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THE FAIRIES.

On his stately journeys

From Slieveleague to Rosses; Or going up with music,

On cold, starry nights,

To sup with the queen

Of the gay Northern Lights.

They stole little Bridget

For seven years long; When she came down again

Her friends were all gone.

They took her lightly back,

Between the night and morrow;

They thought that she was fast asleep,
But she was dead with sorrow.
They have kept her ever since
Deep within the lakes,
On a bed of flag-leaves,
Watching till she wakes.

By the craggy hill-side,
Through the mosses bare,
They have planted thorn-trees
For pleasure here and there;

Is any man so daring

To dig one up in spite,
He shall find the thornies set
In his bed at night.

Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,

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SUMMER DAYS.

IN Summer, when the days were long,
We walked together in the wood:
Our heart was light, our step was strong;
Sweet flutterings were there in our blood,
In Summer, when the days were long.

We strayed from morn till evening came;
We gathered flowers, and wove us crowns;
We walked 'mid poppies red as flame,
Or sat upon the yellow downs,
And always wished our life the same.

In Summer, when the days were long,
We leaped the hedgerow, crossed the brook ;
And still her voice flowed forth in song,
Or else she read some graceful book,
In Summer, when the days were long.

And then we sat beneath the trees,
With shadows lessening in the noon;
And, in the sunlight and the breeze,
We feasted, many a gorgeous June,
While larks were singing o'er the leas.

SUMMER DAYS.

In Summer, when the days were long,
On dainty chicken, snow-white bread,
We feasted, with no grace but song.
We plucked wild strawberries, ripe and red,
In Summer, when the days were long.

We loved, and yet we knew it not;
For loving seemed like breathing then.
We found a heaven in every spot,
Saw angels too, in all good men,
And dreamed of God in grove and grot.

In Summer, when the days are long,
Alone I wander, muse alone.

I see her not; but that old song
Under the fragrant wind is blown,
In Summer, when the days are long.

Alone I wander in the wood;

But one fair spirit hears my sighs;
And half I see, so glad and good,
The honest daylight of her eyes,
That charmed me under earlier skies.

In Summer, when the days are long,
I love her as we loved of old;
My heart is light, my step is strong;
For love brings back those hours of gold,
In Summer, when the days are long.

ANONYMOUS.

THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM.

'Twas in the prime of summer time,
An evening calm and cool,
And four-and-twenty happy boys

Came bounding out of school;

There were some that ran and some that leapt, Like troutlets in a pool.

Away they sped with gamesome minds,
And souls untouched by sin;

To a level mead they came, and there
They drave the wickets in:
Pleasantly shone the setting sun
Over the town of Lynn.

Like sportive deer they coursed about,
And shouted as they ran,

Turning to mirth all things of earth,

As only boyhood can;

But the Usher sat remote from all,

A melancholy man.

His hat was off, his vest apart,

To catch heaven's blessed breeze;

For a burning thought was in his brow,
And his bosom ill at ease;

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