me, Sweet through a boy's day dream, While trout below the blossom'd tree Plashed in the golden stream.  * * * * * * * *¨* * * * * * *   Twilight, and Tweed, and Eildon Hill, Fair and thrice fair you be; You tell me that the voice is still That should have welcomed me. 1870. 

Beyond the purple plain,

Of Tweed once more again.

Dear voice from the old years,

And moves to quiet tears.

Fleets through the dusky land;

My feet returning stand.

The border waters flow;

Borne out of long ago.

Sweet through a boy's day dream,

Plashed in the golden stream.

* * * * * * * *¨* * * * * * * 

Fair and thrice fair you be;

That should have welcomed me.

1870.

 A SUNSET OF WATTEAU LUI. The silk sail fills, the soft winds wake, Arise and tempt the seas; Our ocean is the Palace lake, Our waves the ripples that we make Among the mirrored trees. ELLE. Nay, sweet the shore, and sweet the song, And dear the languid dream; The music mingled all day long With paces of the dancing throng, And murmur of the stream. An hour ago, an hour ago, We rested in the shade; And now, why should we seek to know What way the wilful waters flow? There is no fairer glade. LUI. Nay, pleasure flits, and we must sail, And seek him everywhere; Perchance in sunset's golden pale He listens to the nightingale, Amid the perfumed air. Come, he has fled; you are not you, 

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