ANGELS BY THE DOOR.

O! THERE be angels evermwore,
A-passèn onward by the door,
A-zent to teäke our jays, or come
To bring us zome- -O Meärianne.

Though doors be shut, an' bars be stout,
Noo bolted door can keep em out;
But they wull leave us everything
They have to bring-My Meärianne.

An' zoo the daes a-stealèn by,
Wi' zuns a-ridèn droo the sky,

Do bring us things to leave us sad,
Or meäke us glad-O Meärianne.
The dae that's mild, the dae that's stern,

Do teäke, in stillness, each his turn;
An' evils at their wo'st mid mend,

Or even end-My Meärianne.

But still, if we can only beäre,
Wi' faith an' love, our païn an' ceäre,
We shan't vind missèn jaÿ a-lost,
Though we be crost-O Meärianne;
But all a-car'd to heaven, an' stowed,
Where we can't weäste em on the road,

COME BACK!

As we do wander to an' fro,
Down here below-My Meärianne.

But there be jays I'd soonest choose
To keep, vrom they that I must lose:
Thy worksome hands to help my twile,
Thy cheerful smile-O Meärianne;
The Zunday bells o' yander tower,
The moonlight sheädes o' my own bower,
An' rest avore our vier-zide,

At evenèn-tide-My Meärianne.

WILLIAM BARNES.

COME BACK!

COME from your long, long roving,
On the sea so wild and rough!
Come to me tender and loving,
And I shall be blessed enough!

Where your sails have been unfurling,
What winds have blown on your brow,
I know not, and ask not, my darling,
So that you come to me now.

Sorrowful, sinful, and lonely,

Poor and despised though you be,

All are as nothing, if only

You turn from the tempter to me.

EPITHALAMIUM.

Of men though you be unforgiven,
Though priest be unable to shrive,
I'll pray till I weary all heaven,
If only you'll come back alive.

ANONYMOUS.

EPITHALAMIUM.

I SAW two clouds at morning,
Tinged by the rising sun,
And in the dawn they floated on,
And mingled into one:

I thought that morning cloud was blest,
It moved so sweetly to the west.

I saw two summer currents

Flow smoothly to their meeting,
And join their course with silent force,
In peace each other greeting;

Calm was their course through banks of
While dimpling eddies played between.

Such be your gentle motion,

Till life's last pulse shall beat;

green,

Like Summer's beam, and Summer's stream,

Float on in joy, to meet

A calmer sea, where storms shall cease,

A purer sky, where all is peace.

JOHN GARDNER CALKINS BRAINARD.

SONG TO MAY.

MAY! queen of blossoms,

And fulfilling flowers,'

With what pretty music

Shall we charm the hours?

Wilt thou have pipe and reed,
Blown in the open mead?
Or to the lute give heed,
In the green bowers?

Thou hast no need of us,
Or pipe or wire,
That hast the golden bee
Ripened with fire;

And many thousand more
Songsters, that thee adore,
Filling earth's grassy floor
With new desire.

Thou hast thy mighty herds,

Tame, and free livers;

Doubt not, thy music too

In the deep rivers;
And the whole plumy flight,
Warbling the day and night:

Up at the gates of light,
See, the lark quivers!

THE RHODORA.

When with the jacinth

Coy fountains are tressed,
And for the mournful bird

Greenwoods are dressed,

That did for Tereus pine,
Then shall our songs be thine,
To whom our hearts incline:

May, be thou blessed!

LORD THURLow.

THE RHODORA.

IN May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes,
I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods,
Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook,
To please the desert and the sluggish brook:
The purple petals, fallen in the pool,

Made the black waters with their beauty gay;
Here might the red-bird come his plumes to cool,
And court the flower that cheapens his array.
Rhodora if the sages ask thee why

This charm is wasted on the marsh and sky,
Dear, tell them that if eyes were made for seeing,

Then beauty is its own excuse for being.

Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose!

I never thought to ask, I never knew;

But in my simple ignorance suppose

The selfsame Power that brought me there, brought you.

RALPH WALDO EMERSON.