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Ghildhood's Days.

THE dearest scenes that swell the heart,
Are the happy days of childhood;
When we were free as the timid fawn
That roams through glen and wild-wood;

Those days are passed and gone.

We had no cares to oppress the mind,
Nor a heart cast down by sorrow.
Each day flew past like a lovely dream,
Unmindful of the morrow ;-

Those happy days of childhood.

O! that word brings scenes so sweet!
That family board where all would meet

On memory's tablet each face appears,
That formed the household wreath for years;

That wreath is torn apart.

The sweet, sweet years of a happy child,
Roaming among the wood-land wild;
Or whiling away the sultry hours
In cottage, hall, or shady bowers;

Those hours are past and gone.

Or listening to the stories told,
Around the hearth-stone, rude and old;
When the father's work was done,
And the merry twilight hour had come;-

That hour will come no more.

Or we'd sit on our father's knee,
And watch his thoughtful brow,
With our childish hands in his soft, brown

Those locks are silvery now;-

Those locks, so fair, are gone.

The damask rose, and wild-briar sweet,
That with fragrance filled the air,
And the busy bee culled all day long
From the apple blossoms rare.

Oh! those apple trees!

We see a change, a noted change,
For other children leave their plays
And bound away to Grandpa's knee
To hear rich tales of childhood's days--

Those days when we were young.

Our childhood days, so fair and bright,
They chase away the clouds of night.
If care and trials be our lot,
We'll look on them as one bright spot,

Where care and sorrow cometh not.

Oh, those dear, those sacred scenes;
Like a mountain peak they rise;
We long to view those scenes once more
That we once viewed with childish eyes;

Those scenes we'll view no more.

Our cherished school-days-Oh! how sweet
Those words, they bring the falling tear.
As death has claimed some of the best,
Our school-mates dear for many a year.

Lo! now they sweetly rest.
The name of childhood-Oh how sweet!
It cheers the prisoner in his cell.
That word, so dear, points out a path
And binds him with a magic spell-

Unto the days of childhood.
All are stronger, nobler, wiser,
Under life's mature reign,
But we feel that pleasures sweet
Were showered around our childish feet-

And never will return again.

Childhood's days—how quick they vanish;
And we sigh for them in vain.
They surround us, we behold them every-

where, As the childish laughter rings through the

balmy air;-
But they'll never come again.


EE! the sky is hid from view!
The blackened clouds are gathering

Shut the windows! close the doors!

The farmer leaves his work and plow!

It's hurry and bustle, here and there,

To care for all about;
For the frightful storm appears to say,

“My path I have marked out!"

The deep-voiced thunders peal afar,

As if to rend the sky, And add to the gloom of the coming storm,

Now watched by every eye.

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