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[The scene is supposed to lie on the But thou, lorn stream, whose sullen Thames, near Richmond.]

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tide

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But on I went the dreary mile,
And sung right cantie a' the while
I gae my plaid a closer fauld;
My hand was warm, my heart was
bauld,

I didna heed the storm and cauld,
While ganging to my Katie.

But when I trod the same way back,
It seemed a sad and waefu' track;
The brae and glen were lone and lang;
I didna sing my cantie sang;
I felt how sharp the sleet did fa',
And couldna face the wind at a'.
Oh, sic a change! how could it be?
I ken fu' well, and sae may ye —
The sunshine had been gloom to me
While ganging frae my Katie.

MY OLD STRAW HAT. FAREWELL, old friend, we part at last;

Fruits, flowers, and summer, all are past,

And when the beech-leaves bid adieu, My old straw hat must vanish too. We've been together many an hour, In grassy dell and garden bower; And plait and riband, scorched' and

torn,

Proclaim how well thou hast been

worn.

We've had a time, gay, bright, and long;

So let me sing a grateful song, -
And if one bay-leaf falls to me,
I'll stick it firm and fast in thee,

My old straw hat.

Thy flapping shade and flying strings Are worth a thousand close-tied things.

I love thy easy-fitting crown, Thrust lightly back, or slouching down.

I cannot brook a muffled ear, When lark and blackbird whistle near;

And dearly like to meet and seek The fresh wind with unguarded cheek.

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Farewell, old friend, thy work is done; The misty clouds shut out the sun; The grapes are plucked, the hops are off,

The woods are stark, and I must doff My old straw hat- but "bide a wee,"

Fair skies we've seen, yet we may see Skies full as fair as those of yore, And then we'll wander forth once more.

Farewell, till drooping bluebells blow, And violets stud the warm hedgerow; Farewell, till daisies deck the plain Farewell, till spring days come againMy old straw hat.

SONG OF THE UGLY MAIDEN.

OH! the world gives little of love or light,

Though my spirit pants for much; For I have no beauty for the sight, No riches for the touch.

I hear men sing o'er the flowing cup
Of woman's magic spell;
And vows of zeal they offer up,
And eloquent tales they tell.
They bravely swear to guard the fair
With strong protecting arms;

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Ere I knew that I was born; For I stand in the blessed light of day Like a weed among the corn, The black rock in the wide blue sea, The snake in the jungle green: Oh! who will stay in the fearful way Where such ugly things are seen? Yet mine is the fate of lonelier state Than that of the snake or rock; For those who behold me in their

path

Not only shun, but mock.

O Ugliness! thy desolate pain

Had served to set the stamp on Cain!

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THE ICONOCLAST.

A THOUSAND years shall come and go,

A thousand years of night and day: And man, through all their changing show,

His tragic drama still shall play.

Ruled by some fond ideal's power,
Cheated by passion or despair,
Still shall he waste life's trembling
hour,

In worship vain, and useless
prayer.

Ah! where are they who rose in might,

Who fired the temple and the shrine,

And hurled, through earth's chaotic

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O, where were courage, faith, and truth,

If man went wandering all his day In golden clouds of love and youth, Nor knew that both his steps be

tray?

Come, Time, while here we sit and wait,

Be faithful, spoiler, to thy trust! No death can further desolate The soul that knows its god was dust.

TRAILING ARBUTUS.

DARLINGS of the forest!
Blossoming, alone,

When Earth's grief is sorest
For her jewels gone-

Ere the last snow-drift melts, your tender buds have blown.

Tinged with color faintly,
Like the morning sky,
Or, more pale and saintly,
Wrapped in leaves ye lie-
Even as children sleep in faith's sim-
plicity.

There the wild wood-robin,
Hymns your solitude;

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