"The happy children come to us, And look up in our faces: They ask us--Was it thus, and thus, When we were in their places?-- We cannot speak:--we see anew The hills we used to live in; And feel our mother's smile press through The kisses she is giving. Be pitiful, O God! "We pray together at the kirk, For mercy, mercy, solely-- Hands weary with the evil work, We lift them to the Holy! The corpse is calm below our knee-- Its spirit, bright before Thee-- Between them, worse than either, we-- Without the rest or glory! Be pitiful, O God! "We sit on hills our childhood wist, Woods, hamlets, streams, beholding! The sun strikes, through the furthest mist, The city's spire to golden. The city's golden spire it was, When hope and health were strongest, But now it is the churchyard grass We look upon the longest. Be pitiful, O God! "And soon all vision waxeth dull-- Men whisper, 'He is dying:' We cry no more, 'Be pitiful!'-- We have no strength for crying!-- No strength, no need! Then, Soul of mine, Look up and triumph rather-- Lo! in the depth of God's Divine, The Son adjures the Father-- Be pitiful, O God!" "The Romance of the Swan's Nest" is written in a different vein. It is characterized by graceful playfulness of manner and sentiment, which shows how heartily the amiable authoress can enter into the sympathies and enjoyments of child, and how much she is at home when she engages in lighter dalliance with the muse. We have taken the liberty to print in italics two or three _Barrettisms_, which however, we believe, are not very reprehensible. On the whole, it is very pleasing and elegant performance:-- ROMANCE OF THE SWAN'S NEST. "Little Ellie sits alone Mid the beeches of a meadow, By a stream-side, on the grass: And the trees are showering down _Doubles of their leaves in shadow_, On her shining hair and face. "She has thrown her bonnet by; And her feet she has been dipping In the shallow water's flow-- Now she holds them nakedly In her hands, all sleek and dripping, While she rocketh to and fro. "Little Ellie sits alone,-- And the smile, she softly useth, Fills the silence like a speech; While she thinks what shall be done,-- And the sweetest pleasure, chooseth, For her future within reach! "Little Ellie in her smile Chooseth ... 'I will have a lover, Riding on a steed of steeds! He shall love me without guile; And to _him_ I will discover That swan's nest among the reeds. "'And the steed shall be red-roan, And the lover shall be noble, With an eye _that takes the breath_,-- And the lute he plays upon Shall strike ladies into trouble, As his sword strikes men to death.