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I KNEW my father's chimney top, Though nearer to my heart than eye, And watched the blue smoke reeking up Between me and the winter sky.

Wayworn I traced the homeward track
My wayward youth had left with joy ;
Unchanged in soul I wandered back,
in heart, a boy.

A man in years ·

I thought upon its cheerful hearth,
And cheerful hearts' untainted glee,
And felt, of all I'd seen on earth,
This was the dearest spot to me.

THE SISTERS.

BY THE REV. G. CRABBE.

THE girls were orphans early; yet I saw,
When young, their father - his profession law;
He left them but a competence, a store

That made his daughters neither rich nor poor;—
Not rich, compared with some who dwelt around ;
Nor poor, for want they neither feared nor found;
Their guardian uncle was both kind and just,
One whom a parent might in dying trust;
Who, in their youth, the trusted store improved,
And, when he ceased to guide them, fondly loved.

These sister beauties were, in fact, the grace Of yon - it was their native place: Like Saul's famed daughters were the lovely twain,

small town

As Micah, Lucy, and as Merab, Jane;

For this was tall, with free, commanding air,
And that was mild, and delicate, and fair.

Jane had an arch delusive smile, that charmed And threatened too; alluring, it alarmed; The smile of Lucy her approval told,

Cheerful, not changing; neither kind nor cold.

When children, Lucy love alone possessed;
Jane was more punished and was more caressed;
If told the childish wishes, one bespoke

A lamb, a bird, a garden, and a brook ;
The other wished a joy unknown, a rout,
Or crowded ball, and to be first led out.

Lucy loved all that grew upon the ground,
And loveliness in all things living found;
The gilded fly, the fern upon the wall,
Were Nature's works, and admirable all;
Pleased with indulgence of so cheap a kind,
Its cheapness never discomposed her mind.

Jane had no liking for such things as these,
Things pleasing her must her superiors please;
The costly flower was precious in her eyes,
That skill can vary, or that money buys;
Her taste was good, but she was still afraid,
Till fashion sanctioned the remarks she made.

The sisters read, and Jane with some delight, The satires keen that fear or rage excite, That men in power attack, and ladies high, And give broad hints that we may know them by, She was amused when sent to haunted rooms, Or some dark passage where the spirit comes.

Of one once murdered! then she laughing read, And felt at once the folly and the dread:

As rustic girls to crafty gipseys fly,
And trust the liar, though they fear the lie ;
Or as a patient, urged by grievous pains,
Will fee the daring quack whom he disdains,
So Jane was pleased to see the beckoning hand,
And trust the magic of the Radcliffe wand.

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In her religion - for her mind, though light, Was not disposed our better views to slight · Her favourite authors were a solemn kind, Who fill with dark mysterious thoughts the mind; And who with such conceits her fancy plied, Became her friend, philosopher, and guide.

She made the Progress of the Pilgrim one
To build a thousand pleasant views upon;
All that connects us with a world above
She loved to fancy, and she longed to prove;
Well would the poet please her, who could lead
Her fancy forth, yet keep untouched her creed.

Led by an early custom, Lucy spied,
When she awaked, the Bible at her side;
That, ere she ventured on a world of care,
She might for trials, joys, or pains prepare,
For every dart a shield, a guard for every snare.

She read not much of high heroic deeds, Where man the measure of man's power exceeds : But gave to luckless love and fate severe

Her tenderest pity and her softest tear.

She mixed not faith with fable, but she trod
Right onward, cautious in the ways of God;
Nor did she dare to launch on seas unknown,
In search of truths by some adventurers shown,
But her own compass used, and kept a course her own.

THE MARINER'S DREAM.

BY WILLIAM DIMOND.

In the slumbers of midnight the sailor-boy lay,
His hammock swung loose at the sport of the

wind;

But, watchworn and weary, his cares flew away,

And visions of happiness danced o'er his mind!

He dreamt of his home, of his dear native bowers, Of the pleasures that waited on life's merry morn, While memory each scene daily covered with flowers, And restored every rose, but secreted its thorn.

Then fancy its magical pinions spread wide,
And bade the young dreamer in ecstasy rise;
Now far, far behind him, the green waters glide,
And the cot of his forefathers blesses his eyes.

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