But when he comes, his marriage-band
Around thy neck to throw,

Thy bride-smile raise to meet his gaze,
And whisper,-There is one betrays,

When Luti suffers woe.'

The river floweth on.

XIX.

And when in seasons after,

Thy little bright-faced son

Shall lean against thy knee and ask
What deeds his sire hath done,
Press deeper down thy mother-smile
His glossy curls among-
View deep his pretty childish eyes,

And whisper,-There is none denies,
When Luti speaks of wrong.'

The river floweth ou.

XX.

Nuleeni looked in wonder

Yet softly answered she

'By loves that last when lights are past,
I vowed that vow to thee.

But why glads it thee that a bride-day be
By a word of woe defiled?

That a word of wrong take the cradle-song
From the ear of a sinless child? '-

'Why;' Luti said, and her laugh was dread,

And her eyes dilated wild

That the fair new love may her bridegroom prove,

And the father shame the child.'

The river floweth on.

XXI.

Thou flowest still, O river,

Thou flowest 'neath the moon

Thy lily hath not changed a leaf,*
Thy charmed lute a tune!

He mixed his voice with thine-and his

Was all I heard around;

But now,

beside his chosen bride,

I hear the river's sound.'

The river floweth on.

XXII.

'I gaze upon her beauty

Through the tresses that enwreathe it :

The light above thy wave, is hers—

My rest, alone beneath it.

Oh, give me back the dying look
My father gave thy water!

Give back!-and let a little love

O'erwatch his weary daughter!'

The river floweth on.

* The Ganges is represented as a white woman, with a water

lily in her right hand, and in her left a lute.

XXIII.

'Give back!' she hath departed-
The word is wandering with her,
And the stricken maidens hear afar
The step and cry together.
Frail symbols? None are frail enow
For mortal joys to borrow!—

While bright doth float Nuleeni's boat,

She weepeth, dark with sorrow.

The river floweth on.

RHYME OF THE DUCHESS MAY.

I.

To the belfry, one by one, went the ringers from the

sun,

Toll slowly.

And the oldest ringer said, 'Ours is music for the Dead,

When the rebecks are all done.'

II.

Six abeles i' the church-yard grow on the northside in a

row,

Toll slowly.

And the shadows of their tops, rock across the little slopes

Of the grassy graves below.

III.

On the south side and the west, a small river runs in

haste,

Toll slowly.

VOL. II.

E

And between the river flowing and the fair green trees a growing,

Do the dead lie at their rest.

IV.

On the east I sate that day, up against a willow

Through the rain of willow-branches, I could see the low hill-ranges,

And the river on its way.

V.

There I sate beneath the tree, and the bell tolled solemnly,―

Toll slowly.

While the trees' and river's voices flowed between the solemn noises,—

Yet death seemed more loud to me.

VI.

There, I read this ancient rhyme, while the bell did all the time

Toll slowly

And the solemn knell fell in with the tale of life

and sin,

Like a rhythmic fate sublime.