And each put a horn into his mouth,
And blew so sharp and shrill!

"And there,' said they, 'the merry winds go,

Away from every horn;

And those shall clear the mildew dank

From the blind old widow's corn:

"Oh, the poor blind widow

Though she has been blind so long,

She'll be merry enough when the mildew's gone,
And the corn stands stiff and strong!

"And some they brought the brown linseed,
And flung it down from the Low:
'And this,' said they, 'by the sunrise,
In the weaver's croft shall grow!

"Oh, the poor lame weaver!
How will he laugh outright
When he sees his dwindling flax-field
All full of flowers by night!'

"And then upspoke a brownie,

With a long beard on his chin;

'I have spun up all the tow,' said he, 'And I want some more to spin.

"I've spun a piece of hempen cloth, And I want to spin another—

A little sheet for Mary's bed

And an apron for her mother.'

"And with that I could not help but laugh,
And I laughed out loud and free;
And then on the top of the Caldon-Low,
There was no one left but me.

"And all on the top of the Caldon-Low
The mists were cold and gray,

And nothing I saw but the mossy stones
That round about me lay.

"But, as I came down from the hill-top, I heard, afar below,

How busy the jolly miller was,

And how merry the wheel did go!

"And I peeped into the widow's field,
And, sure enough, was seen

The yellow ears of the mildewed corn
All standing stiff and green!

"And down by the weaver's croft I stole,
To see if the flax were high;

But I saw the weaver at his gate
With the good news in his eye!

66

Now, this is all that I heard, mother,
And all that I did see;

So, prithee, make my bed, mother,

For I'm tired as I can be!"

THE FAIRY TO PUCK.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

OVER hill, over dale,

Thorough bush, thorough briar,
Over park, over pale,

Thorough flood, thorough fire,
I do wander every where,
Swifter than the moone's sphere.
And I serve the Fairy Queen,
To dew her orbs upon the green;
The cowslips tall her pensioners be,
In their gold coats spots you see,—
Those be rubies, Fairy favours :

In those freckles live their savours.
I must go seek some dew-drops here,
And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.

SONG OF THE ELFIN MILLER.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.

FULL merrily rings the millstone round,
Full merrily rings the wheel,
Full merrily gushes out the grist
Come, taste my fragrant meal!
As sends the lift its snowy drift,

So the meal comes in a shower;
Work, fairies, fast, for time flies past
I borrowed the mill an hour.

The miller he's a worldly man,
And maun hae double fee;

So draw the sluice of the churl's dam,
And let the stream come free.
Shout, fairies, shout! see, gushing out,
The meal comes like a river:

The top of the grain on hill and plain
Is ours, and shall be ever.

One elf goes chasing the wild bat's wing
And one the white owl's horn;

One hunts the fox for the white o' his tail
And we winna hae him till morn.
One idle fay, with the glow-worm's ray,
Runs glimmering 'mong the mosses;
Another goes tramp wi' the will-o-wisps' lamp,
To light a lad to the lasses.

O haste, my brown elf, bring me corn
From Bonnie Blackwood plains;
Go, gentle fairy, bring me grain
From green Dalgona mains;
But, pride of a' at Closeburn ha',
Fair is the corn and fatter;
Taste, fairies, taste, a gallanter grist
Has never been wet with water.

Hilloah! my hopper is heaped high;
Hark to the well-hung wheels!
They sing for joy; the dusty roof
It clatters and it reels.

Haste, elves, and turn yon mountain burn-
Bring streams that shine like siller;
The dam is down, the moon sinks soon,
And I maun grind my miller.

Ha! bravely done, my wanton elves,
That is a foaming stream:

See how the dust from the mill flies,
And chokes the cold moon-beam.
Haste, fairies, fleet come baptized feet,
Come sack and sweep up clean,
And meet me soon, ere sinks the moon,
In thy green vale, Dalreen.

THE LARCH AND THE OAK.

THOMAS CARLYLE.

"WHAT is the use of thee, thou gnarled sapling?" said a young larch-tree to a young oak. "I grow three feet in a year, thou scarcely so many inches; I am straight and taper as a reed, thou straggling and twisted as a loosened withe."-" And thy duration," answered the oak, "is some third part of man's life and I am appointed to flourish for a thousand years. Thou art felled and sawed into paling, where thou rottest and art burned after a single summer; of me are fashioned battle-ships, and I carry mariners and heroes into unknown seas."

The richer a nature the harder and slower its devel