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A LITTLE child, a limber elf,
Singing, dancing to itself,
A fairy thing with red round cheeks,
That always finds, and never seeks,
Makes such a vision to the sight
As fills a father's eyes with light;
And pleasures flow in so thick and fast
Upon his heart, that he at last
Must needs express his love's excess
With words of unmeant bitterness.
Perhaps 't is pretty to force together
Thoughts so all unlike each other;
To mutter and mock a broken charm,
To dally with wrong that does no harm.

Perhaps 't is tender too and pretty
At each wild word to feel within
A sweet recoil of love and pity.
And what if in a world of sin

(O sorrow and shame, should this be true!)
Such giddiness of heart and brain
Comes seldom save from rage and pain,
So talks as it 's most used to do.





My days among the dead are passed;
Around me I behold,
Where'er these casual eyes are cast,
The mighty minds of old;
My never-failing friends are they,
With whom I converse day by day.

With them I take delight in weal,
And seek relief in woe;

And while I understand and feel
How much to them I owe,

My cheeks have often been bedewed
With tears of thoughtful gratitude.

My thoughts are with the dead; with them
I live in long-past years;
Their virtues love, their faults condemn,
Partake their hopes and fears,
And from their lessons seek and find
Instruction with an humble mind.

My hopes are with the dead; anon My place with them will be, And I with them shall travel on

Through all futurity: Yet leaving here a name, I trust, That will not perish in the dust.


No stir in the air, no stir in the sea,
The ship was as still as she could be ;
Her sails from heaven received no motion,
Her keel was steady in the ocean.

Without either sign or sound of their shock The waves flowed over the Inchcape Rock;

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Such thoughts were in the old man's | I loved a love once, fairest among women! mind, Closed are her doors on me now, I must not see her,

When he that eve looked down From Stanemore's side on Borrodale, And on the distant town.

All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.

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I HAVE had playmates, I have had companions,

In my days of childhood, in my joyful school-days;

All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.

I have a friend, a kinder friend has no


Like an ingrate, I left my friend abruptly; Left him, to muse on the old familiar faces.

I have been laughing, I have been carousing,

Drinking late, sitting late, with my bosom cronies;

All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.

Ghost-like I paced round the haunts of my childhood,

Earth seemed a desert I was bound to traverse,

Seeking to find the old familiar faces.

Friend of my bosom, thou more than a brother,

Why wert not thou born in my father's dwelling?

Somight we talk of the old familiar faces,

How some they have died, and some they

have left me,

And some are taken from me; all are departed;

All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.


WHEN maidens such as Hester die,
Their place ye may not well supply,
Though ye among a thousand try,

With vain endeavor.

roam, —

Knock when you will, he's sure to be A springy motion in her gait,

at home.

A rising step, did indicate
Of pride and joy no common rate,
That flushed her spirit.

A month or more hath she been dead,
Yet cannot I by force be led
To think upon the wormy bed
And her together.

I know not by what name beside
I shall it call;-if 't was not pride,
It was a joy to that allied,
She did inherit.

Her parents held the Quaker rule,
Which doth the human feeling cool;
But she was trained in nature's school,
Nature had blessed her.

A waking eye, a prying mind,
A heart that stirs, is hard to bind;

A hawk's keen sight ye cannot blind,
Ye could not Hester.

My sprightly neighbor, gone before
To that unknown and silent shore,
Shall we not meet, as heretofore,
Some summer morning,

When from thy cheerful eyes a ray
Hath struck a bliss upon the day,
A bliss that would not go away,
A sweet forewarning?





O, WHAT will a' the lads do
When Maggy gangs away?
O, what will a' the lads do
When Maggy gangs away?
There's no a heart in a' the glen
That disna dread the day;—
O, what will a' the lads do
When Maggy gangs away?"

Young Jock has ta'en the hill for 't,
A waefu' wight is he;

Poor Harry's ta'en the bed for 't,
An' laid him down to dee;
And Sandy's gane unto the kirk,
And learnin fast to pray;-
O, what will a' the lads do
When Maggy gangs away?

The young laird o' the Lang Shaw
Has drunk her health in wine;
The priest has said-in confidence-
The lassie was divine;

And that is mair in maiden's praise

an ony priest should say;But O, what will the lads do When Maggy gangs away?

The wailing in our green glen
That day will quaver high,


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"Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you

Lang hae we sought baith holt and den,
By linn, by ford, by greenwood tree,
Yet you are halesome and fair to see.
Where gat you that joup o' the lily sheen?
That bonny snood o' the birk sae green!
And these roses, the fairest that ever were

Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you

Kilmeny looked up with a lovely grace,
But nae smile was seen on Kilmeny's face;

"T will draw the redbreast frae the wood, As still was her look, and as still was

The laverock frae the sky;
The fairies frae their beds o' dew
Will rise and join the lay,
An' hey! what a day 't will be
When Maggy gangs away?

her e'e,
As the stillness that lay on the emerant

Or the mist that sleeps on a waveless


The wood was sere, the moon i' the wane,
The reek o' the cot hung over the plain,
Like a little wee cloud in the world its

When the ingle lowed with an eiry leme, Late, late in the gloamin' Kilmeny came hame!

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