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THE ADOPTED CHILD.
And the rocks where the heathflower blooms they
know, Lady, kind lady! O, let me go!”
“ Content thee, boy! in my bower to dwell ;
“My mother sings, at the twilight's fall,
* Thy mother is gone from her cares to rest,
“ Is my mother gone from her home away?-
“Fair child! thy brothers are wanderers now, They sport no more on the mountain's brow;
They have left the fern by the spring's green side,
“ Are they gone,
gone from the sunny hill ?But the bird and the blue fly rove o'er it still
, And the red deer bound in their gladness free, And the turf is bent by the singing bee, And the waters leap, and the fresh winds blow,Lady, kind lady! O, let me go!”
VERSIFIED BY SANDYS, BORN IN 1577.
You who dwell above the skies,
PEACE OF MIND.
Flowery hills, and mountains high,
PEACE OF MIND. - From Old English Poetry.
My mind to me a kingdom is;
Such perfect joy therein I find As far exceeds all earthly bliss
That God or nature hath assigned ; Though much I want that most
would have, Yet still my mind forbids to crave.
Content I live, this is my stay;
I seek no more than may suffice; I press to bear no haughty sway;
Look what I lack my mind supplies. Lo! thus I triumph like a king, Content with that my mind doth bring.
I see how plenty surfeits oft,
And hasty climbers soonest fall; I see that such as sit aloft
Mishap doth threaten most of all ; These get with toil, and keep with fear; Such cares my mind could never bear.
No princely pomp, nor wealthy store,
No force to win a victory, No wily wit to salve a sore,
No shape to win a lover's eye; To none of these I yield as thrall
, For why ? my mind despiseth all.
Some have too much, yet still they crave;
I little have, yet seek no more ; They are but poor, though much they have;
And I am rich with little store; They poor, I rich ; they beg, I give; They lack, I lend ; they pine, I live.
I laugh not at another's loss,
I grudge not at another's gain;
I brook that is another's bane.
My wealth is health and perfect ease;
My conscience clear my chief defence ; I never seek by bribes to please,
Nor by desert to give offence; Thus do I live, thus will I die; Would all did so as well as I!
I take no joy in earthly bliss;
I weigh not Cræsus' wealth a straw;
ELEGT WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD. 125
For care, I care not what it is;
I fear not Fortune's fatal law.
I wish but what I have at will ;
I wander not to seek for more ;
In greatest storms I sit on shore,
I kiss not where I wish to kill ;
I feign not love where most I hate;
I wait not at the mighty's gate ;
The court, ne cart, I like ne loathe ;
Extremes are counted worst of all;
Doth surest sit, and fears no fall;
AN ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH
YARD. – Gray.
The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.