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Let your light sisters play;
Of the dead cold year,
OUR picture smiles as first it smiled,
The ring you gave is still the same, Your letter tells, O changing child,
No tidings since it came.
Give me an amulet that keeps
Intelligence with you,
And when you love not, pale and blue.
Alas, that neither bonds nor vows
Can certify possession;
THE CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE.
OW happy is he born and taught,
That serveth not another's will;
And simple truth his utmost skill !
Whose passions not his masters are ;
Whose soul is still prepared for death ; Untied unto the worldly care
Of publick fame or private breath :
Who envies none that chance doth raise,
Or vice ; who never understood
Nor rules of state, but rules of good :
Who hath his life from humours freed;
Whose conscience is his strong retreat ; Whose state can neither flatterers feed,
Nor ruin make accusers great:
Who late and early doth God pray
More of his grace than gifts to lend; And entertains the harmless day
With a well-chosen book or friend :
This man is freed from servile bands
Of hope to rise, or fear to fall ; Lord of himself, though not of lands; And having nothing, yet hath all.
SIR HENBY WOTTON.
[WANT OF SLEEP.)
FLOCK of sheep that leisurely pass by,
One after one; the sound of rain, and trees Murmuring ; the fall of rivers, winds and seas, Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky;
I thought of all by turns, and yet I lie
ABOU BEN ADHEM AND THE ANGEL.
1781, TOM. I. P. 161.)
BOU Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase)
head, And with a look made of all sweet accord, Answer'd, “ The names of those who love the
Lord.” “ And is mine one?” said Abou. “Nay, not so," Replied the Angel. Abou spoke more low,
But cheerly still ; and said, “ I pray
thee then, Write me as one that loves his fellow-men."
The angel wrote, and vanish'd. The next night
LUCY ASHTON'S SONG.
THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR."]
Sit thou still when kings are arming ;
HEARD the dogs howl in the moonlight night,
And I went to the window to see the sight; All the dead that ever I knew Going one by one and two by two.
On they pass'd, and on they pass'd ;
Born in the moonlight of the lane,
Schoolmates, marching as when we play'd
Straight and handsome folk; bent and weak too;
A long, long crowd—where each seem'd lonely.
How long since I saw that fair pale face!
On, on, a moving bridge they made
And first there came a bitter laughter;