Page images
PDF
EPUB

THE SEAT OF HAPPINESS.

37

31. CRY OF THE SPRING FLOWER-SELLER.

''

BUY MY FLOWERS."

VIOLETS, violets-here, see, I bring

Primroses, wet from the woods of the spring;
Lilies, the whitest that silver our valleys;

Come out from your courts, from the gloom of your alleys-
Buy my flowers!

Here's pleasure a selling!-my blossoms come buy-
Cheap enough for the low, choice enough for the high-
Buy my flowers!

Come, make your close rooms and your dark windows gay
With thoughts of their dwellings on banks far away;
And the hours of work, long so sluggish for many a day,
Through the thoughts that they bring, shall trip lightly away-
Buy my flowers!

And into the heart of the city they'll bring

The country, the meadows, the woodlands, and Spring;
Pleasant hours you spent in the green fields long ago,
On stiles that you loved, and in lanes well you know-
Come and buy!

The poorest may buy them, the richest they'll please-
There's ne'er a one sells brighter blossoms than these-
There's ne'er a one sells such sweet flowers as I-

Buy my flowers!

BENNETT.

32. THE SEAT OF HAPPINESS.

Ir happiness has not her seat

And centre in the breast,

We may be wise, or rich, or great,
But never can be blest.

BURNS.

E

38

THE ORPHAN BOY.

33. THE ORPHAN BOY.
STAY, lady, stay, for mercy's sake,
And hear a helpless orphan's tale!
Ah! sure my looks must pity wake,-
'Tis want that makes my cheek so pale.
Yet I was once a mother's pride,

And my brave father's hope and joy;
But in the Nile's proud fight he died,
And I am now an orphan boy.
Poor foolish child-how pleased was I
When news of Nelson's victory came,
Along the crowded streets to fly,

And see the lighted windows flame!
To force me home my mother sought,-
She could not bear to see my joy ;
For with my father's life 'twas bought,
And made me a poor orphan boy!
The people's shouts were long and loud,
My mother, shuddering, closed her ears;
"Rejoice! rejoice!" still cried the crowd;
My mother answered with her tears.
"Why are you crying so," said I,

"While others laugh and shout with joy ?"
She kissed me-and with such a sigh
She called me her poor orphan boy.
"What is an orphan boy?" I cried,

As in her face I looked, and smiled;
My mother through her tears replied,
"You'll know too soon, ill-fated child !"
And now they've tolled my mother's knell,
And I'm no more a parent's joy;

O lady, I have learned too well
What 'tis to be an orphan boy!

MRS. OPIE.

[blocks in formation]

34. THE CHILD IS FATHER OF THE MAN.

My heart leaps up when I behold

A rainbow in the sky:

So was it when my life began;
So is it now I am a man ;
So be it when I shall grow old,
Or let me die!

The Child is father of the Man ;
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.

WORDSWORTH.

35. LULLABY.

SWEET and low, sweet and low,

Wind of the western sea,
Low, low, breathe and blow,

Wind of the western sea!

Over the rolling waters go,

Come from the dying moon, and blow,

Blow him again to me;

While my little one, while

my pretty one sleeps

Sleep and rest, sleep and rest,

Father will come to thee soon;

Rest, rest, on mother's breast,

Father will come to thee soon;

Father will come to his babe in the nest,
Silver sails all out of the west

Under the silver moon;

Sleep my little one, sleep my pretty one, sleep

TENNYSON.

40

LUCY GRAY.

36. LUCY GRAY.

OFT I had heard of Lucy Gray:
And, when I crossed the wild,
I chanced to see at break of day
The solitary child.

No mate, no comrade Lucy knew ;
She dwelt on a wide moor,

The sweetest thing that ever grew
Beside a human door!

You yet may spy the fawn at play,
The hare upon the green;

But the sweet face of Lucy Gray
Will never more be seen.

[ocr errors]

'To-night will be a stormy night—
You to the town must go;

And take a lantern, Child, to light
Your mother through the snow."

"That, Father! will I gladly do:
'Tis scarcely afternoon-

The minster-clock has just struck two,
And yonder is the moon!"

At this the Father raised his hook,
And snapped a faggot-band;
He plied his work;-and Lucy took
The lantern in her hand.

Not blither is the mountain roe:
With many a wanton stroke
Her feet disperse the powdery snow,
That rises up like smoke.

LUCY GRAY.

The storm came on before its time:
She wandered up and down;
And many a hill did Lucy climb:
But never reached the town.

The wretched parents all that night
Went shouting far and wide;
But there was neither sound nor sight
To serve them for a guide.

At day-break, on a hill they stood
That overlooked the moor;
And thence they saw the bridge of wood,
A furlong from their door.

They wept-and, turning homeward, cried,
"In heaven we all shall meet;"
-When in the snow the mother spied,
The print of Lucy's feet.

Then downward from the steep hill's edge
They tracked the footmarks small;
And through the broken hawthorn hedge,
And by the long stone-wall;

And then an open field they crossed:
The marks were still the same;
They tracked them on, nor ever lost;
And to the bridge they came.

They followed from the snowy bank
Those footmarks one by one,

Into the middle of the plank;
And further, there were none !

41

« PreviousContinue »