POEMS.

THE EVE OF ST. MARK'S.

A TALE to be told at yuletide

At the meeting of kith and kin,

When the

song of Waits is heard without,

And logs blaze up within ;

And old friends drink to each other;

Drink deep again and again,

While the wind tears up the snow-drift
And batters the window-pane.

B

I.

Two lovers wandered in a dell,
Beside a budding thorn,

A hundred years ago or so,
Upon an April morn.

They heeded not the throstle's song, They heeded not the brooklet's moan, Or primrose wet, or violet

That sheltered by the mossy stone.

His steed impatient snorts and leaps,
But still he lingers in the lane,

With one arm hung around her waist,
The other through his bridle rein.