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Break, break, break,

At the foot of thy crags, O Sea! But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me.


THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES. HAVE had playmates, I have had compan

ions, In my days of childhood, in my joyful school

days; All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. I have been laughing, I have been carousing, Drinking late, sitting late with my bosom

cronies ; All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.

I loved a love once, fairest among women; Closed are her doors on me now, I must not

see her. All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.

I have a friend, a kinder friend has no man; Like an ingrate, I left my friend abruptly ;

Left him, to muse on the old familiar faces.

Ghost-like, I paced round the haunts of my

childhood, Earth seemed a desert I was bound to trav

erse, Seeking to find the old familiar faces.

Friend of my bosom, thou more than a broth

er, Why wert thou not born in my father's dwell

ing? So might we talk of the old familiar faces,

How some they have died, and some they

have left me, And some are taken from me; all are depart

ed, All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.



With the sunshine on thy face,
Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace!
From my heart I give thee joy :
I was once a barefoot boy.
Prince thou art—the grown-up man
Only is republican.
Let the million-dollared ride!
Barefoot, trudging at his side,
Thou hast more than he can buy,
In the reach of ear and eye:
Outward sunshine, inward joy.
Blessings on thee, barefoot boy!

0! for boyhood's painless play,
Sleep that wakes in laughing day,
Health that mocks the doctor's rules,
Knowledge never learned of schools :
Of the wild bee's morning chase,
Of the wild flower's time and place,
Flight of fowl, and habitude
Of the tenants of the wood;
How the tortoise bears his shell,
How the woodchuck digs his cell,
And the ground-mole sinks his well ;
How the robin feeds her young,
How the oriole's nest is hung;
Where the whitest lilies blow,
Where the freshest berries grow,
Wherethe ground-nut trails its vine,
Where the wood-grape's clusters shine ;
Of the black wasp's cunning way,
Mason of his walls of clay,
And the architectural plans
Of gray hornet artisans !
For eschewing books and tasks,
Nature answers all he asks;
Hand in hand with her he walks,
Face to face with her he talks,
Part and parcel of her joy.
Blessings on the barefoot boy!

O for boyhood's time of June,
Crowding years in one brief moon,
When all things I heard or saw,
Me, their master, waited for!
I was rich in flowers and trees,
Humming-birds and honey-bees;
For my sport the squirrel played,
Plied the snouted mole his spade;
For my taste the blackberry cone
Purpled over hedge and stone;
Laughed the brook for my delight,
Through the day and through the night:
Whispering at the garden wall,
Talked with me from fall to fall;

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“ Blessings on thee, little man,

Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan.” Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond,

O, for festal dainties spread, Mine the walnut slopes beyond,

Like my bowl of milk and bread, Mine, on bending orchard trees,

Pewter spoon and bowl of wood, Apples of Hesperides!

On the door-stone, gray and rude! Still, as my horizon grew,

O’er me, like a regal tent, Larger grew my riches too,

Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent; All the world I saw or knew

Purple-curtained, fringed with gold, Seemed a complex Chinese toy,

Looped in many a wind-swung fold; Fashioned for a barefoot boy!

While, for music, came the play

Of the pied frogs' orchestra;
And, to light the noisy choir,
Lit the fly his lamp of fire.
I was monarch ; pomp and joy
Waited on the barefoot boy!
Cheerily, then, my little man!
Live and laugh as boyhood can;
Though the flinty slopes be hard,
Stubble-speared the new-mown sward,
Every morn shall lead thee through
Fresh baptisms of the dew;
Every evening from thy feet
Shall the cool wind kiss the heat;

All too soon these feet must hide
In the prison-cells of pride,
Lose the freedom of the sod,
Like a colt's for work be shod,
Made to tread the mills of toil,
Up and down in ceaseless moil;
Happy if their track be found
Never on forbidden ground;
Happy if they sink not in
Quick and treacherous sands of sin.
Ah! that thou couldst know thy joy,
Ere it passes, barefoot boy!



Sleep on, baby on the floor,

Tired of all thy playing.”

LEEP on, baby on the floor,

Little head and little foot
Tired of all thy playing,

Heavy laid for pleasure,
With a smile the sweeter for

Underneath the lids half shut That you dropped away in !

Slants the shining azure; On your curls' fair roundness stand

Open soul in noonday sun, Golden lights serenely;

So you lie and slumber! One cheek, pushed out by the hand,

Nothing evil having done, Folds the dimple inly ;

Nothing can encumber.

I, who cannot sleep as well,

Shall I sigh to view you?
Or sigh further to foretell

All that may undo you?
Nay, keep smiling, little child,

Ere the sorrow neareth.
I will smile, too! Patience mild

Pleasure's token weareth.
Nay, keep sleeping before loss;

I shall sleep through losing:
As by cradle, so by cross,

Sure is the reposing:

Go, look in your hall, where the chandelier's

light Drives off with its splendor the darkness of

night, Where the rich hanging velvet in shadowy

Sweeps gracefully down with its trimming of

And the mirrors of silver take up and renew,
In long lighted vistas, the wildering view-
Go there in your patches, and find if you can,
A welcoming smile for the moneyless man!


And God knows who sees us twain, Go, look in yon church of the cloud-reaching
Child at childish leisure,

I am near as tired of pain

Which gives back to the sun his same look of As you seem of pleasure ;

red fire, Very soon, too, by his grace

Where the arches and columns are gorgeous Gently wrapped around me,

Shall I show as calm a face,

And the walls seem as pure as a soul without
Shall I sleep as soundly :
Differing in this, that you

Go down the long aisle-see the rich and the
Clasp your playthings sleeping,

great, While my hand shall drop the few In the pomp and the pride of their worldly Given to my keeping;

estate Differing in this, that I

Walk down in your patches, and find, if you Sleeping shall be colder,

And in waking presently,

Who opens a pew to a moneyless man,
Brighter to beholder:
Differing in this, beside,

Go, look on yon judge in the dark flowing (Sleeper, have you heard me ?

gown, Do you move, and open wide

With the scales wherein law weigheth equity Eyes of wonder toward me?)

down, That while you I thus recall

Where he frowns on the weak and smiles on From your sleep, I solely,

the strong, Me from mine an angel shall,

And punishes right where he justifies wrong ; With reveille holy !

Where jurors their lips on the Bible have laid, ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. To render a verdict they've already made;

Go, there in the court-room, and find if you


Any law for the cause of a moneyless man! S there no secret place on the face of the earth,

Go, look in the banks where mammon has told Where charity dwelleth, where virtue hath His hundreds and thousands of silver and birth?

gold; Where bosoms in mercy and kindness shall Where safe from the hand of the starving and heave,

poor, And the poor and the wretched shall“ask and Lays pile upon pile of the glittering ore; receive ?"

Walk up to the counter-and there you may Is there no place on earth where a knock from


Till your limbs grow old and your hair turns Will bring a kind angel to open the door?

gray, Ah! search the wide world wherever you can, And you'll find at the banks no one of the clan There is no open door for a moneyless man! With money to loan to a moneyless man!

the poor

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SEVEN TIMES ONE.-EXULTATION. I am old—so old I can write a letter;
THERE'S no dew left on the daisies and My birthday lessons are done.

The lambs play always—they know no better; There's no rain left in heaven.

They are only one times one.
I've said my “seven times” over and over-
Seven times one are seven.

O Moon! in the night I have seen you sailing


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