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In return thou shalt receive
Such a strain as I can give.

2.
Though in voice and shape they be
Formed as if akin to thee,
Thou surpassest, happier far,
Happiest grasshoppers that are:
Theirs is but a summer song,
Thine endures the winter long,
Unimpaired, and shrill, and clear
Melody throughout the

year.

123.—THE DAISY. (WILLIAM WORDEE.

1.
Bright Flower! whose home is everprice
A Pilgrim bold in Nature's care,
And oft, the long year through. te 17
Of Joy or Sorrow.

2.
Methinks that there abinin
Some concord with humani:-
Given to no other flow
The forest thororni:

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.

4.
But thou wouldst teach him how to find
A shelter under every wind;
A hope for times that are unkind
And

every season.

124.-THE WISH. [SAMUEL ROGERS.)

1.
Mine be a cot beside the hill;

A bee-hive's hum shall soothe my ear:
A willowy brook that turns a mill,
With many a fall shall linger near.

2.
The swallow oft, beneath my thatch,

Shall twitter from her clay-built nest;
Oft shall the Pilgrim lift the latch,
And share my meal, a welcome guest.

3.
Around my ivied porch shall spring

Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew : And Lucy at her wheel shall sing In russet gown and apron blue.

4. The village church among the trees,

Where first our marriage vows were given, With merry peals shall swell the breeze,

And point with taper spire to Heaven.

125.- THE MORNING WALK. [THOMAS WHARTON.]

Oh! ever after summer shower,
When the bright sun's returning power
With smiling beam has chased the storm,
And cheered reviving Nature's form:
By sweet-briar hedges bathed in dew,
Let me my wholesome path pursue:
While, as I walk, from every bush
The sparkling rain-drops near I brush;
And all the landscape fair I view
Clad in a robe of fresher hue.
Far and near the valley rings;
Loud and sweet the blackbird sings;
The shepherd leads his flock, and blithe
The mower grasps his sweeping scythe;
While o'er the smooth unbounded meads

His last faint gleam the Rainbow spreads. 126.-THE BRAMBLE FLOWER. EBENEZER ELLIOTT.) Thy fruit full well the school-boy knows,

Wild Bramble of the brake!
So put thou forth thy small white rose;

I love it for his sake.
For dull the eye, the heart is dull

That cannot feel how fair,
Amid all beauty beautiful

Thy tender blossoms are.

The primrose to the grave

is

gone; The hawthorn flower is dead; The violet by the moss-grey stone

Hath laid her weary head.
But thou, wild Bramble ! back dost bring,

In all their living power,
The fresh green days of life's first spring,

And boyhood's blooming hour.

127.-THE SHEPHERD AND HIS Dog.
[WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES].

1.
My dog and I are lame and old ;

On these wide downs we watch all day; He looks in my face when the wind blows cold, ,

And thus, methinks, I hear him say.

2.

“The grey stone circle is below;

The village smoke is at our feet,
We nothing hear but the sailing crow,
And feeding flocks that roam and bleat.

3.
“Though solitude is round us spread,

Master ! alone thou shalt not be ; And when the turf is on thy head,

I only shall remember thee.”

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