ie.
Her hair, so rich in gowden hue,
Ilk plait was like a gowden string,
Her eyne were like the bonnie blue
That shines upon the halcyon's wing.

There is a worm that loves the bud,
And there is one that loves the bloom,
And there is one that seeks its food
Within the dark and silent tomb.

Thou speckled thrush, with tuneful throat,
Who sing'st within yon greenwood dell;
Sing on, for every trembling note
Brings back the voice I loved so well.
Thou little pansy, raise thy head,
And turn thine azure eye to me,
And so remind me of the dead,
My dearest, long lost Rosalie.

There is a worm that loves the bud,
And there is one that loves the bloom,
And there is one that seeks its food
Within the dark and dreary tomb.

Thou lambkin on yon hillock's brow,
That sportest in thy gamesome mood,
Play on! for thou remind'st me now
Of one as innocent and good;
All emblems dear, for thoughts you bring
Of her who loved you all to see,
When through the woods in early spring
Ilk bird seemed calling "Rosalie."

But there's a worm that loves the bud,
And there is one that loves the bloom,
And there is one that seeks its food
Within the dark and dreary tomb.

Far have I roamed for years and years,
As from my thoughts I fain would stray;
But here once more I weep my tears
O'er her now mouldering in the clay.
Oh! would that happy day were come
When death shall set my spirit free,
And I shall rise to yonder home,
And be again with Rosalie,

Where is no worm to gnaw the bud,
And none to blight the youthful bloom;
Where spirits sing in joyful mood,
"Behold our triumph o'er the tomb!"

XXIII.

THE BALLAD OF THE WORLD'S VANITY.

I.

Mournfully maundering,
Life's last moments squandering,
Weary, weary, wandering,
Through this world of sin,
Hermit-shade! I call thee;
Lead me to the valley--
That mysterious alley,
Where I may creep in.

World of strange illusion!
Fancy-born delusion!
Reason-bred confusion!
Phantasmagoria!
Love, where shall I find thee?
Faith, how shall I bind thee?
Truth, who has defined thee?
Changing every day.

Streets of hurry scurry!
Fields of fire and fury!
Homes of wear and worry!
Passing quickly by;
Pleasure a wild snatching,
Dying in the catching,
Pain eternal watching
With relentless eye.

Sorrow, old Sin's daughter!
Screams of eldritch laughter!
Burning tears thereafter!
I've felt the vanity;
Still the