F. BOURDILLON.

THE NIGHT HAS A THOUSAND EYES

The Night has a thousand eyes

And the day but one;

Yet the light of a whole world dies
With the setting sun.

The Mind has a thousand eyes
And the heart but one;

Yet the light of a whole life dies
When love is done.

WHERE RUNS THE RIVER

Where runs the river?

Who can say

Who hath not followed all the way

By alders green and sedges grey
And blossoms blue?

Where runs the river? Hill and wood
Curve round to hem the eager flood;
It cannot straightly as it would

Its path pursue.

Yet this we know: O'er whatso plains
Or rocks or waterfalls it strains,

At last the Vast the stream attains;
And I, and you,

ANONYMOUS.

(From

ONCE

The Child World,” 1870)

Sing to me, nightingale, that sweet tune
You sang last night to the waning moon!
It filled the shadow, it pierced the light,
It made a day in the midst of night.
I want to hear it before I die;

Sing till the moon comes out of the sky!

66

No, no!" the nightingale sings;

"Once is enough for all best things!

I shall trill many a lovely strain;

But I never shall sing that song again!"

Make for me, sky, that tender hue

You made last night ere the sun dropped through !—

Colour melted in burning air,

Flowing we know not whence nor where.

Before I die I want to see

Make that colour again for me!

"No, no! I paint all day

Rose and amethyst, gold and grey,

Purple precipice, silver rain;

But I never shall paint that hue again."

Breathe to me, friend, that deep love-tone
You breathed last night when we were alone
It told a life which I never guessed,

It covered sorrow with floods of rest,

Before I die I want to know
Whether you always love me so.
"No, no! The moment came
Once, but never again the same:

Once, deep Love finds utterance clear;
Often silent, 'tis always here."

W. B. YEATS.

THE STOLEN CHILD

Where dips the rocky highland
Of Slewth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island

Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water rats;
There we've hid our fairy vats
Full of berries

And of reddest stolen cherries.
Come away, O human child!
To the woods and waters wild

With a fairy, hand in hand,

For the world's more full of weeping than

you can understand.

Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim grey sands with light,
Far off by furthest Rosses

We foot it all the night,

Weaving olden dances,

Mingling hands and mingling glances

Till the moon has taken flight;

To and fro we leap

And chase the frothy bubbles

While the world is full of troubles,

And is anxious in its sleep.

Come away, O human child!

To the woods and waters wild

With a fairy, hand in hand,

For the world's more full of weeping than

you can understand,

Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,
In pools among the rushes

That scarce could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout,
And whispering in their ears
We give them evil dreams,
Leaning softly out

From ferns that drop their tears
Of dew on the young streams.
Come, O human child!

To the woods and waters wild

With a fairy, hand in hand,

For the world's more full of weeping than

you can understand.

Away with us he's going,

The solemn-eyed—

He'll hear no more the lowing

Of the calves on the warm hill-side,

Or the kettle on the hob

Sing peace into his breast,

Or see the brown mice bob

Round and round the oatmeal chest.

For he comes, the human child,

To the woods and waters wild

With a fairy, hand in hand,

For the world's more full of weeping than

he can understand.