I said, "Go up, dear heart, through the waves:
Say thy prayer, and come back to the kind sea-caves."
She smiled, she went up through the surf in the bay,
Children dear, was it yesterday?

Children dear, were we long alone?

"The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan;
Long prayers," I said, "in the world they say."
"Come," I said, and we rose through the surf in
the bay.

We went up the beach in the sandy down

Where the sea-stocks bloom, to the white-wall'd town,
Through the narrow paved streets, where all was still
To the little grey church on the windy hill.

From the church came a murmur of folk at their

prayers,

But we stood without in the cold blowing airs.

We climb'd on the graves on the stones worn with

rains,

And we gazed up the aisle through the small leaded

panes.

She sate by the pillar; we saw her clear;
"Margaret, hist! come quick, we are here.
Dear heart," I said, "we are long alone.
The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan."

But, ah, she gave me never a look,

For her eyes were seal'd to the holy book.
"Loud prays the priest; shut stands the door."
Come away, children, call no more,
Come away, come down, call no more.

Down, down, down,

Down to the depths of the sea,

She sits at her wheel in the humming town,

Singing most joyfully.

Hark what she sings; "O joy, O joy,

For the humming street, and the child with its toy, For the priest and the bell, and the holy well,

For the wheel where I spun,

And the blessed light of the sun.”

And so she sings her fill,

Singing most joyfully,

Till the shuttle falls from her hand,

And the whizzing wheel stands still.

She steals to the window and looks at the sand;

And over the sand at the sea;
And her eyes are set in a stare;

And anon there breaks a sigh,
And anon there drops a tear,
From a sorrow-clouded eye,

And a heart sorrow-laden,

A long, long sigh,

For the cold strange eyes of a little Mermaiden, And the gleam of her golden hair.

Come away, away children,

Come children, come down.

The hoarse wind blows colder;
Lights shine in the town.

She will start from her slumber
When gusts shake the door;
She will hear the winds howling,
Will hear the waves roar.
We shall see, while above us
The waves roar and whirl,

A ceiling of amber,

A pavement of pearl.

Singing, "Here came a mortal,
But faithless was she,

And alone dwell forever

The kings of the sea."

But children, at midnight,

When soft the winds blow,

When clear falls the moonlight,

When spring-tides are low;

When sweet airs come seaward

From heaths starr'd with broom;
And high rocks throw mildly

On the blanch'd sands a gloom;
Up the still glistening beaches,
Up the creeks we will hie;
Over banks of bright seaweed
The ebb-tide leaves dry.
We will gaze from the sand-hills,
At the white, sleeping town;

At the church on the hill-side—
And then come back, down.

Singing, "There dwells a loved one,

But cruel is she:

She left lonely forever

The kings of the sea.”

Matthew Arnold.

ANECDOTE FOR FATHERS,

SHEWING HOW THE PRACTICE OF LYING MAY BE

TAUGHT.

HAVE a boy of five years old,

His face is fresh and fair to see,

His limbs are cast in beauty's mould,

And dearly he loves me.

One morn we stroll'd on our dry walk,
Our quiet home all full in view,
And held such intermitted talk

As we are wont to do.

My thoughts on former pleasures ran;
I thought of Kilve's delightful shore,
Our pleasant home when Spring began,
A long, long year before.

A day it was when I could bear

To think, and think, and think again;
With so much happiness to spare,

I could not feel a pain.