O Rafe the page e! O Rafe the page!

Ye stole the heart frae me :

O Rafe the page! O Rafe the page!
I wonder where ye be :
We ne'er may see Glenkindie more,
But may we never see thee?

Glenkindie came within the hall;
We set him on the dais,

And gave him bread, and gave him wine,
The best in all the place.

We set for him the guests' high chair,

And spread the naperie :

Our Dame herself would serve for him, And I for Rafe, perdie!

But down he sat on a low low stool,
And thrust his long legs out,
And lean'd his back to the high chair,
And turn'd his harp about.

He turn'd it round, he strok'd the strings,
He touch'd each tirling-pin,
He put his mouth to the sounding-board
And breath'd his breath therein.

And Rafe sat over against his face, And look'd at him wistfullie :

I almost grat ere he began,

They were so sad to see.

The very first stroke he strack that day, We all came crowding near;

And the second stroke he strack that day, We all were smit with fear.

The third stroke that he strack that day, Full fain we were to cry;

The fourth stroke that he strack that day, We thought that we would die.

No tongue can tell how sweet it was,
How far, and yet how near:
We saw the saints in Paradise,

And bairnies on their bier.

And our sweet Dame saw her good lord

She told me privilie :

She saw him as she saw him last,
On his ship upon the sea.

Anon he laid his little harp by,
He shut his wondrous eyes;

We stood a long time like dumb things, Stood in a dumb surprise.

Then all at once we left that trance,
And shouted where we stood;
We clasp'd each other's hands and vow'd
We would be wise and good.

Soon he rose up and Rafe rose too,

He drank wine and broke bread;
He clasp'd hands with our trembling Dame,
But never a word he said;
They went, Alack and lack-a-day!
They went the way they came.

I follow'd them all down the floor,
And O but I had drouth

To touch his cheek, to touch his hand,
To kiss Rafe's velvet mouth!

There on that heap of fern,
Gasping for breath,
Lieth the wretched kérn,

Waiting for death:
Famine had brought him low;
Fever had caught him so,
O thou sharp-grinding woe,

Outwear thy sheath!

Dying, or living here

Which is the worse? Misery's heavy tear,

Back to thy source ! Who dares to lift her head Up from the scarcely dead? Who pulls the crazy shed

Down on the corse?

What though some rent was due,
Hast thou no grace?
So may God pardon you,
Shame of your race!

What though that home may be
Wretched and foul to see,
What if God harry thee

Forth from His face?

Widow'd and orphan'd ones,
Flung from your rest!

Where will you lay your bones?

Bad was your best.

Out on the dreary road,

Where shall be their abode ?
One of them sleeps with God:
Where are the rest?

Be patient, O be patient! go and watch the wheat-ears grow,

So imperceptibly that ye can mark nor change nor throe:

Day after day, day after day till the ear is fully grown;

And then again day after day, till the ripen'd field is brown.

Be patient, O be patient! though yet our hopes are green,

The harvest-field of Freedom shall be crown'd with the sunny sheen. Be ripening, be ripening! mature your silent way

Till the whole broad land is tongued with fire on Freedom's harvest day.

OUR CAUSE1

So, Freedom, thy great quarrel may we

serve,

With truest zeal that, sensitive of blame,
Ever thy holy banner would preserve
As pure as woman's love or knightly fame.

And though detraction's flood we proudly breast,

Or, weakening, sink in that unfathom'd sea,
Ever we 'll keep aloft our banner, lest
Even the black spray soil its purity.

My life be branded and my name be flung
To infamy;- beloved, I will wear
Thy beauty on my shield, till even the
tongue

Of falsehood echo truth, and own thee fair.

HEART AND WILL1

OUR England's heart is sound as oak ;
Our English will is firm;
And through our actions Freedom spoke
In history's proudest term:
When Blake was lord from shore to shore,
And Cromwell rul'd the land,
And Milton's words were shields of power
To stay the oppressor's hand.

Our England's heart is yet as sound,
As firm our English will;

And tyrants, be they cowl'd or crown'd,
Shall find us fearless still.

And though our Vane be in his tomb,
Though Hampden's blood is cold,

Knowing no more that malady of hope The sickness of deferral, thou canst look

Thorough the heavens and, healthily patient, brook

Delay, defeat. For in thy vision's scope Most distant cometh. We might see it too,

But dizzying faintness overveils our view.

And when disaster flings us in the dust, Or when we wearily drop on the highwayside,

Or when in prison'd, exil'd depths the pride

Of suffering bows its head, as oft it must, We cannot, looking on thy wasted corse, Perceive the future. Lend us of thy force!

LOVE AND YOUTH

Two winged genii in the air
I greeted as they pass'd me by:
The one a bow and quiver bare,

The other shouted joyously.
Both I besought to stay their speed,
But never Love nor Youth had heed
Of my wild cry.

As swift and careless as the wind,
Youth fled, nor ever once look'd back;
A moment Love was left behind,

But follow'd soon his fellow's track.
Yet loitering at my heart he bent
His bow, then smil'd with changed intent:
The string was slack.

TOO LATE

YES! thou art fair, and I had lov'd
If we in earlier hours had met ;
But ere tow'rd me thy beauty mov'd
The sun of Love's brief day had set.

Though I may watch thy opening bloom,
And its rich promise gladly see,
'T will not procrastinate my doom:
The ripen'd fruit is not for me.

Yet, had I shar'd thy course of years,
And young as Hope beheld thy charms,
The love that only now endears
Perchance had given thee to my arms.