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He is dead and gone, lady,

He is dead and gone ;
At his head a grass-green turf,

At his heels a stone.

White his shroud as the mountain snow,

Larded with sweet flowers,
Which bewept to the grave did go
With true-love showers

Shakespeare.

16

Jog on, jog on, the footpath way,

And merrily hent the stile-a :
A merry heart goes all the day,
Your sad tires in a mile-a.

Shakespeare.

17
My heart 's in the Highlands, my heart is not here ;
My heart 's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer ;
Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe,
My heart 's in the Highlands, wherever I go.
Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North,
The birth-place of valour, the country of worth ;
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,
The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.

Farewell to the mountains high cover'd with snow ; Farewell to the straths and green valleys below; Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods ; Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods.

larded] stuck all over with.

hent] seize, lay hand on. straths] low alluvial land, waterside meadows.

My heart 's in the Highlands, my heart is not here ;
My heart 's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer ;
Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe,
My heart 's in the Highlands, wherever I go.

Burns.

18

The Vagabond
GIVE to me the life I love,

Let the lave go by me,
Give the jolly heaven above

And the by-way nigh me.
Bed in the bush with stars to see,

Bread I dip in the river-
There 's the life for a man like me,

There's the life for ever.

Let the blow fall soon or late,

Let what will be o'er me;
Give the face of earth around

And the road before me.
Wealth I seek not, hope nor love,

Nor a friend to know me ;
All I seek, the heaven above

And the road below me.

Or let autumn fall on me

Where afield I linger,
Silencing the bird on tree,

Biting the blue finger.
White as meal the frosty field-

Warm the fireside haven-
Not to autumn will I yield,

Not to winter even !

lave] remainder.

Let the blow fall soon or late,

Let what will be o'er me;
Give the face of earth around,

And the road before me.
Wealth I ask not, hope nor love,

Nor a friend to know me.
All I ask, the heaven above,
And the road below me.

Stevenson.

19

On the Hearth-Rug
* LITTLE tongue of red-brown flame,
Whither go you

?'_' Whence I came ;
Sending on a courier spark
To explore the chimney dark.

‘Once I was a sunbeam fair,
Darting thro' the awaken'd air.
Quickly to a green leaf gone,
On a forest tree I shone.

Steely lightning struck the bough,
And I sank into a slough.
Many ages there I lay,
Ere I saw the All-Father, Day.

* Now I sparkle once again,
Flashing light and warmth to men,
Ere, like all things that are bright,
I rejoin the All-Mother, Night.'

Mary Coleridge.

20

If thou wast still, O stream,

Thou would'st be frozen now :
And 'neath an icy shield

Thy current warm would flow.

But wild thou art and rough ;

And so the bitter breeze,
That chafes thy shuddering waves,
May never bid thee freeze.

Dixon.

21

The Minstrel-Boy

THE Minstrel-boy to the war is gone,

In the ranks of death you 'll find him ;
His father's sword he has girded on,

And his wild harp slung behind him.-
'Land of song !' said the warrior-bard,

Though all the world betrays thee,
One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard,

One faithful harp shall praise thee!'

6

The Minstrel fell !-but the foeman's chain

Could not bring his proud soul under ;
The harp he loved ne'er spoke again,

For he tore its chords asunder;
And said, “No chains shall sully thee,

Thou soul of love and bravery !
Thy songs were made for the brave and free:
They shall never sound in slavery !

Moore.

22 re Mariners of England

Ye mariners of England,

That guard our native seas !
Whose flag has braved a thousand years

The battle and the breeze !
Your glorious standard launch again
To match another foe !

And sweep through the deep,
While the stormy winds do blow;
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow.

The spirits of your fathers

Shall start from every wave-
For the deck it was their field of fame,

And Ocean was their grave :
Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell
Your manly hearts shall glow,

As ye sweep through the deep,
While the stormy winds do blow ;
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow.

Britannia needs no bulwarks,

No towers along the steep;
Her march is o'er the mountain waves,

Her home is on the deep.
With thunders from her native oak
She quells the floods below-

As they roar on the shore,
When the stormy winds do blow ;
When the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow.

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