An' left her, uncalled at house-ridden,
To bide1 at Woak Hill-

I call'd her so fondly, wi' lippèns
All soundless to others,

An' took her wi' aïr-reachèn hand,
To my zide at Woak Hill.

On the road I did look round, a-talkèn
To light at my shoulder,

An' then led her in at the door,
Open wide at Creech Mill.

An' that's why vo'k2 thought, vor a season,
My mind wer a-wandrèn
Wi' sorrow, when I wer so sorely
A-tried at Woak Hill.

But no; that my Meäry mid never
Behold herzelf slighted,

I wanted to think that I guided
My guide vrom Woak Hill.

W. Barnes.

CCXLIII.

STANZAS.

YN a drear-nighted December,

Too happy, happy Tree,

Thy branches ne'er remember

Their green felicity:

The north cannot undo them,

With a sleety whistle through them;

Nor frozen thawings glue them

From budding at the prime.

In a drear-nighted December,
Too happy, happy Brook,
Thy bubblings ne'er remember
Apollo's summer look;

But with a sweet forgetting,
They stay their crystal fretting,
Never, never petting

About the frozen time.

Ah! would 'twere so with many

A gentle girl and boy!
But were there ever any
Writhed not at passéd joy?

To know the change and feel it,
When there is none to heal it,
Nor numbéd sense to steal it,
Was never said in rhyme.

J. Keats.

CCXLIV.

WINTER'S TALE.

ACT V. SCENE III.-A Chapel in Paulina's house.

Enter LEONTES, POLIXENES, Florizel, Perdita, Camillo, Paulina, Lords, and Attendants.

I did not well I meant well. All my services
You have paid home: but that you have vouchsafed,
With your crowned brother and these your contracted
Heirs of your kingdoms, my poor house to visit,

It is a surplus of your grace, which never

My life may last to answer.

Leon.

O Paulina,

We honour you with trouble: but we came

To see the statue of our queen: your gallery

Have we passed through, not without much content
In many singularities; but we saw not

That which my daughter came to look upon,

The statue of her mother.

Paul.

As she lived peerless,

So her dead likeness, I do well believe,
Excels whatever yet you looked upon

Or hand of man hath done; therefore I keep it
Lonely, apart. But here it is: prepare

To see the life as lively mocked as ever

Still sleep mocked death: behold, and say 'tis well. [Paulina draws a curtain, and discovers Hermione standing like a statue.

I like your silence, it the more shows off

Your wonder: but yet speak; first, you, my liege.
Comes it not something near?

Her natural posture!

Leon.
Chide me, dear stone, that I may say indeed
Thou art Hermione; or rather, thou art she
In thy not chiding, for she was as tender
As infancy and grace. But yet, Paulina,
Hermione was not so much wrinkled, nothing
So agéd as this seems.

Pol.

O, not by much.

Paul. So much the more our carver's excellence ; Which lets go by some sixteen years and makes her As she lived now.

Leon.

As now she might have done,
So much to my good comfort, as it is

Now piercing to my soul. O, thus she stood,
Even with such life of majesty, warm life,
As now it coldly stands, when first I wooed her!
I am ashamed: does not the stone rebuke me
For being more stone than it? O royal piece,
There's magic in thy majesty, which has
My evils conjured to remembrance and

From thy admiring daughter took the spirits,
Standing like stone with thee.

Per.

And give me leave,

And do not say 'tis superstition, that
I kneel and then implore her blessing.
Dear queen, that ended when I but began,
Give me that hand of yours to kiss.

Paul.

Lady,

O, patience!

The statue is but newly fixed, the colour's

Not dry.

Cam. My lord, your sorrow was too sore laid on, Which sixteen winters cannot blow away,

So many summers dry: scarce any joy

Did ever so long live; no sorrow

But killed itself much sooner.

Pol.

Dear my brother,

Let him that was the cause of this have power
To take off so much grief from you as he

Will piece up in himself.

Paul.

Indeed, my lord,

If I had thought the sight of my poor image

Would thus have wrought you, for the stone is mineI'ld not have showed it.

Leon.

Do not draw the curtain.

Paul. No longer shall you gaze on't, lest your fancy May think anon it moves.

Leon.

Let be, let be.

Would I were dead, but that, methinks, already

What was he that did make it? See, my lord,

Would you not deem it breathed? and that those veins Did verily bear blood?

Pol.

Masterly done :

The very life seems warm upon her lip.

Leon. The fixure of her eye has motion in't,

As we are mocked with art.

Paul.

I'll draw the curtain:

My lord's almost so far transported that

He'll think anon it lives.

Leon.

O sweet Paulina,

Make me to think so twenty years together!

No settled senses of the world can match
The pleasure of that madness. Let't alone.

Paul. I am sorry, sir, I have thus far stirred you: but I could afflict you farther.

Leon.

Do, Paulina;

For this affliction has a taste as sweet

As any cordial comfort. Still, methinks,

There is an air comes from her what fine chisel

Could ever yet cut breath? Let no man mock me,
For I will kiss her.

Paul.

Good my lord, forbear:

The ruddiness upon her lip is wet;

You'll mar it if you kiss it, stain your own

With oily painting. Shall I draw the curtain?
Leon. No, not these twenty years.

Per.

Stand by, a looker on.

Paul.

So long could I

Either forbear,

Quit presently the chapel, or resolve you

For more amazement. If you can behold it,
I'll make the statue move indeed, descend

And take you by the hand: but then you'll think—
Which I protest against-I am assisted

By wicked powers.

Leon.

What you can make her do,

I am content to look on: what to speak,

I am content to hear; for 'tis as easy

To make her speak as move.

Paul.

It is required

You do awake your faith. Then all stand still;

On

those that think it is unlawful business

I am about, let them depart.

Leon.
No foot shall stir.

Proceed:

D D