h the elm-tree copse
Winding by the stream, light-hearted,
Where the osier pathway leads--
Past the boughs she stoops--and stops!
Lo! the wild swan had deserted--
And a rat had gnaw'd the reeds.

"Ellie went home sad and slow!
If she found the lover ever,
With his red-roan steed of steeds,
Sooth I know not! but I know
She could show him never--never,
That swan's nest among the reeds!"

But the gem of the collection is unquestionably the poem entitled
"Bertha in the Lane." This is the purest picture of a broken heart that
ever drew tears from the eyes of woman or of man. Although our extracts
are likely to exceed the proportion which they ought to bear to our
critical commentary, we must be permitted to quote this poem entire. A
grain of such poetry is worth a cart-load of criticism:--

BERTHA IN THE LANE.

"Put the broidery-frame away,
For my sewing is all done!
The last thread is used to-day,
And I need not join it on.
Though the clock stands at the noon,
I am weary! I have sewn
Sweet, for thee, a wedding-gown.

"Sister, help me to the bed,
And stand near me, dearest-sweet,
Do not shrink nor be afraid,
Blushing with a sudden heat!
No one standeth in the street?--
By God's love I go to meet,
Love I thee with love complete.

"Lean thy face down! drop it in
These two hands, that I may hold
'Twixt their palms thy cheek and chin,
Stroking back the curls of gold.
'Tis a fair, fair face, in sooth--
Larger eyes and redder mouth
Than mine were in my first youth!

"Thou art younger by seven years--
Ah!--so bashful at my gaze,
That the lashes, hung with tears,
Grow too heavy to upraise?
I would wound thee by no touch
Which thy shyness feels as such--
Dost thou mind me, dear, so much?

"Have I not been nigh a mother
To thy sweetness--tell me, dear?
Have we not loved one another
Tenderly, from year to year;
Since our dying mother mild
Said _with accents undefiled_,[32]
'Child, be mother to this child!'

"Mother, mother, up in heaven,
Stand up on the jasper sea,
And be witness I have given
All the gifts required of me;--
Hope that bless'd me, bliss that crown'd,
Love, that left me with a wound,
Life itself, that turnet