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“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 ? (), while my brother with me played, Would I had loved him more !"

Mrs. Hemans.


“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 myrtle-

boughs ?”
“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 !

“ Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy! Ear hath not heard its deep songs of joy : Dreams cannot picture a world so fair : Sorrow and death may not enter there; Time doth not breathe on its fadeless bloom : For beyond the clouds, and beyond the tomb, - It is there-it is there, my child !”

Mrs. Hemans.


Farewell to the woodlands, farewell to the

bowers, Farewell to the home of our happiest hours, To pleasant companions, to mirth and to song, And the kind-hearted friends we have cherished

so long : Our cares and our duties forbid us to stay, But our thoughts shall be with you wherever we

stray; And we'll long for the summer to smile on the

plain, To bid us return to the woodlands again.

And joyous to us shall the memories be
That cling to the scenes where our hearts were

so free;

If care should perplex us, if sorrow should

frown, Or weariness follow the moil of the town, We'll think of the days when our faces were

bright, With the rambles of morn, and the songs of the

night; And cherish the hope, amid winter and rain, That we'll come back with summer to see you again.



There dwelt a miller hale and bold,

Beside the river Dee;
He work'd and sang from morn to night,

No lark more blithe than he ;
And this the burden of his song

· For ever used to be,-
“I envy nobody: no, not I,

And nobody envies me!”

“ Thou’rt wrong, my friend !” said old

King Hal,
“ Thou’rt wrong as wrong can be ;
For could my heart be light as thine,

I'd gladly change with thee.

And tell me now what makes thee sing

With voice so loud and free,
While I am sad, though I'm the King,

Beside the river Dee?”.

The miller smiled and doff'd his cap:

“I earn my bread,” quoth he;
“ I love my wife, I love my friend,

I love my children three;
I own no penny I cannot pay ;

I thank the river Dee,
That turns the mill that grinds the corn,

To feed my babes and me.”

Good friend,” said Hal, and sigh'd the

6 Farewell ! and happy be :
But say no more, if thou’dst be true,

That no one envies thee.
Thy mealy cap is worth my crown,-

Thy mill my kingdom's fee!
Such men as thou are England's boast,
O miller of the Dee !”


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