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And the rocks where the heathflower blooms they
know, — Lady, kind lady! O, let me go!”
“ Content thee, boy! in my bower to dwell;
Here are sweet sounds which thou lovest well;
Flutes on the air in the stilly noon,
Harps which the wandering breezes tune;
And the silvery wood-note of many a bird,
Whose voice was ne'er in thy mountains heard."
“My mother sings, at the twilight's fall,
A song of the hills, far more sweet than all ;
She sings it under our own green tree,
To the babe half slumbering on her knee;
I dreamt last night of that music low,-
Lady, kind lady! O, let me go!”
“ Thy mother is gone from her cares to rest,
She hath taken the babe on her quiet breast;
Thou wouldst meet her footstep, my boy, no more,
Nor hear her song at the cabin-door.
Come thou with me to the vineyards nigh,
And we 'll pluck the grapes of the richest dye.”
“Is my mother gone from her home away ? —
But I know that my brothers are there at play ;
I know they are gathering the foxglove's bell,
Or the long fern leaves by the sparkling well,
Or they launch their boats where the bright streams
Lady, kind lady! O, let me go !”
"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,
And the streams where the fairy barks were tried.
Be thou at peace in thy brighter lot,
For thy cabin home is a lonely spot.”
“ Are they gone, all 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!”
You who dwell above the skies,
Free from human miseries;
You whom highest heaven embowers,
Praise the Lord with all your powers !
Angels, your clear voices raise !
Him you heavenly armies praise !
Sun, and moon with borrowed light,
All you sparkling eyes of night,
Waters hanging in the air,
Heaven of heavens, his praise declare!
His deservéd praise record,
His, who made you by his word, -
Made you evermore to last,
Set your bounds not to be past.
Let the earth his praise resound !
Monstrous whales, and seas profound,
Vapors, lightning, hail and snow,
Storms, which, when he bids them, blow;
Flowery hills, and mountains high,
Cedars, neighbors to the sky,
Trees, that fruit in season yield,
All the cattle of the field,
Savage beasts, all creeping things,
All that cut the air with wings;
You who awful sceptres sway,
You, inured to obey,
Princes, judges of the earth,
All, of high and humble birth;
Youth, and virgins, flourishing
In the beauty of your spring;
You who bow with age's weight,
You who were but born of late;
Praise his name with one consent !
0, how great! how excellent!
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,
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 ;
No worldly wave my mind can toss;
I brook that is another's bane.
I fear no foe, nor fawn no friend;
I loathe not life, nor dread mine end.
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!
For care, I care not what it is;
I fear not Fortune's fatal law.
My mind is such as may not move
For beauty bright, or force of love.
I wish but what I have at will ;
I wander not to seek for more ;
I like the plain, I climb no hill;
In greatest storms I sit on shore,
And laugh at them that toil in vain
To get what must be lost again.
I kiss not where I wish to kill ;
I feign not love where most I hate;
I break no sleep to win my will;
I wait not at the mighty's gate;
I scorn no poor, I fear no rich;
I feel no want, nor have too much.
The court, ne cart, I like ne loathe;
Extremes are counted worst of all;
The golden inean betwixt them both
Doth surest sit, and fears no fall;
This is my choice; for why? I find
No wealth is like a quiet mind.
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.