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TO A RIVER IN WHICH A CHILD WAS

DROWNED

SMILING river, smiling river,

On thy bosom sun-beams play;
Though they're fleeting, and retreating,

Thou hast more deceit than they.

In thy channel, in thy channel,

Choak’d with ooze and grav'lly stones, Deep immersed, and unhearsed,

Lies young Edward's corse : his bones

Ever whitening, ever whitening,

As thy waves against them dash;
What thy torrent, in the current,

Swallow'd, now it helps to wash.

As if senseless, as if senseless

Things had feeling in this case ;
What so blindly, and unkindly,

It destroy'd, it now does grace.

THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES.

I have had playmates, I have bad companions, Inmy days of childhood, in my joyful school-days, All, all are gone, 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 facés.

I loved a love once, fairest among women; Closed are her doors on me, I must not see her All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.

I have a friend, a kinder friend has no man;
Like an ingrate, I left my friend abruptly;
Left him, to muse on the old familiar faces.

Ghost-like I paced round the haunts of my Friend of my bosom, thou more than a brother, Why wert not thou born in my father's dwelling? So might we talk of the old familiar faces

childhood. Earth seemed a desart I was bound to traverse, Seeking to find 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.

HELEN.

HIGH-BORN Helen, round your dwelling

These twenty years I've paced in vain : Haughty beauty, thy lover's duty

Hath been to glory in his pain.

High-born Helen, proudly telling

Stories of thy cold disdain ;
I starve, I die, now you comply,

And I no longer cau complain.

These twenty years I've lived on tears,

Dwelling for ever on a frown; On sighs I've fed, your scorn my bread;

I perish now you kind are grown.

Can I, who loved

my

beloved But for the scorn was in her eye,” Can I be moved for my beloved,

When she “ returns me sigh for sigh ?” VOL, l.

с

In stately pride, by my bed-side,

High-born Helen's portrait's hung; Deaf to my praise, my mournful lays

Are nightly to the portrait sung.

To that I weep, nor ever sleep,

Complaining all night long to herHelen, grown old, no longer cold, Said,"

you to all men I prefer."

.

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