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Old Earth is a pleasure to see

In sunshiny cloak of red and green ; The furrow lies fresh; this Year will be As Years that are past have been.

Fall gently, goc.

Old Mother, receive this corn,

The son of Six Thousand golden sires : All these on thy kindly breast were born; One more thy poor child requires.

Fall gently, &c.

Now steady and sure again,

And measure of stroke and step we keep ; Thus up and down we cast our grain : Sow well and you gladly reap.

Fall gently and still, good corn,

Lie warm in thy earthy bed;
And stand so yellow some morn,
For beast and man must be fed.

T. CARLYLE.

SONG.

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HY so pale and wan, fond lover ?

Prithee, why so pale ?
Will, when looking well can't move her,

Looking ill prevail ?
Prithee, why so pale ?

Why so dull and mute, young sinner,

Prithee, why so mute ?
Will, when speaking well can't win her,

Saying nothing do't ?
Prithee, why so mute ?

Quit, quit for shame; this will not move,

This cannot take her:
If of herself she will not love,

Nothing can make her.
The devil take her!

SIR JOHN SUCKLING.

I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER.

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The house where I was born,
The little window where the sun

Came peeping in at morn;
He never came a wink too soon,

Nor brought too long a day,
But now, I often wish the night

Had borne my breath away! I remember, I remember,

The roses, red and white, The violets and the lily.cups,

Those flowers made of light!
The lilacs where the robin built,

And where my brother set
The laburnum on his birth-day, -

The tree is living yet,
I remember, I remember,

Where I was used to swing,
And thought the air must rush as fresh

To swallows on the wing;
My spirit flew in feathers then,

That is so heavy now,
And summer pools could hardly cool

This fever on my brow!

I remember, I remember,

The fir-trees dark and high ;
I used to think their slender tops,

Were close against the sky:
It was a childish ignorance,

But now 'tis little joy
To know I'm farther off from heav'n
Than when I was a boy.

Hoon.

SONNET.

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[THE IDLE VOYAGER.]
OW long I sail’d, and never took a thought

To what port I was bound! Secure as sleep,
I dwelt upon the bosom of the deep
And perilous sea. And though my ship was fraught
With rare and precious fancies, jewels brought
From fairy-land, no course I cared to keep,
Nor changeful wind nor tide I heeded aught,
But joy'd to feel the merry billows leap,
And watch the sunbeams dallying with the waves;
Or haply dream what realms beneath may lie,
Where the clear ocean is an emerald sky,
And mermaids warble in their coral caves,
Yet vainly woo me to their secret home:
And sweet it were for ever so to roam !

HARTLEY COLERIDGE.

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THE LOVER OF MUSIC TO HIS

PIANO-FORTE.

Á friend, whom glad or grave we seek,

Heav'n-holding shrine !
I ope thee, touch thee, hear thee speak,
And
peace

is mine.
No fairy casket, full of bliss,

Outvalues thee;
Love only, waken'd with a kiss,

More sweet may be.

To thee, when our full hearts o'erflow

In griefs or joys,
Unspeakable emotions owe

A fitting voice:
Mirth flies to thee, and Love's unrest,

And Memory dear,
And Sorrow, with his tighten’d breast,

Comes for a tear.

Oh, since few joys of human mould

Thus wait us still,
Thrice bless'd be thine, thou gentle fold

Of peace at will.
No change, no sullenness, no cheat,

In thee we find ;
Thy saddest voice is ever sweet, -
Thine answer, kind.

LEIGH HUNT.

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Down along the rocky shore

Some make their home, They live on crispy pancakes

Of yellow tide-foam ; Some in the reeds

Of the black mountain-lake, With frogs for their watch-dogs,

All night awake.

High on the hill-top

The old King sits ;
He is now so old and gray

He's nigh lost his wits.
With a bridge of white mist

Columbkill he crosses, On his stately journeys

From Slieveleague to Rosses; Or going up with music

On cold starry nights, To sup

with the Queen Of the gay Northern Lights.

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