I love her with a love as still

As a broad river's peaceful might, Which, by high tower and lowly mill, Goes wandering at its own will,

And yet doth ever flow aright.

And, on its full, deep breast serene,
Like quiet isles my duties lie ;

It flows around them and between,

And makes them fresh and fair and greenSweet homes wherein to live and die. JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

Serenade.

AH, sweet, thou little knowest how
I wake and passionate watches keep;
And yet, while I address thee now,
Methinks thou smilest in thy sleep.
"Tis sweet enough to make me weep,

That tender thought of love and thee, That while the world is hushed so deep, Thy soul's perhaps awake to me!

Sleep on, sleep on, sweet bride of sleep! With golden visions for thy dower, While I this midnight vigil keep,

And bless thee in thy silent bower; To me 'tis sweeter than the power

Of sleep, and fairy dreams unfurled, That I alone, at this still hour, In patient love outwatch the world.

Serenade.

THOMAS HOOD.

Look out upon the stars, my love,
And shame them with thine eyes,
On which, than on the lights above,

There hang more destinies.
Night's beauty is the harmony

Of blending shades and light:
Then, lady, up,-look out, and be
A sister to the night!

Sleep not!-thine image wakes for aye
Within my watching breast;

Sleep not!-from her soft sleep should fly,
Who robs all hearts of rest.

Nay, lady, from thy slumbers break, And make this darkness gay,

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With looks whose brightness well might make Of darker nights a day.

EDWARD COATE PINKNEY.

The Miller's Daughter.

IT is the miller's daughter,

And she is grown so dear, so dear, That I would be the jewel

That trembles at her ear;

For, hid in ringlets day and night,
I'd touch her neck so warm and white.

And I would be the girdle

About her dainty, dainty waist,
And her heart would beat against me
In sorrow and in rest;

And I should know if it beat right,
I'd clasp it round so close and tight.

And I would be the necklace,

And all day long to fall and rise Upon her balmy bosom

With her laughter or her sighs; And I would lie so light, so light,

I scarce should be unclasped at night. ALFRED TENNYSON.

The Brook-side.

I WANDERED by the brook-side,

I wandered by the mill;

I could not hear the brook flow,
The noisy wheel was still;
There was no burr of grasshopper,
No chirp of any bird,

But the beating of my own heart
Was all the sound I heard.

I sat beneath the elm-tree;

I watched the long, long shade, And as it grew still longer

I did not feel afraid;

For I listened for a footfall,

I listened for a word,

But the beating of my own heart Was all the sound I heard.