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A PETITION TO TIME.

And quhat wul ze leive to zour ain mither deir,
Edward, Edward?

And quhat wul ze leive to zour ain mither deir?
My deir son, now tell mee O.”

"The curse of hell frae me sall ze beir,

Mither, mither:

The curse of hell frae me sall ze beir —
Sic counseils ze gave to mee O."

ANONYMOUS.

A PETITION TO TIME.

TOUCH us gently, Time!

Let us glide adown thy stream
Gently- -as we sometimes glide
Through a quiet dream.

Humble voyagers are we:

Husband, wife, and children three;

(One is lost an angel, fled

To the azure overhead!)

Touch us gently, Time!

We've not proud nor soaring wings:
Our ambition, our content,

Lies in simple things.

Humble voyagers are we,
O'er life's dim, unsounded sea,

Seeking only some calm clime:

Touch us gently, gentle Time!

BRYAN WALLER PROCTER. (Barry Cornwall.)

THE DULE'S 'THIS BONNET O' MINE.

THE dule's i' this bonnet o' mine:
My ribbins'll never be reet.
Here, Mally, aw'm like to be fine,
For Jamie'll be comin' to-neet;
He met me i' th' lone tother day,

(Aw wur gooin' for wayter to th' well,) An' he begged that aw'd wed him i' May. Bi'th' mass, iv he'll let me, aw will!

When he took my two honds into his :
Good Lord, heaw they trembled between !

An' aw durstn't look up in his face,
Becose on him seein' my e'en.
My cheek went as red as a rose ;
There's never a mortal con tell

Heaw happy aw felt-for, thae knows,
One couldn't ha' axed him theirsel'.

But th' tale wur at th' end o' my tung:
To let it eawt wouldn't be reet,

For aw thought to seem forrud wur wrung;
So aw towd him aw'd tell him to-neet.
But, Mally, thae knows very weel,

Though it isn't a thing one should own,

Ohearts that break and que no sign
Save whitening lip and

facing tresses,

Till Death pours out his Cordial wine 8 low-dropped from omsery's crusting preses

breath

or

echoing

chard

of singing
ему
To every
What endless melodies.

hidden pang were given,

were poured.

As sad as earth, as sweet as

Heaven!

Oliver Wendell Hormes.

THE VOICELESS.

Iv aw'd th' pikein' o' th' world to mysel',
Aw'd oather ha' Jamie or noan.

Neaw, Mally, aw've towd thae my mind;
What would to do iv it wur thee?
"Aw'd tak him just while he're inclined,
An' a farrantly bargain he'll be;
For Jamie's as greadly a lad

As ever stept eawt into th' sun.

Go, jump at thy chance, an' get wed;

An' mak th' best o' th' job when it's done!'

Eh, dear! but it's time to be gwon:
Aw shouldn't like Jamie to wait;

Aw connut for shame be too soon,

An' aw wouldn't for th' world be too late. Aw'm o' ov a tremble to th' heel:

Dost think 'at my bonnet'll do? "Be off, lass-thae looks very weel;

He wants noan o' th' bonnet, thae foo!"

EDWIN WAUGH.

THE VOICELESS.

WE Count the broken lyres that rest
Where the sweet wailing singers slumber,

But o'er their silent sister's breast

The wild flowers who will stoop to number?

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THE VOICELESS.

A few can touch the magic string,

And noisy Fame is proud to win them;
Alas for those that never sing,

But die with all their music in them!

Nay, grieve not for the dead alone,

Whose song has told their hearts' sad story:
Weep for the voiceless, who have known
The cross without the crown of glory!
Not where Leucadian breezes sweep

O'er Sappho's memory-haunted billow,
But where the glistening night-dews weep
On nameless sorrow's churchyard pillow.

O hearts that break and give no sign,
Save whitening lip and fading tresses,
Till Death pours out his cordial wine
Slow-dropped from Misery's crushing presses!
If singing breath or echoing chord
To every hidden pang were given,
What endless melodies were poured,
As sad as Earth, as sweet as Heaven!

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.