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The sparrows'chirrup on the roof,

The slow clock ticking, and the sound Which to the wooing wind aloof

The poplar made, did all confound Her sense

; but most she loathed the hour When the thick-moted sunbeam lay

Athwart the chambers, and the day
Was sloping toward his western bower.
Then, said she, “I am very dreary,

He will not come,” she said ;
She wept, “ I am aweary, aweary,
Oh God, that I were dead !"

TENNYSON.

PATRIOTISM.

BREATHES there the man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,

This is my own, my native land !
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd,
As home his footsteps he hath turn'd,

From wandering on a foreign strand.
If such there breathe, go, mark him well,
For him no minstrel raptures swell ;
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim ;
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,

AGE AND YOUTH.

5

Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonour'd, and unsung.

SCOTT.

AGE AND YOUTH.

“ You are old, Father William," the young man cried,

6. The few locks that are left you are gray ;
You are hale, Father Willian, a hearty old man :
Now tell me the reason,

I
pray

?

“ In the days of my youth,” Father William replied,

“ I remember'd that youth would fly fast, And abused not my health and my vigour at first,

That I never might need them at last.”

“ You are old, Father William,” the young man cried,

“ And pleasures with youth pass away,
And yet you lament not the days that are gone :
Now tell me the reason,

I
pray

?

“ In the days of my youth," Father William replied,

“ I remember'd that youth could not last ; I thought of the future, whatever I did,

That I never might grieve for the past.”

“ You are old, Father William,” the young man cried,

« And life must be hastening away ; You are cheerful, and love to converse upon death : Now tell me the reason,

I

pray ?

“ I am cheerful, young man,” Father William replied,

Let the cause thy attention engage,
In the days of my youth I remember'd my God,
And he hath not forgotten my age.”

SOUTHEY.

THE WATERFOWL.

WHITHER, midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far through their hazy depths dost thou pursue

Thy solitary way.

Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As, darkly painted on the crimson sky,

Thy figure floats along.

Seek'st thou the plashy brink
Of reedy lake, or marge of river wide,
Or where the rocky billows rise and sink

On the chafed ocean's side ?

THE WATERFOWL.

7

There is a Power, whose care
Teaches thy way along that pathless coast,
The desert and illimitable air,

Lone wandering, but not lost.

All day thy wings have fann'd
At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere;
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land,

Though the dark night is near.

And soon that toil shall end,
Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest,
And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend

Soon o'er thy shelter'd nest.

Thou’rt

gone, the abyss of heaven Hath swallow'd up thy form ; yet, on my heart, Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given,

And shall not soon depart.

He, who from zone to zone Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, In the long way that I must tread alone Will lead my steps aright.

BRYANT.

YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND.

I.

YE mariners of England !

That guard our native seas ;
Whose flag has braved, a thousand years,

The battle and the breeze!
Your glorious standard launch again

To match another foe!
And sweep through the deep

While the stormy winds do blow; While the battle rages loud and long,

And the stormy winds do blow.

II.

The spirits of your fathers

Shall start from every wave ; For the deck it was their field of fame,

And ocean was their grave; Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell

Your manly hearts shall glow, As ye sweep through the deep,

While the stormy winds do blow; While the battle rages loud and long,

And the stormy winds do blow.

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