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Sport that wrinkled Care derides,
And Laughter holding both his sides.
Come and trip it as you go
On the light fantastic toe;
And in thy right hand lead with thee
The mountain-nymph, sweet Liberty :
And, if I give thee honour due,
Mirth, admit me of thy crew,
To live with her, and live with thee,
In unreproved pleasures free :
To hear the lark begin his flight,
And singing startle the dull night,
From his watch-tower in the skies
Till the dappled dawn doth rise ;
Then to come, in spite of sorrow,
And at my window bid good-morrow,
Through the sweet-briar, or the vine,
Or the twisted eglantine :
While the cock, with lively din,
Scatters the rear of darkness thin,
And to the stack, or the barn door,
Stoutly struts his dames before :
Oft listening how the hounds and horn
Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn,
From the side of some hoar hill,
Through the high wood echoing shrill :
Sometimes walking not unseen
By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green,
Right against the eastern gate,
Where the great sun begins his state,
Robed in flames, and amber light,
The clouds in thousand liveries dight;
While the ploughman near at hand
Whistles o'er the furrowed land,
And the milk-maid singeth blithe,
And the mower whets his scythe,

And every shepherd tells his tale,
Under the hawthorn in the dale.

Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures,
While the landscape round it measures ;
Russet lawns, and fallows gray,
Where the nibbling flocks do stray ;
Mountains on whose barren breast
The labouring clouds do often rest;
Meadows trim with daisies pied :
Shallow brooks, and rivers wide :
Towers and battlements it sees,
Bosomed high in tufted trees,
Where perhaps some beauty lies,
The Cynosure of neighbouring eyes.

THE DISSOLUTION OF FRIENDSHIP.

Coleridge.
ALAS! they had been friends in youth;
But whispering tongues can poison truth ;
And constancy lives in realms above;

And life is thorny; and youth is vain :
And to be wroth with one we love,

Doth work like madness in the brain.
And thus it chanced, as I divine,
With Roland and Sir Leoline.
Each spake words of high disdain

And insults to his heart's best brother :
They parted—ne'er to meet again !

But never either found another
To free the hollow heart from paining;
They stood aloof, the scars remaining,
Like cliffs which had been rent asunder :

A dreary sea now flows between.
But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder,

Shall wholly do away, I ween,
The marks of that which once hath been.

THE LORD OF BURLEIGH.-Tennyson.

In her ear he whispers gaily,

“If my heart by signs can tell,
Maiden, I have watched thee daily,

And I think thou lov'st me well.”
She replies, in accents fainter,

“There is none I love like thee :"
He is but a landscape painter,

And a village maiden she.
He to lips, that fondly falter,

Presses his without reproof :
Leads her to the village altar,

And they leave her father's roof.
“I can make no marriage present;

Little can I give my wife.
Love will make our cottage pleasant,

And I love thee more than life.”
They by parks and lodges going

See the lordly castles stand;
Summer woods, about them blowing,

Made a murmur in the land.
From deep thought himself he rouses,

Says to her that loves him well,
“Let us see these handsome houses

Where the wealthy nobles dwell.”
So she goes by him attended,

Hears him lovingly converse,
Sees whatever fair and splendid

Lay betwixt his home and hers;
Parks with oaks and chestnut shady,

Parks and ordered gardens great,
Ancient homes of lord and lady,

Built for pleasure and for state.
All he shows her makes him dearer :

Evermore she seems to gaze

On that cottage growing nearer,

Where they twain will spend their days. O but she will love him truly !

He shall have a cheerful home; She will order all things duly,

When beneath his roof they come. Thus her heart rejoices greatly,

Till a gateway she discerns With armorial bearings stately,

And beneath the gate she turns ; Sees a mansion more majestic

Than all those she saw before : Many a gallant gay domestic

Bows before him at the door. And they speak in gentle murmur,

When they answer to his call,
While he treads with footsteps firmer,

Leading on from hall to hall.
And, while now she wonders blindly,

Nor the meaning can divine,
Proudly turns he round and kindly,

“All of this is mine and thine.” Here he lives in state and bounty,

Lord of Burleigh, fair and free,
Not a lord in all the county

Is so great a lord as he.
All at once the colour flushes

Her sweet face from brow to chin :
As it were with shame she blushes,

And her spirit changed within. Then her countenance all over

Pale again as death did prove : But he clasped her like a lover,

And he cheered her soul with love. So she strove against her weakness,

Tho' at times her spirits sank: Shaped her heart with woman's meekness

To all duties of her rank :
And a gentle consort made he,

And her gentle mind was such
That she grew a noble lady,

And the people loved her much.
But a trouble weighed upon her,

And perplexed her night and morn,
With the burthen of an honour

Unto which she was not born.
Faint she grew, and ever fainter,

As she murmured, “Oh, that he
Were once more that landscape painter,

Which did win my heart from me!”
So she drooped and drooped before him,

Fading slowly from his side :
Three fair children first she bore him,

Then before her time she died.
Weeping, weeping late and early,

Walking up and pacing down,
Deeply mourned the Lord of Burleigh,

Burleigh-house by Stamford-town.
And he came to look upon her,

And he looked at her and said,
“Bring the dress and put it on her

That she wore when she was wed.”
Then her people, softly treading,

Bore to earth her body, drest
In the dress that she was wed in,

That her spirit might have rest.

SONG OF THE DANISH SEA-KING.

Motherwell. OUR bark is on the waters deep, our bright blades in

our hand, Our birthright is the ocean vast—we scorn the girdled

land ;

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