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Captive, in whose narrow narrow cell
Sunshine hath not leave to dwell;
Sailor, on the darkening sea,

Lift the heart, and bend the knee!

Warrior, that from battle won
Breathest now at set of sun;
Woman, o'er the lowly slain
Weeping on his burial-plain;
Ye that triumph, ye that sigh,
Kindred by one holy tie,

Heaven's first star alike ye see—

Lift the heart, and bend the knee !

Mrs. Hemans.

THE HOMES OF ENGLAND.

The stately homes of England!
How beautiful they stand,
Amidst their tall ancestral trees,

O'er all the pleasant land!

The deer across their greensward bound
Through shade and sunny gleam,

And the swan glides past them with the sound
Of some rejoicing stream.

L

The merry homes of England!
Around their hearths by night

What gladsome looks of household love
Meet in the ruddy light!

There woman's voice flows forth in song,
Or childish tale is told,

Or lips move tunefully along
Some glorious page of old.

The blessed homes of England!
How softly on their bowers

Is laid the holy quietness

That breathes from Sabbath hours! Solemn, yet sweet, the church-bell's chime Floats through their woods at morn; All other sounds, in that still time, Of breeze and leaf are born.

The cottage homes of England!
By thousands on her plains,
They are smiling o'er the silvery brooks,
And round the hamlet fanes.'
Through glowing orchards forth they peep,
Each from its nook of leaves;

And fearless there the lowly sleep,
As the bird beneath their eaves.

1 Churches.

The free, fair homes of England!
Long, long in hut and hall

May hearts of native proof be reared
To guard each hallowed wall!
And green for ever be the groves,
And bright the flowery sod,

Where first the child's glad spirit loves
Its country and its God!

Mrs. Hemans.

THE FIRST GRIEF.

"O, call my brother back to me;

I cannot play alone;

The summer comes with flowers and beeWhere is my brother gone?

"The butterfly is glancing bright

Across the sunbeam's track:
I care not now to chase its flight,
O, call my brother back!

"The flowers run wild-the flowers we sowed

Around our garden-tree;

Our vine is drooping with its load;

O, call him back to me!

"He would not hear my voice, fair child, He may not come to thee;

The face that once like spring-time smiled On earth no more thou'lt see.

"A rose's brief bright life of joy,
Such unto him was given ;
Go-thou must play alone, my boy—
Thy brother is in heaven!"

"And has he left the birds and flowers ?

And must I call in vain ?

And through the long, long summer hours, Will he not come again?

"And by the brook, and in the glade,
Are all our wanderings o'er ?
O, while my brother with me played,
Would I had loved him more!"

Mrs. Hemans.

THE BETTER LAND.

"I hear thee speak of the better land: Thou call'st its children a happy band; Mother! O where is that radiant shore? Shall we not seek it, and weep no more? Is it where the flower of the orange blows, And the fire-flies dance through the myrtleboughs?"

"Not there-not there, my child!"

"Is it where the feathery palm-trees rise, And the date grows ripe under sunny skies? Or midst the green islands of glittering seas, Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze, And strange bright birds on their starry wings Bear the rich hues of all glorious things?" "Not there-not there, my child!"

"Is it far away, in some region old,

Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold?—
Where the burning rays of the ruby shine,
And the diamond lights up the secret mine,
And the pearl gleams forth from the coral strand?
Is it there, sweet mother, that better land?"
"Not there, not there, my child!

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