That was the deuce—no good to fret :
Love's golden net! love's golden net!
Gold, gold! pure gold! but, sink or float,
Iron is only cobwebs to 't.

Caught was Maggie-caught, caught, caught!
No matter the oughtn', no matter the ought.

*

*

*

*

"Behaved hisself?" Of coorse, he done-
Had to behave hisself, my son.

But hang it give the divil his due—
Just the same as I would to you.

Now stow your chaff there, Barney O'Grady!
He traited her lek a puffic lady.

So now it's for a Pazon he was goin:

And how he managed there's no knowing;

But got the Bishop to examine him

And some way or other contrived to gammon him

To promise to ordain him-ordain;

Isn' that the word? whatever they mane-
And curate! curate, I'll be bail :

Goin for a curate to Pazon Gale,

And would have been the very next day,
If it hadn'-but stay, my lads, now stay!

That ev'rin, I tell ye, there come a woman,
Along the road though, cryin uncommon—
Cryin, cryin, cryin there—

"Where's my Sandy? where, O where?
Where's my Sandy? my Alexander?

Where is he? where is he?" and had cried like

yandher

All the passage from Whitehaven,

"Where's my Sandy? div ye ken?"

And up the pier and the market-place,

"Where's my Sandy?" and wouldn' cease.

And she didn' regard for none that blamed herFor of coorse there was people that fied-for-shamed

her;

And a pleeceman gave her directions to go;
And "Sandy! Sandy!" she was shoutin, though.

And come upon the village street,

And could hardly stand upon her feet—

And the women about her, and "Get some brandy!"

But she wouldn' taste it-" Sandy! Sandy! Where's my Sandy?" And they tried some rum; And a call for Sandy: so Sandy come.

Yes, he come; and just gave a look:
And then, they say, the fella shook
All over; and then his face all fire,

And straightened hisself lek goin to deny her :
And then a rush, and her arms was round him,
And his round her. "I've found him! found him!"
She said. And he tuk her into the house,
And shut the door, and as quite as a mouse
All night, they were say'n, and plenty to lizzen,
And fancyin they were hear'n them kissin.
But never a word of any complaint-
It's lek the poor craythur was that content
For to have him again. And before the dawn
They were off, and just a bundle, gone
To Douglas, and afterwards over to Anglan-1
No nise, no bother, no worry, no wranglin―
Just off.
The woman, ye see, was his wife.

And the chap was poor, and she'd worked lek a

slave

To keep him at one of these places they have
For preparin people for schoolmasters,
And pazons and that—St. Bars? St. Burs?
St. Bees-that's it; and hardly fair,

I've heard them tellin that's seen her there

In a little room, and to brew and to bake for him,
And pickin sticks to bake a cake for him.

Well now-Maggie? Hould your kedge!1
I seen her spreadin clothes on the hedge
Of the garden, it wouldn' be more till a week
After that, and I thought I'd speak;

And "How are tha, Maggie, how are tha, gel?” "Aw!" she said, "I'm very well."

"Very well-very well!"

Toull the bell-toull the bell

When ye know what it's manin-that "very well!"

She died next day-quite aisy, they said— "Mirrieu-mirrieu! dead-dead

Dead!" And Mark? He dropped the draper,
And tuk to writin for some paper.

So ye see there's some that takes it deep-
Upon my sowl, the chap's asleep!

12. PASSAGES FROM "HYPERION "1

I. SATURN AND THEA

DEEP in the shady sadness of a vale
Far sunken from the healthy breath of morn,
Far from the fiery noon and eve's one star,
Sat gray-haired Saturn, quiet as a stone,
Still as the silence round about his lair.
Forest on forest hung about his head

Like cloud on cloud. No stir of air was there,
Not so much life as on a summer's day

Robs not one light seed from the feathered grass,
But where the dead leaf fell, there did it rest.
A stream went voiceless by, still deadened more
By reason of his fallen divinity

Casting a shade; the Naiad 'mid her reeds
Pressed her cold finger closer to her lips.

Along the margin-sand large footmarks went,
No further than to where his feet had strayed
And slept there since. Upon the sodden ground
His old right hand lay nerveless, listless, dead,
Unsceptred; and his realmless eyes were closed;
While his bowed head seemed listening to the Earth,
His ancient Mother,2 for some comfort yet.

It seemed no force could wake him from his place ;
But there came one, who with a kindred hand

1 The Sun-god of the Titans, or older dynasty of Gods, dispossessed by Apollo, as Saturn was by Jove. The accent should really fall on the third syllable.

2 The Titans were the children of Uranus and Gæa (Heaven and Earth).

Touched his wide shoulders, after bending low
With reverence, though to one who knew it not.
She was a Goddess of the infant world;
By her in stature the tall Amazon

Had stood a pigmy's height; she would have ta'en
Achilles by the hair and bent his neck;

Or with a finger stayed Ixion's wheel.

Her face was large as that of Memphian sphinx,
Pedestal'd haply in a palace court,

When sages looked to Egypt for their lore.
But O how unlike marble was that face!
How beautiful, if Sorrow had not made
Sorrow more beautiful than Beauty's self!
There was a listening fear in her regard
As if calamity had but begun ;

As if the vanward clouds of evil days
Had spent their malice, and the sullen rear
Was with its storèd thunder labouring up.
One hand she pressed upon that aching spot
Where beats the human heart, as if just there
Though an Immortal, she felt cruel pain;
The other upon Saturn's bended neck
She laid, and to the level of his ear

Leaning with parted lips, some words she spake
In solemn tenour and deep organ tone:

Some mourning words, which in our feeble tongue Would come in these like accents; O how frail To that large utterance of the early Gods!

66 Saturn, look up! yet wherefore, poor old King? I have no comfort for thee, no, not one

I cannot say, 'O wherefore sleepest thou?'
For heaven is parted from thee, and the earth
Knows thee not, thus afflicted, for a God;
And ocean too, with all its solemn noise,