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And take thy father's knife, and prune

The roses that remain ;

And let the fallen hollyhock

Peep through the broken pane.

And spunge his view of Blacklowscar,
Till bright, on moor and town,
The painted sun, and stormy crest,
O'er leagues of cloud look down.
He rose at three, to work till four-
The evenings still are long-
And still for every lingering flower
The redbreast hath a song.

I'll follow in an hour or two;
Be sure I will not fail

To bring his flute and spying-glass,
The pipes and bottled ale;

And that grand music which he made
About the child in bliss;

Our guest shall hear it sung and play'd, And feel how grand it is!

SONG.

LET idlers despair! there is hope for the wise,
Who rely on their own hearts and hands;

And we read in their souls, by the flash of their eyes,
That our land is the noblest of lands.

Let knaves fear for England, whose thoughts wear a

mask,

While a war on our trenchers they wage;
Free trade and no favour is all that we ask!
Fair play, and the world for a stage!

Secure in their baseness, the lofty and bold
Look down on their victims beneath;
Like snow on a skylight, exalted and cold,
They shine o'er the shadow of death;

In the warm sun of knowledge, that kindles our blood,

And fills our cheer'd spirits with day,

Their splendour, contemn'd by the brave and the good,

Like a palace of ice melts away.

Our compass, which married the East to the West,
Our press, which makes many minds one,

Our steam-sinew'd giant that toils without rest,
Proclaim that our perils are gone.

We want but the right, which the God of the right Denies not to birds and to bees;

The charter of Nature! that bids the wing'd light Fly chainless as winds o'er the seas.

SONG.

WITH hair grown grey, we look behind
On passions whose wild reign is o'er-
Virtues, whose failure stings the mind,
And troubles that molest no more:

Slow pass'd the days of toil and care;
Yet, oh! how fast they seem to fly,
When we look back on our despair,
And call it hope, yet know not why.

And still they pass, and shade on shade
Deepens, their woe-mark path along;
But Thou, O God! art strong to aid;

Ay, and in Thee the weak are strong.

SONG.

FREE Trade, like religion, hath doctrines of love,
And the promise of plenty and health;

It proclaims, while the angels look down from above,
The marriage of Labour and Wealth.

Free Trade, like religion, hath doctrines of peace, Universal as God's vital air;

And, throned o'er doom'd evil, he hails its increase, While his enemies only despair.

By all who their blood on Truth's altars resign'd,
To enfranchise a sin-fetter'd race!

Our sons shall be freed from the curse of the blind,
And redeem'd from the bonds of the base.

The ark of our triumph, far, far as seas roll,
Shall ride o'er the wealth-freighted waves;
The chain'd of the drones be the chainless in soul,
And tyrants made men by their slaves.

The hall of our fathers, with heav'n for its dome,
And the steps of its portals the sea-

Of labour and comfort will then be the home,
And the temple where worship the Free.

SONG.

O'ER Polonia's plains of glory,
Freedom tower'd-a stately tree;
From all storms, a sky of branches
Shelter'd mine and shelter'd me.

Underneath the tree of ages,

Many a merry song sung we; Carved his rind, and kiss'd his shadow; Oh, we loved the glorious tree !

Now, alas! no sky of branches

Shelters mine and shelters me!

Now, alas! the tree of Poland
Low is fall'n, as low can be!

And, as on Euphrates' waters,

When the mournful moonbeam slept, Israel's wanderers, sad for Zion,

With the weeping willows wept,

So we mourn, and, all unheeded,
Make our roof the unpillar'd sky;
So we roam, and friendless, hopeless,
Shed the tear of memory.

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