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Of the fading edges of box beneath, And the year's last rose.

Heavily hangs the broad sunflower
Over its grave i' the earth so chilly:
Heavily hangs the hollyhock,

Heavily hangs the tiger-lily.

Tennyson.

THE DESERTED HOUSE.

Life and Thought have gone away
Side by side,

Leaving door and windows wide;

Careless tenants they !

All within is dark as night:
In the windows is no light;
And no murmur at the door,
So frequent on its hinge before.

Close the door, the shutters close,

Or through the windows we shall see
The nakedness and vacancy

Of the dark deserted house.

Come away, no more of mirth

Is here, or merry-making sound.
The house was builded of the earth,
And shall fall again to ground.

Come away for Life and Thought
Here no longer dwell;

But in a city glorious

A great and distant city-have bought
A mansion incorruptible.

Would they could have stayed with us!

Tennyson.

DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR.

Full knee-deep lies the winter snow,
And the winter winds are wearily sighing;
Toll ye the church bell sad and slow,
And tread softly and speak low,
For the old year lies a-dying.

Old year, you must not die

;

You came to us so readily,
You lived with us so steadily,
Old year, you shall not die.

He lieth still; he doth not move :
He will not see the dawn of day..
He hath no other life above.

He gave me a friend, and a true, true-love,
And the New Year will take them away.
Old year, you must not go ;

So long as you have been with us,
Such joy as you have seen with us,
Old year, you shall not go.

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He was full of joke and jest,
But all his merry quips are o'er,
To see him die, across the waste
His son and heir doth ride post-haste,
But he'll be dead before.

Every one for his own,

The night is starry and cold, my friend,
And the New Year blithe and bold, my friend,
Comes up to take his own.

How hard he breathes! over the snow

I heard just now the crowing cock.

The shadows flicker to and fro :
The cricket chirps: the light burns low:

'Tis nearly twelve o'clock.

Shake hands, before you die;

Old year, we'll dearly rue for you ;
What is it we can do for you?
Speak out before you die.

His face is growing sharp and thin,
Alack! our friend is gone ;

Close

up his eyes: tie up his chin : Step from the corpse, and let him in

That standeth there alone,

And waiteth at the door.

There's a new foot on the floor, my friend,
And a new face at the door, my friend,
A new face at the door.

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Now Dora felt her uncle's will in all,

And yearned towards William; but the youth, because

He had been always with her in the house,
Thought not of Dora.

Then there came a day

When Allan called his son, and said: "My son,

I married late, but I would wish to see

My grandchild on my knees before I die:

And I have set my heart upon a match.
Now therefore look to Dora: she is well
To look to thrifty, too, beyond her age.
She is my brother's daughter; he and I
Had once hard words, and parted, and he died
In foreign lands; but for his sake I bred
His daughter Dora: take her for your wife,
For I have wished this marriage night and day
For many years." But William answered short:
"I cannot marry Dora." Then the old man
Was wroth, and doubled up his hands, and said:
"You will not, boy! you dare to answer thus !
But in my time a father's word was law,
And so it shall be now for me. Look to't:
Consider, William; take a month to think,
And let me have an answer to my wish,
Or, by the Lord that made me, you shall pack,
And never more darken my doors again."
But William answered madly, bit his lips,
And broke away. The more he looked at her
The less he liked her; and his ways were harsh;
But Dora bore them meekly. Then before
The month was out he left his father's house,
And hired himself to work within the fields;
And half in love, half spite, he woo'd and wed
A labourer's daughter, Mary Morrison.

Then, when the bells were ringing, Allan called

His niece and said: "My girl, I love you well, But if you speak with him that was my son,

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