Like a laverock in the lift, sing, O bonny bride! It's we two, it's we two, happy side by side. Take a kiss from me thy man; now the song begins: "All is made afresh for us, and the brave heart wins." When the darker days come, and no sun will shine, Thou shalt dry my tears, lass, and I'll dry thine. It's we two, it's we two, while the world's away, Sitting by the golden sheaves on our wedding-day. SONG FOR A BABE. Little babe, while burns the west, Warm thee, warm thee in my breast; While the moon doth shine her best, And the dews distil not. All the land so sad, so fair-- Sweet its toils are, blest its care. Child, we may not enter there! Some there are that will not. Fain would I thy margins know, Land of work, and land of snow; Land of life, whose rivers flow On, and on, and stay not. Fain would I thy small limbs fold, While the weary hours are told, Little babe in cradle cold. Some there are that may not. GIVE US LOVE AND GIVE US PEACE. One morning, oh! so early, my beloved, my beloved, All the birds were singing blithely, as if never they would cease; 'Twas a thrush sang in my garden, "Hear the story, hear the story!" And the lark sang, "Give us glory!" And the dove said, "Give us peace!" Then I listened, oh! so early, my beloved, my beloved, To that murmur from the woodland of the dove, my dear, the dove; When the nightingale came after, "Give us fame to sweeten duty!" When the wren sang, "Give us beauty!" She made answer, "Give us love!" Sweet is spring, and sweet the morning, my beloved, my beloved; Now for us doth spring, doth morning, wait upon the year's increase, And my prayer goes up, "Oh, give us, crowned in youth with marriage glory, Give for all our life's dear story, Give us love, and give us peace!" THE TWO MARGARETS. I. MARGARET BY THE MERE SIDE. Lying imbedded in the green champaign That gives no shadow to thy silvery face, Open to all the heavens, and all their train, The marshalled clouds that cross with stately pace, No steadfast hills on thee reflected rest, Nor waver with the dimpling of thy breast. O, silent Mere! about whose marges spring Thick bulrushes to hide the reed-bird's nest; Where the shy ousel dips her glossy wing, And balanced in the water takes her rest: While under bending leaves, all gem-arrayed, Blue dragon-flies sit panting in the shade: Warm, stilly place, the sundew loves thee well, And the green sward comes creeping to thy brink, And golden saxifrage and pimpernel Lean down to thee their perfumed heads to drink; And heavy with the weight of bees doth bend White clover, and beneath thy wave descend: While the sweet scent of bean-fields, floated wide On a long eddy of the lightsome air Over the level mead to thy lone side, Doth lose itself among thy zephyrs rare, With wafts from hawthorn bowers and new-cut hay, And blooming orchards lying far away.