Take them, lest the chain be broken
Ere the pilgrimage be done.

ADELAIDE A. PROCTOR.

ORPHEUS WITH HIS LUTE

[From Henry VIII.]

ORPHEUS with his lute made trees,

And the mountain tops that freeze,
Bow themselves, when he did sing:
To his music, plants and flowers
Ever sprung; as sun and showers

There had made a lasting spring.

Everything that heard him play,
Even the billows of the sea,

Hung their heads and then lay by.

In sweet music is such art,

Killing care and grief of heart

Fall asleep, or, hearing, die.

SHAKESPEARE.

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