M. VIEUXBOIS. Ah! I am old, and I forget. Was the place growing green, Babette ? BABETTE. But of a greenness !—yes, M'sieu'! (Lifting her apron to her eyes.) This poor Ma'am'selle ! M. VIEUXBOIS. You're a good girl, Babette, but she,— She was an Angel, verily. Sometimes I think I see her yet Stand smiling by the cabinet; And once, I know, she peeped and laughed Betwixt the curtains Where's the draught? (She gives him a cup.) Now I shall sleep, I think, Babette :- BABETTE (showing the empty cup). The draught, M'sieu' ? M. VIEUXBOIS. How I forget! I am so old! But sing, Babette! BABETTE (sings). "One was the Friend I left Stark in the snow; One was the Wife that died. Long, long ago; One was the Love I lost How could she know ? And Rose ... and O! "the sky so blue ! " BABETTE (sings). "One had my Mother's eyes, Wistful and mild; One had my Father's face; One was a child: All of them bent to me Bent down and smiled!" THE BALLAD OF THE BOAT The stream was smooth as glass, we said : Arise, and let's away; The Siren sang beside the boat that in the rushes lay, And spread the sail, and strong the oar, we gaily took our way. When shall the sandy bar be cross'd ? When shall we find the bày? The broadening flood swells slowly out o'er cattle-dotted plains; The stream is strong and turbulent, and dark with heavy rains; The labourer looks up to see our shallop speed away. When shall the sandy bar be cross'd ? When shall we find the bay? Now are the clouds like fiery shrouds; the sun superbly large, Slow as an oak to woodman's stroke sinks flaming at their marge; The waves are bright with mirror'd light as jacinths on our way. When shall the sandy bar be cross'd ? When shall we find the bay? The moon is high up in the sky, and now no more we see The spreading river's either bank, and surging distantly There booms a sullen thunder as of breakers far away, Now shall the sandy bar be cross'd, now shall we find the bay. The sea-gull shrieks high overhead, and dimly to our sight The moonlit crests of foaming waves gleam towering through the night. We'll steal upon the mermaid soon, and start her from her lay, When once the sandy bar is cross'd, and we are in the bay. What rises white and awful, as a shroudenfolded ghost? What roar of rampant tumult bursts in clangour on the coast ? Pull back! pull back! The raging flood sweeps every oar away. O stream, is this thy bar of sand? O boat, is this the bay? WILLIAM ALEXANDER, D.D., Primate of all Ireland. OXFORD AND HER CHANCELLOR Fair as that woman whom the prophet old In Ardath met, lamenting for her dead, With sackcloth cast above the tiar of gold. And ashes on her head. Methought I met a lady yestereven; A passionless grief, that had nor tear nor wail, Sat on her pure proud face, that gleam'd to Heaven, White as a moon-lit sail. |