“The lions ramping on that shield between the hearts aflame,

Keep watch o'er Denmark's honour, and guard her ancient name;

Few know that I am Volmer; I dwell in yonder towers, Who ploughs them ploughs up Denmark, this goodly home of ours!

"I tempt no more, fair Elsie! your heart I know is true, Would God that all our maidens were good and pure as you!

Well have you pleased your monarch, and he shall well repay;

God's peace! Farewell! To-morrow will bring another day!"

He lifted up his bridle hand, he spurred his good steed then,

And like a whirl-blast swept away with all his gallant

men.

The steel hoofs beat the rocky path; again on winds of morn

The wood resounds with the cry of hounds and blare of hunter's horn.

"Thou true and ever faithful!" the listening Henrik cried ;

And, leaping o'er the green hedge, he stood by Elsie's

side.

None saw the fond embracing, save, shining from afar, The Golden Goose that watched them from the tower of Valdemar.

Oh, darling girls of Denmark! of all the flowers that throng,

Her vales of spring the fairest, I sing for you my song. No praise as yours so bravely rewards the singer's skill;

Thank God! of maids like Elsie the land has plentystill! Whittier (after the Danish of C. Winter).

SHE CAME AND WENT.

S a twig trembles, which a bird
Lights on to sing, then leaves unbent,
So is my memory thrilled and stirred ;-
I only know she came and went.

As clasps some lake by gusts unriven,
The blue dome's measureless content,
So my soul held that moment's heaven ;-
I only know she came and went.

As, at one bound, our swift spring heaps
The orchards full of bloom and scent,
So clove her May my wintry sleeps ;-
I only know she came and went.

An angel stood and met my gaze,
Through the low doorway of my tent;
The tent is struck, the vision stays;-
I only know she came and went.

Oh, when the room grows slowly dim,
And life's last oil is nearly spent,
One gush of light these eyes will brim,
Only to think she came and went.

Lowell.

LAMENT OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS, ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING.

N

OW nature hangs her mantle green

On every blooming tree,

And spreads her sheets o' daisies white
Out o'er the grassy lea;

Now Phoebus cheers the crystal streams,
And glads the azure skies;

But nocht can glad the weary wight
That fast in durance lies.

Now lav'rocks wake the merry morn,
Aloft on dewy wing;

The merle, in his noontide bower,
Makes woodland echoes ring;
The mavis wild, wi' many a note
Sings drowsy day to rest;
In love and freedom they rejoice,
Wi' care nor thrall opprest.

Now blooms the lily on the bank,
The primrose down the brae;
The hawthorn's budding in the glen,
And milk-white is the slae ;
The meanest hind in fair Scotland
May rove their sweets amang,
But I, the Queen of a' Scotland,
Maun lie in prison strong.

I was the Queen o' bonnie France,
Where happy I ha'e been ;

Fa' lightly raise I in the morn,
As blythe lay down at e'en ;

And I'm the Sovereign of Scotland,
And monie a traitor there;
Yet here I lie in foreign bands,
And never-ending care.

But as for thee, thou false woman!
My sister and my fae,

Grim vengeance, yet, shall whet a sword
That through thy saul shall gae ;

The weeping blood in woman's breast
Was never known to thee;

Nor th' balm that droops on wounds of woe
Fra' woman's pitying e'e.

My son! my son! may kinder stars
Upon thy fortune shine;

And may those pleasures gild thy reign,
That ne'er wad blink on mine!

God keep thee from thy mother's faes,
Or turn their hearts to thee;

And where thou meet'st thy mother's friend
Remember her for me!

Oh! soon to me may summer suns
Nae mair light up the morn!
Nae mair to me the autumn winds
Wave o'er the yellow corn!

And in the narrow house o' death
Let winter round me rave;

And the next flowers that deck the spring,
Bloom on my peaceful grave!

Burns.

TO THE CUCKOO.

AIL, beauteous stranger of the grove!

H Thou messenger of spring!

Now Heaven repairs thy rural seat,
And woods thy welcome sing.

What time the daisy decks the green,
Thy certain voice we hear;
Hast thou a star to guide thy path,
Or mark the rolling year?

Delightful visitant! with thee
I hail the time of flowers,
And hear the sound of music sweet
From birds among the bowers.

The schoolboy wandering through the wood
To pull the primrose gay,

Starts, the new voice of spring to hear,

And imitates thy lay.

What time the pea puts on the bloom,

Thou fliest the vocal vale,

An annual guest in other lands,
Another spring to hail.

Sweet bird! thy bower is ever green,
Thy sky is ever clear;

Thou hast no sorrow in thy song,
No winter in thy year.

O could I fly, I'd fly with thee!
We'd make, with joyful wing,
Our annual visit o'er the globe,
Companions of the spring.

Logan.