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Free from fancy's cruel skill,
Then to toss the circling ball,
RANGER’S GRAVE. – Mrs. South ey.
HE 's dead and gone! he 's dead and gone !
And the daisy blows,
Upon his grave.
He 's dead and gone! he 's dead and gone !
Where he loved to lie,
In summer time.
We 've laid him there, where the blessed air
And raineth showers
So silver white;
Where the blackbird sings, and the wild bee's wings
And the cricket at night
He loved to lie where his wakeful eye
Whence a word or a sign,
Brought him like light.
Nor word, nor sign, nor look of mine,
With bark and bound,
Shall bring him now.
But he taketh his rest, where he loved best
And that place will not
Of earth to me.
'T was the night before Christmas, and all through
the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse ; The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In the hope that St. Nicholas soon would be there. The children were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads, And mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap, Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap ; When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, Tore
open the shutters and threw up the sash, The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow Gave the lustre of midday to objects below,When what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer, With a little old driver so lively and quick I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by
THE PET LAMB.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
merry ! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry ; His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow; The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath. He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf, And I laughed when I saw him in spite of myself. A wink of his eye and a twist of his head Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, And filled all his stockings, - then turned with a jerk, And laying his finger aside of his nose, And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose. He
sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all flew, like the down of a thistle ; But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, • Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”
THE PET LAMB. - Wordsworth.
The dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink ;
No other sheep were near, the lamb was all alone,
The lamb, while from her hand he thus his supper
took, Seemed to feast with head and ears; and his tail
with pleasure shook ; “ Drink, pretty creature, drink,” she said, in such a
tone, That I almost received her heart into my own.
’T was little Barbara Lethwaite, a child of beauty
Towards the lamb she looked; and from that shady
place I unobserved could see the workings of her face ; If nature to her tongue could measured numbers
bring, Thus, thought I, to her lamb that little maid might