X. WILL-O’ - THE-WISP.

“Gone the sickness, fled the pain,

Health comes bounding back again,

And all my pulses tingle for delight.

Together what a pleasant thing

To ramble while the blackbirds sing,

And pasture lands are sparkling dewy bright!

“Soon will come the clear spring weather,

Hand in hand we'll roam together,

And hand in hand will talk of springs to come;

As on the morning when you played

The necromancer with my shade,

In senseless shadow gazing darkly dumb.

“Cast away that cloudy care,

Or, I vow, in my parterre

You shall not enter when the lilies blow,

And I go there to stand and sing

Songs to the heaven-white wondrous ring;

Sir Would-be-Wizard of the crumpled brow!”