And boats adrift in yonder towne

Go sailing uppe the market-place."
He shook as one that looks on death:
"God save you, mother!" straight he sayth;
"Where is my wife, Elizabeth ?”

13. "Good sonne, where Lindis winds ǎway
With her two bairns' I marked her long;
And ere yon bells beganne to play,
Afarre I heard her milking song."
He looked across the grassy sea,
To right, to left, "Ho Enderby!".
They rang "The Brides of Enderby!"
14. With that he cried and beat his breast;
For lo! ǎlong the river's bed
A mighty eygre reared his crest,
And uppe the Lindis raging sped.
It swept with thunderous noises loud;
Shaped like a curling snow-white cloud,
Or like a demon in a shroud.

15. And rearing Lindis backward pressed,
Shook all her trembling bankes amaine;
Then madly at the eygre's breast

Flung uppe her weltering walls again.

Then bankes came downe with ruin and rout―
Then beaten foam flew round about-
Then all the mighty floods were out.
16. So farre, so fast the eygre drave,

The heart had hardly time to beat,
Before a shallow seething wave

Sobbed in the grasses at oure feet:
The feet had hardly time to flee
Before it brake against the knee,
And all the world was in the sea.

17. Upon the roofe we săte that night,
The noise of bells went sweeping by:
I marked the lofty beacon light

1 Bairn (bårn), a child.

? Ea' gre, an entire flood tide

moving up a river in one wave, or in two or three successive waves.

Stream from the church-tower, red and high

1

A lurid mark and dread to see;

And awesome bells they were to mee,
That in the dark rang "Enderby."

18. They rang, the sailor lads to guide
From roofe to roofe who fearless rowed;
And I,-my sonne was at my side,
And yet the ruddy beacon glowed:
And yet he moaned beneath his breath,
"O come in life, or come in death!
O lost! my love, Elizabeth."

19. And didst thou visit him no more?

Thou didst, thou didst, my daughter deare;
The waters laid thee at his doore,

Ere yet the early dawn was clear.
Thy pretty bairns in fast embrace,
The lifted sun shōne on thy face,
Downe drifted to thy dwelling-place.

20. That flow strewed wrecks about the grass,
That ebbe swept out the flocks to sea;

A fatal ebbe and flow, alas!

To manye mōre than myne and mee:
But each will mourn his own (she sayth);
And sweeter woman ne'er drew breath
Than my sonne's wife, Elizabeth.

21. I shall never hear her mōre
By the reedy Lindis shōre,
"Cusha, Cusha, Cusha!" calling,
Ere the early dews be falling;
I shall never hear her song,
"Cusha, Cusha!" all ǎlong,

Where the sunny Lindis flōwèth,

Goëth, floweth ;

From the meads where melick grōwèth,

When the water winding downe,

Onward floweth to the towne.

1 Lu' rid, ghastly pale; dismal.

22. I shall never see her mōre

Where the reeds and rushes quiver,
Shiver, quiver;

Stand beside the sobbing river,
Sobbing, throbbing, in its falling,
To the sandy lonesome shōre;
I shall never hear her calling,—
"Leave your meadow grasses mellow,
Mellow, mellow;

Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellōw;
Come uppe Whitefoot, come uppe Lightfoot;
Quit your pipes of parsley hollow,

Hollow, hollow;

Come uppe Lightfoot, rise and follow;

Lightfoot, Whitefoot,

From your clovers lift the head;
Come uppe Jetty, follow, follow,
Jetty, to the milking shed.”

SECTION XI.

I.

JEAN INGELOW.

37. THE WIND IN A FROLIC.

HE wind, one morning, sprang up from sleep,

TH

Saying, "Now for a frolic! now for a leap!

Now for a madcap galloping chase!

I'll make a commotion' in every place!"

2. So it swept with a bustle' right through a great town,
Creaking the signs, and scattering down

Shutters, and whisking, with merciless squalls,
Old women's bonnèts and gingerbread stalls.
There never was heard a much lustier shout,
As the apples and oranges tumbled about;

And the urchins,* that stand with their thievish eyes
Forever on watch, ran off each with a prize.

1 Com mō' tion, disturbed or forci

ble motion; disorder.

2 Bustle (bůs' 1), great stir.

3 Lus' ti er, healthier; stronger.

4 Urchin (er' chin), a mischievous child.

3. Then ǎway to the fields it went blustering and humming,
And the cattle all wondered whatever was coming.
It plucked by their tails the grave, matronly' cows,
And tossed the colts' manes all about their brows,―
Till, offended at such a familiar salute,

They all turned their backs, and stood silently mute.2
4. So on it went, capering and playing its pranks;
Whistling with reeds on the broad river banks;
Puffing the birds, as they sat on the spray,
Or the traveler grave on the king's highway.
5. It was not too nice to bustle the bags

Of the beggar, and flutter his dirty rags. "Twas so bold that it feared not to play its joke With the doctor's wig, and the gentleman's cloak. 6. Through the forèst it roared, and cried gayly, "Now, You sturdy old oaks, I'll make you bow!" And it made them bow without more ado,

Or it cracked their great branches through and through. 7. Then it rushed, like a monster, o'er cottage and farm, Striking their inmates with sudden alarm;

And they ran out, like bees, in a midsummer swarm.
There were dames, with their kerchiefs tied over their caps,
To see if their poultry were free from mishaps;

The turkeys they gobbled, the geese screamed aloud,
And the hens crept to roost, in a terrified crowd:
There was rearing of ladders, and logs laying on,

4

Where the thatch from the roof threatened soon to be gone. 8. But the wind had passed on, and had met in a lane

With a schoolboy, who panted and struggled in vain ;
For it tossed him, and twirled him, then passed, and he stood,
With his hat in a pool, and his shoe in the mud. HOWITT.5

1Mã tron ly, elderly; like a mother.

2 Müte, hindered from speaking; silent; dumb attendant, often employed as an executioner in Turkey.

3 Sturdy (ster' di), stiff; strong. 4 Thǎtch, straw, turf, or other covering.

5 William Howitt, an English author, was born in 1795. He was married to Miss Mary Botham in 1823. They have prepared many books, both jointly and separately, in prose and verse. Their writings generally are very popular, and none more so than their juvenile books.

II.

38. THE SEPTEMBER GALE.

"M not a chicken; I have seen

I' Full many a chill September;

And though I was a youngster then,
That gale I well remember.

The day before, my kite-string snapped,
And I, my kite pursuing,

The wind whisked off my palm-leaf hat ;-
For me two storms were brewing!'
2. It came as quarrels sometimes do,
When married pairs get clashing;-
There was a heavy sigh or two,
Before the fire was flashing;
A little stir among the clouds,
Before they rent asunder;
A little rocking of the trees,-

And then came on the thunder.

3. Oh, how the ponds and rivers boiled,
And how the shingles rattled!

And oaks were scattered on the ground,
As if the Titans' battled;

And all above was in ǎ howl,
And all below a clatter,—
The earth was like a frying-pan,
Or some such hissing matter.

4. It chanced to be our washing-day,
And all our things were drying;-
The storm came roaring through the lines,
And set them all a-flying:

I saw the shirts and petticoats
Go riding off, like witches;
I lost, ah! bitterly I wept,-
I lost my Sunday breeches!"

1 Brewing (bro' ing), see Rule 4,

p. 26.

3 Breeches (brich' ez), a kind of short trowsers or pantaloons, worn

2 Titans, the fabled giants of the by men and boys, covering the hips ancients.

and thighs.