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which appear to be, either in idea or language, beyond the capacity of one who has gone through the classes of a wellinstructed National School: nor has anything been rejected merely because it might be judged, in point of refinement or beauty, to rise above the common level of persons so educated.
If the effect of this publication be but to introduce one purer thought or one higher aspiration into a home weary with toil or dark with care, the object of the compiler will have been answered, and the kindness of those authors and publishers who have consented to this use of their works will have been as well rewarded as it is hereby gratefully acknowledged.
C. M. V.
INDEX OF FIRST LINES.
A baby was sleeping, its mother was weeping
A fair little girl sat under a tree
At the silence of twilight's contemplative hour
Behold her, single in the field.
At the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears
Begone, thou fond presumptuous Elf
Christian life's no bank of roses
Come to the land of peace
Faintly as tolls the evening chime
Faintly flow, thou falling river
Fare thee well! the ship is ready
Farewell to the woodlands, farewell to the bowers
Far in a wild, unknown to public view.
Flow down, cold rivulet, to the sea.
Full knee-deep lies the winter snow.
Good-bye, good-bye to summer
He walked with God, in holy joy
How dear to me the hour when daylight dies
How grand, oh sea, thou lonely sea.
I am a Pebble! and yield to none
I am monarch of all I survey
I dreamt I lay where flowers were springing
I fell into grief, and began to complain.
I have a son, a little son, a boy just five years old
I hear thee speak of the better land.
I like that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls
I'm sittin' on the stile, Mary
I remember, I remember
I say to thee, do thou repeat
I stood on the bridge at midnight
I stood upon the hills, when heaven's wide arch
I travelled among unknown men .
I thought to pass away before, and yet alive I am
If sorrow came not near us, and the lore
If you're waking call me early, call me early, mother dear.
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here.
Oh that those lips had language! Life has passed
One morning (raw it was and wet)
On Linden, when the sun was low
On the green banks of Shannon, when Sheelah was nigh
Peace be around thee, wherever thou rov'st
Should sorrow o'er thy brow
Some murmur when their sky is clear
Somewhat back from the village street.
Sweet Auburn! loveliest village of the plain
The boy stood on the burning deck
The cock is crowing .
The day is cold, and dark, and dreary
The days are cold, the nights are long.
The dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink
The gloomy night is gathering fast
The lazy mist hangs from the brow of the hill
The noon was shady, and soft airs
The old house by the lindens
The pine-apples in triple row
The poplars are felled, farewell to the shade
The post-boy drove with fierce career
The rose had been washed, just washed in a shower
The sailor sighs as sinks his native shore
The shades of night were falling fast
The smiling Spring comes in rejoicing
The stately homes of England
There came to the beach a poor exile of Erin
There is in souls a sympathy with sounds.
There is no flock, however watched and tended.
The twilight is sad and cloudy.
Tis the last rose of summer
To the sound of evening bells.
Twilight's soft dews steal o'er the village-green
Under a spreading chestnut-tree
Up to the throne of God is borne.
Up with me! up with me into the clouds
Voyager on life's troubled sea.
We are all here
We sat within the farm-house old
We scatter seeds with careless hand
We walked along, while bright and red
Weep not for broad lands lost
What hidest thou in thy treasure-caves and cells
What is that, Mother?-The lark, my child.
What way does the wind come? What way does he go?
When Britain first at Heaven's command
Where art thou, my beloved son.
When the hours of Day are numbered.
When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hame
With Farmer Allan at the farm abode
With what a glory comes and goes the year
Ye Mariners of England
You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear. 265