I sat and spun within the doore,

My thread brake off, I raised my eyes,
The level rim, like ruddy ore

Lay sinking in the barren skies;
And dark against day's golden death
She moved where Lindis wandereth,—
My sonne's faire wife, Elizabeth.

"Cusha! cusha! cusha!" calling,
For the dews will soon be falling.
Farre away I heard her song,
"Cusha! cusha!" all along

Where the reedy Lindis floweth,
Floweth, floweth,

From the meads where melick groweth,
Faintly came her milking song-

"Cusha! cusha! cusha!" calling,
For the dews will soon be falling;
Leave your meadow-grasses mellow,
Mellow, mellow;

Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow;
Come uppe Whitefoot, come uppe Lightfoot,
Quit the stalk of parsley hollow,

Hollow, hollow;

Come uppe Jetty, rise and follow!

From the clovers lift your head;

Come uppe Whitefoot, come uppe Lightfoot,

Come uppe Jetty, rise and follow

Jetty to the milking shed."

If it be long-ay, long ago,

When I beginne to think howe long

Againe I hear the Lindis flow

Swift as an arrow, sharp and strong;
And all the aire it seemeth mee

Bin full of floating bells (sayth shee),
That ring the tune of Enderby.

Alle fresh the level pasture lay,

And not a shadow mote be seene

Save where, full fyve good miles away,
The steeple towered from out the greene,
And lo! the great bell far and wide
Was heard in all the country-side
That Saturday at eventide.

The swanherds, where their sedges are,
Moved on in sunset's golden breath;
The shepherde lads I heard afarre,
And my sonne's wife, Elizabeth;

Till floating o'er the grassy sea
Came downe that kyndly message free
The "Brides of Mavis Enderby."

Then some looked up into the sky,

And all along where Lindis flows

To where the goodly vessels lie

And where the lordly steeple shows;

They sayde, " And why should this thing be?
What danger lowers by land or sea?
They ring the tune of Enderby!"

For evil news from Mablethorpe,

Of pyrate galleys warping downeFor shippes ashore beyond the scorpe, They have not spared to wake the towne;

But while the west bin red to see,
And storms be none and pyrates flee,
Why ring "The Brides of Enderby?"

I looked without, and lo! my sonne

Came riding down with might and main; He raised a shout as he drew on, Till all the welkin rang again: "Elizabeth! Elizabeth!

(A sweeter woman ne'er drew breath Than my son's wife, Elizabeth.)

"The old sea-wall (he cryed) is downe, The rising tide comes on apace, And boats adrift in yonder towne

Go sailing uppe the market-place." He shook as one that looks on death, "God save you, mother," straight he sayeth, "Where is my wife, Elizabeth?"

"Good sonne, where Lindis winds away,

With her two bairns I marked her long,

And ere yon bells began to play

Afar I heard her milking-song."
He looked across the grassy lea,
To right, to left, "Ho Enderby!"
They rang "The Brides of Enderby!"

With that he cried and beat his breast,
For lo! along the river's bed
A mighty eygre reared his crest,
And uppe the Lindis raging sped;
It swept with thunderous noises loud,
Shaped like a curling snow-white cloud,
Or like a demon in a shroud.

And rearing Lindis backward pressed,
Shook all her trembling banks amaine,
Then madly at the eygre's breast

Flung uppe her weltering walls again;
Then bank came downe with ruin and rout,
Then beaten foam flew round about,
Then all the mighty floods were out.

So farre, so fast the eygre drave

The heart had hardly time to beat Before a shallow seething wave

Sobbed in the grasses at our feet; The feet had hardly time to flee Before it brake against the knee, And all the world was in the sea.

Upon the roofe we sat that night;

The noise of bells went sweeping by;

I marked the lofty beacon light

Stream from the church tower, red and high,

A lurid mark and dread to see;

And awesome bells they were to me

That in the dark rung "Enderby!"

They rang the sailor lads to guide

From roofe to roofe, who fearless roved,

And I-my sonne was at my side

And yet the ruddy billow glowed;

And yet he moaned beneath his breath, "Oh, come in life, or come in death,

Oh, lost! my love, Elizabeth!"

And didst thou visit him no more?

Thou didst, thou didst, my daughter dear;

The waters laid thee at his doore

Ere yet the early dawn was clear;
Thy pretty bairns in fast embrace
The lifted sun shone on thy face,
Downe drifted to thy dwelling-place.

That flow strewed wrecks about the grass,
That ebb swept out the flocks to sea;
A fatal ebbe and flow, alas!

To manye, more than myne and mee;
But each will mourn her own (she sayth),
And sweeter woman ne'er drew breath,
Than my sonne's wife, Elizabeth.

THE SLEEP.

["He giveth His beloved sleep."-Psalms cxxvii, 2.]

BY ELIZAETH BARRETT BROWNING.

Elizabeth Barrett was born in London, in 1806, married to Robert Browning, the poet, in 1846, and died at Florence, Italy, in 1851. Her poems are characterized by a high intellectual attainment, and a great interest in the political events of the day. She was deeply religious, and of exquisite delicacy of imagination. "The Sleep" is one of her finest religious poems, and has been extensively published. She takes a position, independent of sex, among the foremost writers of the century.