Yet when he looks me in the face
I blush as red as cochineal;

And think did he but know my case,
How changed he'd be, my host of Lille.

My heart is weary, my peace is gone,
How shall I e'er my woes reveal?
I have no money, I lie in pawn,
A stranger in the town of Lille.

III

The sun bursts out in furious blaze,
I perspirate from head to heel;
I'd like to hire a one-horse chaise,
How can I, without cash at Lille?

I pass in sunshine burning hot
By cafés where in beer they deal;
I think how pleasant were a pot,
A frothing pot of beer of Lille!

What is yon house with walls so thick,
All girt around with guard and grille?
O gracious gods! it makes me sick,
It is the prison-house of Lille!

O cursed prison strong and barred,
It does my very blood congeal!
I tremble as I pass the guard,
And quit that ugly part of Lille.

The church-door beggar whines and prays,
I turn away at his appeal:
Ah, church-door beggar! go thy ways!
You're not the poorest man in Lille.

My heart is weary, my peace is gone,
How shall I e'er my woes reveal?
I have no money, I lie in pawn,
A stranger in the town of Lille.

IV

Say, shall I to yon Flemish church,
And at a Popish altar kneel?
Oh, do not leave me in the lurch, -
I 'll cry, ye patron-saints of Lille!
Ye virgins dressed in satin hoops,
Ye martyrs slain for mortal weal,
Look kindly down! before you stoops
The miserablest man in Lille.

And lo! as I beheld with awe

A pictured saint (I swear 'tis real),
It smiled, and turned to grandmamma!
It did! and I had hope in Lille!
'Twas five o'clock, and I could eat,
Although I could not pay my meal:
I hasten back into the street

Where lies my inn, the best in Lille.
What see I on my table stand,

A letter with a well-known seal?
'T is grandmamma's! I know her hand, -
"Το Mr. M. A. Titmarsh, Lille."

I feel a choking in my throat,

I pant and stagger, faint and reel!

It is it is - a ten-pound note,

And I'm no more in pawn at Lille!

[He goes off by the diligence that evening, and is restored to the bosom of his happy family.]

THE WILLOW-TREE

K

NOW ye the willow-tree
Whose grey leaves quiver,
Whispering gloomily

To yon pale river;

Lady, at even-tide

Wander not near it, They say its branches hide A sad, lost spirit!

Once to the willow-tree

A maid came fearful,
Pale seemed her cheek to be,
Her blue eye tearful;
Soon as she saw the tree,

Her step moved fleeter,
No one was there - ah me!
No one to meet her!

Quick beat her heart to hear

The far bell's chime

Toll from the chapel-tower
The trysting time:

But the red sun went down

In golden flame,

And though she looked round,

Yet no one came!

Presently came the night,
Sadly to greet her, —
Moon in her silver light,
Stars in their glitter;
Then sank the moon away
Under the billow,

Still wept the maid alone -
There by the willow!

Through the long darkness,
By the stream rolling,
Hour after hour went on
Tolling and tolling.
Long was the darkness,
Lonely and stilly;
Shrill came the night-wind,
Piercing and chilly.

Shrill blew the morning breeze,
Biting and cold,

Bleak peers the grey dawn
Over the wold.

Bleak over moor and stream
Looks the grey dawn,
Grey, with dishevelled hair,
Still stands the willow there -
THE MAID IS GONE!

Domine, Domine!

Sing we a litany,

Sing for poor maiden-hearts broken and weary;

Domine, Domine!

Sing we a litany,

Wail we and weep we a wild Miserere!

THE WILLOW-TREE

(ANOTHER VERSION)

L

I

ONG by the willow-trees
Vainly they sought her,

Wild rang the mother's screams

O'er the grey water:

"Where is my lovely one? Where is my daughter?