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"Here thou needst not dread the raven in the

sky;

Night and day thou art safe,-our cottage is hard by.

Why bleat so after me? why pull so at thy chain?

Sleep-and at break of day I will come to thee again!"

As homeward through the lane I went with lazy feet,

This song to myself did I oftentimes repeat; And it seemed, as I retraced the ballad line by line,

That but half of it was hers, and one half of it was mine.

Again, and once again, did I repeat the song, "Nay," said I, "more than half to the damsel must belong,

For she looked with such a look, and she spoke with such a tone,

That I almost received her heart into my own." Wordsworth.

ADDRESS TO A CHILD

DURING A BOISTEROUS WINTER EVENING.

What way does the Wind come? What way does he go?

He rides over the water, and over the snow, Through wood, and through vale; and o'er rocky height,

Which the goat cannot climb, takes his sounding flight;

He tosses about in every bare tree,

As, if you look up, you plainly may see:
But how he will come, and whither he goes,
There's never a scholar in England knows.

He will suddenly stop in a cunning nook,
And rings a sharp 'larum; but, if you should
look,

There's nothing to see but a cushion of snow
Round as a pillow, and whiter than milk,
And softer than if it were covered with silk.
Sometimes he'll hide in the cave of a rock,
Then whistle as shrill as the buzzard cock.
-Yet seek him,—and what shall you find in his
place?

Nothing but silence and empty space;

Save, in a corner, a heap of dry leaves,
That he's left, for a bed, to beggars or thieves !

As soon as 'tis daylight, to-morrow, with me You shall go to the orchard, and then you will

see

That he has been there, and made a great rout, And cracked the branches, and strewn them about:

Heaven grant that he spare but that one upright twig

That looked up at the sky so proud and big,
All last summer, as well you know,

Studded with apples, a beautiful show!

Hark! over the roof he makes a pause,
And growls as if he would fix his claws
Right in the slates, and with a huge rattle
Drive them down, like men in a battle :-
But let him range round; he does us no harm,
We build up the fire, we're snug and warm ;
Untouched by his breath, see the candle shines
bright,

And burns with a clear and steady light;

Books have we to read,—but that half stifled .knell,

Alas! 'tis the sound of the eight o'clock bell.

1

Come, now we'll to bed! and when we are there He may work his own will, and what shall we care?

He

may knock at the door,-we'll not let him

in ;

May drive at the windows,-we'll laugh at his

din:

Let him seek his own home, wherever it be ; Here's a cozie warm house for Edward and me. By a female friend of Wordsworth.

SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT.

She was a Phantom of delight
When first she gleamed upon my sight;
A lovely Apparition, sent

To be a moment's ornament;
Her eyes as stars of twilight fair ;
Like twilight's, too, her dusky hair :
But all things else about her drawn
From May-time's brightest, liveliest dawn.
A dancing shape, an image gay,
To haunt, to startle, and way-lay.
I saw her upon nearer view,
A Spirit, yet a Woman too!

Her household motions light and free,

And steps of virgin liberty;

A countenance in which did meet
Sweet records, promises as sweet;
A Creature not too bright or good
For human nature's daily food;
For transient sorrows, simple wiles,
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.

And now I see with eye serene
The very pulse of the machine;
A Being breathing thoughtful breath,
A Traveller between life and death:
The reason firm, the temperate will,
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;
A perfect Woman, nobly planned,
To warn, to comfort, and command;
And yet a Spirit still, and bright,
With something of an angel light.—
Wordsworth.

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