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THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS.

Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee-
Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they?
Thy waters wasted them while they were free,
And many a tyrant since; their shores obey
The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay
Hlas dried up realms to deserts:—not so thou,
Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play-

Time writes no wrinkle on thy azure brow-
Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now.

Byron.

HOW SLEEP THE BRAVE.

How sleep the brave who sink to rest
By all their country's wishes bless'd !
When Spring, with dewy fingers cold,
Returns to deck their hallow'd mould,
She there shall dress a sweeter sod
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.

By fairy hands their knell is rung;
By forms unseen their dirge is sung;
There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray,
To bless the turf that wraps

their clay ;
And Freedom shall awhile repair,
To dwell a weeping hermit there.

Collins.

THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS.

THERE is a reaper whose name is Death,

And, with his sickle keen,
He reaps the bearded grain at a breath,

And the flowers that grow between.

THE HOMES OF ENGLAND.

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“ Shall I have nought that is fair ?" saith he;

“ Have nought but the bearded grain ? Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me,

I will give them all back again."

He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes,

He kiss'd their drooping leaves ; It was for the Lord of Paradise

He bound them in his sheaves.

“My lord has need of these flowerets gay,”

The reaper said, and smiled ; “Dear tokens of the earth are they,

Where he was once a child.

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They shall all bloom in fields of light,

Transplanted by my care,
And saints, upon their garments white,

These sacred blossoms wear.”

And the mother gave, in tears and pain,

The flowers she most did love;
She knew she should find them all again

In the fields of light above.

O, not in cruelty, not in wrath,

The Reaper came that day; 'Twas an angel visited the green earth, And took the flowers away.

Longfellow.

THE HOMES OF ENGLAND.

The stately homes of England,

How beautiful they stand!
Amidst their tall ancestral trees,

O’er all the pleasant land !

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THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY.

The deer across their green sward bound

Through shade and sunny gleam,
And the swan glides past them with the sound

Of some rejoicing stream.
The merry homes of England !

Around their hearths by night,
What gladsome looks of household love

Meet in the ruddy light!
There woman's voice flows forth in song,

Or childhood's tale is told;
Or lips move tunefully along

Some glorious page of old.
The cottage homes of England !

By thousands on her plains
They are smiling o'er the silv'ry brook,

And round the hamlet fanes;
Through glowing orchards forth they peep,

Each from its nook of leaves;
And fearless there the lowly sleep,

As the bird beneath their eaves.
The free fair homes of England !

Long, long in hut and hall
May hearts of native proof be rear'd

To guard each hallow'd wall.
And green for ever be the groves,

And bright the flow'ry sod,
Where first the child's glad spirit loves
Its country and its God.

Mrs. Hemans.

THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY.

It was a friar of orders gray

Walkt forth to tell his beades;
And he met with a lady faire,

Clad in a pilgrime's weedes.

THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY.

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“Now Christ thee save, thou reverend friar!

I pray thee tell to me, If ever at yon holy shrine

My true love thou didst see ?"

“ And how should I know your true love
From
many

another one ?
"O, by his cockle hat and staff,

And by his sandal shoone;

“But chiefly by his face and mien,

That were so fair to view;
His flaxen locks that sweetly curl'd,

And eyne of lovely blue. "

“O lady, he is dead and gone!

Lady, he's dead and gone!
And at his head a green grass turfe,

And at his heels a stone.

" Within these holy cloysters long

He languisht, and he dyed, Lamenting of a ladye's love,

And 'playning of her pride.
“ Here bore him barefaced on his bier

Six proper youths and tall;
And many a tear bedew'd his grave

Within yon kirk-yard wall."
" And art thou dead, thou gentle youth,

And art thou dead and gone? And didst thou dye for love of me?

Break, cruel heart of stone !"

“O, weep not, lady, weep not soe:

Some ghostly comfort seek:
Let not vain sorrow rive thy heart,

Ne teares bedew thy cheek.”

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THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY.

“) do not, do not, holy friar,

My sorrow now reprove;
For I have lost the sweetest youth

That e'er won ladye's love.
“ And nowe, alas ! for thy sad losse,

I'll evermore weep and sigh;
For thee I only wisht to live,

For thee I wish to dye.”
“Weep no more, lady, weep no more,

Thy sorrowe is in vaine:
For violets pluckt the sweetest showers

Will ne'er make grow againe.
“Our joys as wingèd dreams doe flye;

Why, then, should sorrow last?
Since grief but aggravates thy losse,

Grieve not for what is past.”
“O say not soe, thou holy friar;

I pray thee, say not soe:
For since my true-love dyed for mee,

'Tis meet my teares should flow.
" And will he never come again?

Will he ne'er come again?
Ah, no! he is dead, and laid in his grave,

For ever to remain.

" His cheek was redder than the rose;

The comeliest youth was he!
But he is dead and laid in his grave:

Alas! and woe is me!"

Sigh no more, lady, sigh no more,

Men were deceivers ever:
One foot on sea, and one on land,

To one thing constant never.

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