thus, to keep herself awake, gently interpose : thanks for your discourse are due; is true, more than what you say ow, and I have known it long; I is the bond by which we hold being, whether young or old, e, foolish, weak, or strong. VII. isasters, do the best we can, me, why should I wish to roam ? spot is my paternal home, my pleasant heritage; father many a happy year ad here his careless blossoms, hero ined a good old age. On me such bounty Summer pours, IX. "The Butterfly, all green and gold, To me hath often flown, Here in my blossoms to behold Wings lovely as his own. When grass is chill with rain or dew, Beneath my shade the mother-ewe Lies with her infant lamb; I see The love they to each other make, And the sweet joy which they partake, It is a joy to me.' X. "Her voice was blithe, her heart was light; The Broom might have pursued Her speech, until the stars of night Their journey had renewed; But in the branches of the Oak Two ravens now began to croak Their nuptial song, a gladsome air; That instant brought two stripling bees To rest or murmur there. XI. "One night, my Children! from the north There came a furious blast; At break of day I ventured forth, And near the cliff I passed. The storm had fallen upon the Oak And struck him with a mighty stroke, And whirled, and whirled him far away; The little careless Broom was left TO A SKYLARK. Up with me! up with me into the clouds! With clouds and sky about thee ringing, That spot which seems so to thy mind! I have walked through wildernesses dreary, And to-day my heart is weary; Had I now the wings of a Faery, Up to thee would I fly. There is madness about thee, and joy divine In that song of thine; Lift me, guide me high and high To thy banqueting-place in the sky. Joyous as morning, Thou art laughing and scorning; Thou hast a nest for thy love and thy rest, Drunken Lark! thou wouldst be loth To be such a traveller as I. Happy, happy Liver, With a soul as strong as a mountain river Pouring out praise to the Almighty Giver, Joy and jollity be with us both! Alas! my journey, rugged and uneven, Through prickly moors or dusty ways must wind; I, with my fate contented, will plod on, And hope for higher raptures, when life's day is done I. EN Daughters had Lord Archibald, hildren of one mother: could not say in one short day t love they bore each other. rland, of seven lilies, wrought! Sisters that together dwell; ne, bold Knight as ever fought, Father, took of them no thought, oved the wars so well. mournfully, O, mournfully, solitude of Binnorie! II. blows the wind, a western wind, from the shores of Erin, ss the wave, a Rover brave innorie is steering: t onward to the Scottish strand gallant ship is borne; varriors leap upon the land, hark! the Leader of the band blown his bugle-horn. mournfully, O, mournfully, solitude of Binnorie! |