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Sometimes my books by day shall kill the hours,
Her finger was so small, the ring
It was too wide a peck ;
About our young colt's neck.
As if they feared the light; But 0, she dances such a way! No sun upon an Easter-day
Is half so fine a sight.
And the music's brisker din
CHORUS OP MAIDENS.
Now the jocund song is thine,
On the bashful sealed lid !
Then before All they stand, the holy vow
her eyes read his ; her gentle mind
Hark! a brisker, merrier glee !
HENRY HART MILMAN.
WIFE, CHILDREN, AND FRIENDS. But happy they ! the happiest of their kind !
Whom gentler stars unite, and in one fate When the black-lettered list to the gods was pre- Their hearts, their fortunes, and their beings blend. sented
'T is not the coarser tie of human laws, (The list of what fate for each mortal intends), Unnatural oft, and foreign to the mind, At the long string of ills a kind goddess relented, That binds their peace, but harmony itself, And slipped in three blessings, — wife, children, Attuning all their passions into love ; and friends.
Where friendship full-exerts her softest power,
Perfect esteem enlivened by desire In vain surely Pluto maintained he was cheated, Ineffable, and sympathy of soul;
For justice divine could not compass its ends. Thought meeting thought, and will preventing The scheme of man's penance heswore was defeated,
will, For earth becomes heaven with-wife, children, With boundless confidence : for naught but love and friends.
Can answer love, and render bliss secure.
Meantime a smiling offspring rises round, If the stock of our bliss is in stranger hands vested, And mingles both their graces. By degrees,
The fund ill secured, oft in bankruptcy ends; The human blossom blows ; and every day, But the heart issues bills which are never protested, Soft as it rolls along, shows some new charm, When drawn on the firm of — wife, children, The father's lustre and the mother's bloom. and friends.
Then infant reason grows apace, and calls
For the kind hand of an assiduous care. The day-spring of youth still unclouded by sorrow, To teach the young idea how to shoot,
Delightful task ! to rear the tender thought, Alone on itself for enjoyment depends ; But drear is the twilight of age if it borrow
To pour the fresh instruction o'er the mind, No warmth from the smile of — wife, children,
To breathe the enlivening spirit, and to fix and friends.
The generous purpose in the glowing breast.
WILLIAM ROBERT SPENCER.
MY WIFE'S A WINSOME WEE THING,
Surprises often, while you look around,
She is a winsome wee thing,
THE BANKS OF THE LEE.
My Love, I have no fear that thou shouldst die; O The banks of the Lee, the banks of the Lee,
Albeit I ask no fairer life than this, And love in a cottage for Mary and me!
Whose numbering-clock is still thy gentle kiss, There's not in the land a lovelier tide, And I'm sure that there's no one so fairas my bride. While Time and Peace with hands unlockédtly, She's modest and meek,
Yet care I not where in Eternity There's a down on her cheek,
We live and love, well knowing that there is
No backward step for those who feel the bliss And her skin is as sleek
Of Faith as their most lofty yearnings high :
Love hath so purified my being's core,
Meseems I scarcely should be startled, even,
To find, some morn, that thou hadst gone before ; And her whisper is low,
Since, with thy love, this knowledge too was But as clear as the spring.
given, O the banks of the Lee, the banks of the Lee,
Which each calm day doth strengthen more and And love in a cottage for Mary and me ! I know not how love is happy elsewhere,
That they who love are but one step from Heaven. I know not how any but lovers are there. O, so green is the grass, so clear is the stream, So mild is the mist and so rich is the beam, That beauty should never to other lands roam,
I CANNOT think that thou shouldst pass away, But make on the banks of our river its home!
Whose life to mine is an eternal law, When, dripping with dew,
A piece of nature that can have no flaw, The roses peep through,
A new and certain sunrise every day ; "T is to look in at you
But, if thou art to be another ray
About the Sun of Life, and art to live
Free from all of thee that was fugitive, Must be hoarded for hours,
The debt of Love I will more fully pay, ”T is poured in such showers
Not downcast with the thought of thee so high,
But rather raised to be a nobler man,
And more divine in my humanity,
As knowing that the waiting eyes which scan 0, Mary for me, Mary for me,
My life are lighted by a purer being, And 't is little I'd sigh for the banks of the Lee! And ask meek, calm-browed deeds, with it agree