and they talked, While the dews fell over the mulberry tree. She gave him a rose--while he sighed for a kiss, Gillyflower, gentle rosemary; Quoth he, as he took it, "I kiss thee in this," While the dews fall over the mulberry tree. She gave him a lily less white than her breast, Gillyflower, gentle rosemary; Quoth he, "'Twill remind me of one I love best," While the dews fall over the mulberry tree. [Illustration: 9256] She gave him a two faces under a hood, Gillyflower, gentle rosemary; "How blest you could make me," quoth he, "if you would," While the dews fall over the mulberry tree. She saw a forget-me-not flower in the grass, Gillyflower, gentle rosemary; Ah! why did the lady that little flower pass? While the dews fell over the mulberry tree. The young lover saw that she passed it, and sigh'd, Gillyflower, gentle rosemary; They say his heart broke, and he certainly died, While the dews fell over the mulberry tree. Now all you fair ladies, take warning by this, Gillyflower, gentle rosemary; And never refuse your young lovers a kiss, While the dews fall over the mulberry tree. ----Ed. Kenealy. [Illustration: 0257] THE OLD STORY ... Old as the universe, yet not outworn."--_The Island_. |He came across the meadow-pass, That summer-eve of eves, The sunlight streamed along the grass, And glanced amid the leaves; And from the shrubbery below, And from the garden trees, He heard the thrushes' music flow, And humming of the bees; The garden-gate was swung apart-- The space was brief between; But there, for throbbing of his heart, He paused perforce to lean. He leaned upon the garden-gate; He looked, and scarce he breathed Within the little porch she sate, With woodbine overwreathed; Her eyes upon her work were bent, Unconscious who was nigh; But oft the needle slowly went, And oft did idle lie; And ever to her lips arose Sweet fragments faintly sung, But ever, ere the notes could close, She hushed them on her tongue. Her fancies as they come and go, Her pure face speaks the while, For now it is a flitting glow, And now a breaking smile; And now it is a graver shade When holier thoughts are there-- An Angel's pinion might be stayed To see a sight so fair; But still they hid her looks of light, Those downcast eyelids pale-- Two lovely clouds so silken white, Two lovelier stars that veil. The sun at length his burning edge Had rested on the hill, And save one thrush from out the hedge, Both bower and grove were still. The sun had almost bade farewell; But one reluctant ray Still loved within that porch to dwell, As charmed there to stay-- It stole aslant the pear-tree bough, And through the woodbine fringe, And kissed the maiden's neck and brow,