DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK.

1826-1887.

TOO LATE. “Dowglas, Dowglas, tendir and treu.” C ould ye come back to me, Douglas, Douglas, In the old likeness that I knew, I would be so faithful, so loving, Douglas, Douglas, Douglas, tender and true. Never a scornful word should grieve ye, I ’d smile on ye sweet as the angels do;— Sweet as your smile on me shone ever, Douglas, Douglas, tender and true. O to call back the days that are not! My eyes were blinded, your words were few: Do you know the truth now up in heaven, Douglas, Douglas, tender and true? I never was worthy of you, Douglas; Not half worthy the like of you: Now all men beside seem to me like shadows— I love you, Douglas, tender and true. Stretch out your hand to me, Douglas, Douglas, Drop forgiveness from heaven like dew; As I lay my heart on your dead heart, Douglas, Douglas, Douglas, tender and true.
A SILLY SONG. “O heart, my heart!” she said, and heard His mate the blackbird calling, While through the sheen of the garden green May rain was softly falling,— Aye softly, softly falling. The buttercups across the field Made sunshine rifts of splendour: The round snow-bud of the thorn in the wood Peeped through its leafage tender, As the rain came softly falling. “O heart, my heart!” she said and smiled, “There ’s not a tree of the valley, Or a leaf I wis which the rain’s soft kiss Freshens in yonder alley, Where the drops keep ever falling,— “There ’s not a foolish flower i’ the grass, Or bird through the woodland calling, So glad again of the coming rain As I of these tears now falling,— These happy tears down falling.”

GEORGE DARLEY.

1795-1846.