She has thrown her bonnet by; Little Ellie sits alone, Fills the silence like a speech: Little Ellie in her smile That swan's nest among the reeds. 'And the steed it shall be red-roan, And the lover shall be noble, With an eye that takes the breath, As his sword strikes men to death. 'And the steed it shall be shod All in silver, housed in azure, And the mane shall swim the wind; And the hoofs along the sod Shall flash onward and keep measure, Till the shepherds look behind. Y 'He will kiss me on the mouth Then, and lead me as a lover, Through the crowds that praise his deeds ; And, when soul-tied by one troth, Unto him I will discover That swan's nest among the reeds.' Little Ellie, with her smile Not yet ended, rose up gaily,— Tied the bonnet, donn'd the shoe, And went homeward round a mile, Just to see, as she did daily, What more eggs were with the two. Pushing through the elm-tree copse, Ellie went home sad and slow. If she found the lover ever, With his red-roan steed of steeds, Sooth I know not! but I know She could never show him-never, That swan's nest among the reeds. CLXII SONG E. B. Browning I wander'd by the brook-side, I wander'd by the mill, I could not hear the brook flow, But the beating of my own heart I sat beneath the elm-tree, I watch'd the long, long shade. I did not feel afraid; But the beating of my own heart He came not,-no, he came not; Fast silent tears were flowing, A hand was on my shoulder, It drew me nearer, nearer; R. M. Milnes CLXIII TIMOTHY 'Up, Timothy, up with your staff and away! Of coats and of jackets, grey, scarlet, and green, The girls on the hills make a holiday show. Fresh sprigs of green box-wood, not six months before, Fill'd the funeral basin at Timothy's door; A coffin through Timothy's threshold had past; One Child did it bear, and that Child was his last. Now fast up the dell came the noise and the fray, The horse and the horn, and the hark! hark! away! Old Timothy took up his staff, and he shut, With a leisurely motion, the door of his hut. Perhaps to himself at that moment he said; 'The key I must take, for my Ellen is dead.' CLXIV THE SLEEPING BEAUTY I-THE MAGIC SLEEP I Year after year unto her feet, The maiden's jet-black hair has grown, On either side her tranced form Forth streaming from a braid of pearl : The slumbrous light is rich and warm, And moves not on the rounded curl. 2 The silk star-broider'd coverlid Unto her limbs itself doth mould, Languidly ever; and, amid Her full black ringlets downward roll'd, Glows forth each softly shadow'd arm With bracelets of the diamond bright: Her constant beauty doth inform Stillness with love, and day with light. 3 She sleeps her breathings are not heard |