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The fagot sent for, when the fire grew dim,
The frugal meal prepared, are all for him;
For him the watching of that sturdy boy;
For him those smiles of tenderness and joy-
For him, who plods his sauntering way along,
Whistling the fragment of some village song.
MRS. NORTON.

FROM ANACREON.

To all, that breathe the air of heaven,
Some boon of strength has Nature given.
In forming the majestic bull,

She fenced with wreathed horns his skull;
A hoof of strength she lent the steed;
And wing'd the timorous hare with speed:
To man she gave in that proud hour
The boon of intellectual power;
Then what, O woman! what for thee
Was left in Nature's treasury?
She gave thee beauty-mightier far
Than all the pomp and power of war:
Nor steel, nor fire itself hath power,
Like woman in her conquering hour.
Be thou but fair!-mankind adore thee:
Smile! and a world is weak before thee.

MOORE.

WEDDED LOVE.

ND are ye sure the news is true?
And are ye sure he's weel?
Is this a time to talk o' wark?
Ye jades, fling by your wheel!
Is this a time to think o' wark,
When Colin's at the door?
Gi'e me my cloak, I'll to the quay
And see him come ashore.

Rise up, and make a clean fireside,
Put on the muckle pot;
Gi'e little Kate her cotton gown,
And Jock his Sunday coat;

And make their shoon as black as slaes,
Their hose as white as snaw;

It's all to please my ain gude man,

He likes to see them braw.

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And will I see his face again?

And will I hear him speak? I'm downright dizzie wi' the thought, In troth I'm like to greet.

The cauld blasts o' the winter wind,
That thrilled through my heart,
They're a' blawn by; I ha'e him safe;
Till death we'll never part:-
But what puts parting in my mind?
It may be far awa';

The present moment is our ain,

The neist we never saw.

FICKLE AFFECTION.

OUR love was like the snow-flakes

Which melt before you pass,

Or the bubble on the wine, which breaks

Before you lip the glass.

M. PRAED.

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T is the first fine day of March;
Each minute sweeter than before;
The redbreast sings from the tall larch
That grows beside our door.

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Love now, an universal birth,

From heart to heart is stealing,

From earth to man, from man to earth;

-It is the hour of feeling.

One moment now may give us more

Than fifty years of reason:

Our minds will drink at every pore

The spirit of the season.

Some silent laws our hearts will make,

Which they shall long obey,

We for the year to come may take

Our temper from to-day.

WORDSWORTH.

LILY OF THE VALLEY.

BUT chief, sweet Lily of the Vale,
With drooping head and bosom pale,
Though deeply veiled thy snowy vest,
Pure as the dew that bathes thy breast;
Within thy tiny, trembling bells
What treasured store of fragrance dwells!
Thy breath, so delicately sweet,
Soon leads us to thy loved retreat.

LILY OF THE VALLEY.

STOOPING Lilies of the Valley,

That love with shades and dews to dally,
And bending low on slender threads
With broad hood leaves above their heads,
Like white-robed maids in summer hours,
Beneath umbrellas shunning showers.

CLARE.

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