he corn?

Beautiful Barbara--silent and shy,
Shy as the dove, as the dove as fond,
What a dreaminess lives in her hazel eye,
As she looketh away through the valley beyond.

Through the valley beyond, where the daisies blush,
Where the woodbines bloom and the rivulets run;
Through the valley beyond, where, in evening's hush,
Beautiful Barbara's heart was won.

And the maiden Barbara, fair and forlorn,
The grass-green meadow looketh along;
The morrow was fixed for her wedding morn,
And she vieweth in vision the bridal throng.

She looketh, and weepeth, and looketh in vain:
Her heart was trustful; his heart was untrue;
And beautiful Barbara mingleth amain
Her tears with the daisies and the dew.

And the harvest moon sat silent and pale,
Silent and pale o'er the far-off hill:
And the sun in the morning flushing the vale
Saw beautiful Barbara stark and still.

Stark and still, with a forehead of white,
Round which the dew-drop coronal shone;
And the sunbeams came with their laughing light,
But beautiful Barbara sleepeth on.

'Twas a trying path for her dainty feet,
For such dainty feet as her's to tread.
So her trampled heart 'gainst its bars had beat,
Till it bravely broke and heavenward fled.

SONG OF THE SILKEN SHROUD.

Out in Babylon yonder,
By the gas-lights' dull red glare,
In a stifling room--a living tomb,
With never a breath of air,
A slender girl is sitting;
At her feet a silken cloud,
Which music makes, while her young heart aches,
As she stitches the rustling shroud.
And this is the song the glistening silk
Sings, out in the work-room yonder:

"Quick! quick! quick!
"My lady is waiting to roam.
"If you wish to die, the needle ply;
"You can die when you reach your home."

And while the gas-lights flicker and play
The life of the sempstress ebbs away
In the West End work-room yonder.

Out in Babylon yonder,
In the blaze of the ball-room gay,
My lady sits; while round her flits
A skeleton slender and grey.
And the ghastly spectre standeth
By the side of my lady fair
So mournfully bland, and with bony hand
It plays with her costume rare.
And this is the song the ghostly guest
Sings, out in the ball-room yonder:

"Look! look! look!
"Sit ye scornful and proud.
"Your boddice a hearse;