An' I kep a-callin' o' Roä till 'e waggled 'is taäil fur a bit But the cocks kep a-crawin' an' crawin' all night, an' I 'ears 'em yit;

An' the dogs was a-yowlin' all round, and thou was a-squeälin' thysen,

An' Moother was naggin' an' groäuin' an' moänin' an' naggin'

ageän;

An' I 'eärd the bricks an' the baulks 1 rummle down when the roof gev waäy,

Fur the fire was a-raägin' an' raävin' an' roarin' like judgment daäy.

Warm enew theere sewer-ly, but the barn was as cowd as

owt,

An' we cuddled and huddled togither, an' happt 2 wersens oop as we mowt.

An' I browt Roä round, but Moother 'ed beän sa soak'd wi'

the thaw

'At she cotch'd 'er death o' cowd that night, poor soul, i' the

straw.

8

Haäfe o' the parish runn'd oop when the rigtree was tummlin'

in

Too laäte-but it's all ower now - hall hower · an' ten year sin;

Too laäte, tha mun git tha to bed, but I'll coom an' I'll squench the light,

Fur we moänt 'ev naw moor fires and soa little Dick, good-night.

1 Beams.

2 Wrapt ourselves.

3 The beam that runs along the roof of the house just beneath the ridge.

Dedicated to the Hon. J. Russell Lowell.

THE RING.

MIRIAM AND HER FATHER.

Miriam (singing). Mellow moon of heaven,

Bright in blue,

Moon of married hearts,

Hear me, you!

Twelve times in the year

Bring me bliss,
Globing Honey Moons

Bright as this.

Moon, you fade at times
From the night.

Young again you grow
Out of sight.

Silver crescent-curve,

Coming soon,

Globe again, and make
Honey Moon.

Shall not my love last,

Moon, with you,

For ten thousand years

Old and new?

Father. And who was he with such love-drunken eyes They made a thousand honey moons of one?

Miriam. The prophet of his own, my Hubert — his The words, and mine the setting. "Air and Words," Said Hubert, when I sang the song, 66 are bride

And bridegroom."

Does it please you?

Father.

Mainly, child,

Because I hear your Mother's voice in yours.
She- why, you shiver tho' the wind is west
With all the warmth of summer.

Miriam.

Well, I felt

On a sudden I know not what, a breath that past
With all the cold of winter.

Father (muttering to himself).

Even so.

The Ghost in Man, the Ghost that once was Man,

But cannot wholly free itself from Man,

Are calling to each other thro' a dawn
Stranger than earth has ever seen; the veil
Is rending, and the Voices of the day
Are heard across the Voices of the dark.

No sudden heaven, nor sudden hell, for man,

But thro' the Will of One who knows and rules -
And utter knowledge is but utter love -
Eonian Evolution, swift or slow,

Thro' all the Spheres an ever opening height,
An ever lessening earth and she perhaps,

My Miriam, breaks her latest earthly link

With me to-day.

Miriam.

You speak so low, what is it?

Your "Miriam breaks
Breaking an old one?

Father.

- is making a new link

No, for we, my child,

Have been till now each other's all-in-all.

Miriam. And you the lifelong guardian of the child. Father. I, and one other whom you have not known. Miriam. And who? what other?

Father.

Whither are you bound?

For Naples which we only left in May?

Miriam. No! father, Spain, but Hubert brings me home With April and the swallow. Wish me joy!

Father. What need to wish when Hubert weds in you

The heart of Love, and you the soul of Truth

In Hubert?

Miriam.

Tho' you used to call me once

The lonely maiden-Princess of the wood,

Who meant to sleep her hundred summers out

Before a kiss should wake her.

Father.

Ay, but now

Your fairy Prince has found you, take this ring.

Miriam. "Io t'amo"-and these diamonds beautiful!

· From Walter," and for me from you then? Father.

One way for Miriam.

Miriam.

Miriam am I not?

Well,

Father. This ring bequeath'd you by your mother, child,
Was to be given you - such her dying wish
Given on the morning when you came of age
Or on the day you married. Both the days
Now close in one. The ring is doubly yours.
Why do you look so gravely at the tower?
Miriam. I never saw it yet so all ablaze
With creepers crimsoning to the pinnacles,
As if perpetual sunset linger'd there,
And all ablaze too in the lake below!

And how the birds that circle round the tower
Are cheeping to each other of their flight

To summer lands!

Father.

And that has made you grave? Fly-care not. Birds and brides must leave the nest. Child, I am happier in your happiness

She comes to dress me in my bridal veil.
Father. What did she say?

Miriam.

She said, that you and I

Had been abroad for my poor health so long
She fear'd I had forgotten her, and I ask'd
About my Mother, and she said, "Thy hair
Is golden like thy Mother's, not so fine."
Father. What then? what more?
Miriam.

She said—perhaps indeed

She wander'd, having wander'd now so far
Beyond the common date of death

that you,

When I was smaller than the statuette

Of my dear Mother on your bracket here -
You took me to that chamber in the tower,

The topmost a chest there, by which you knelt —

And there were books and dresses

- left to me,
A ring too which you kiss'd, and I, she said,
I babbled, Mother, Mother as I used
To prattle to her picture—stretch'd my hands
As if I saw her; then a woman came
And caught me from my nurse.
A sound of anger like a distant storm.
Father. Garrulous old crone.

Miriam.

Father.

I hear her yet

Poor nurse!

I bade her keep,

Like a seal'd book, all mention of the ring,

For I myself would tell you all to-day.

Miriam. "She too might speak to-day," she mumbled. Still,

I scarce have learnt the title of your book,

But you will turn the pages.

Ay, to-day!

Father.
I brought you to that chamber on your third
September birthday with your nurse, and felt
An icy breath play on me, while I stoopt
To take and kiss the ring.

Miriam.

Io t'amo?

Father.

This very ring

Yes, for some wild hope was mine

That, in the misery of my married life,