Part 1 — AT THE MILL.

Swallows, skimming o’er the shallows, Where, above the reeds and mallows, May-flies hover light, As ye course o’er flood and lea, Twitter of my love to me— Cometh he to-night? Insect-mazes, softly droning O’er the mill-stream’s fitful moaning, In your wayward flight, Murmur o’er the bridge’s cope Lullabies to dreaming Hope— Cometh he to-night? Weave your flaming splendours o’er me, Evening clouds that float before me, Rosy, gold, and white; Flood my soul with pearly rays, Harbingers of halcyon days— Cometh he to-night? Flowers that lade the zephyr’s fleetness With the burden of your sweetness, Cheer me, calm and bright. Sweet as you my thoughts shall spring, When his soft-tongued whispering Breathes o’er me to-night. Fickle he as swallow’s glancing; Wavering as the May-fly’s dancing In the waning light! Flimsy as the clouds above, Frail as petals all his love! Where is he to-night? He is here! my homebound swallow; True to me as May-flies follow Streamlets to alight. Fair as skies in sunset hours, Sweeter far than honeyed flowers, Comes my love to-night! F. H. Wood.