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“I have left a good woman who never was here,”
The stranger he made reply ; “But that my draught should be better for that,
I pray you answer me why." “St. Keyne,"quoth the countryman,“many a time
Drank of this crystal well,
She laid on the water a spell.
Shall drink before his wife,
For he shall be master for life.
An oak and an elm tree stand beside,
And behind does an ash-tree grow,
Droops to the water below.
Pleasant it was to his eye,
And there was not a cloud in the sky.
For thirsty and hot was he,
Under the willow-tree.
At the well to fill his pail,
And bade the stranger hail. "Now art thou a bachelor, stranger ?" quoth he,
“For an if thou hast a wife, The happiest draught thou hast drank this day
That ever thou didst in thy life.
In Cornwall ever been ?
She has drank of the well of St. Keyne."
“But if the wife should drink of it first,
Heaven help the husband then !"
And drank of the waters again. “You drank of the well, I warrant, betimes ?”
He to the countryman said. But the countryman smiled as the stranger spake,
And sheepishly shook his head. “I hastened, as soon as the wedding was done,
And left my wife in the porch.
For she took a bottle to church."
Η Ο Μ Ε. .
HOME, SWEET HOME.
This hearth 's our own,
Our hearts are one, And peace is ours forever!
Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
There's no place like home!
than all !
JOHN HOWARD PAYNE.
ENGLISH, -"BRIGHTENER OF MY HEART."
I might have said,
My mountain maid, Come live with me, your own true lover ;
I know a spot,
A silent cot,
By one small garden only;
Sit down liy me, We now are joined and ne'er shall sever;
Without disease, the healthful life ;
The household of continuance;
The mean diet, no delicate fare ;
True wisdom joined with simpleness ; The night dischargéd of all care,
Where wine the wit may not oppress ;
Flashes the lovelight, increasing the glory, Beaming from bright eyes with warmth of the
soul, Telling of trust and content the sweet story, Listing the shadows that over us roll.
King, king, crown me the king :
Home is the kingdom, and Love is the king ! Richer than miser with perishing treasure,
Served with a service no conquest could bring; Happy with fortune that words cannot measure, Light-hearted I on the hearthstone can sing.
King, king, crown me the king :
REV. WILLIAM RANKIN DURYEA.
The faithful wife, without debate ;
Such sleeps as may beguile the night ; Contented with thine own estate,
Ne wish for death, ne fear his might.
DEAR Chloe, while the busy crowd, The vain, the wealthy, and the proud,
In folly's maze advance ;
Nor join the giddy dance.
Where love our hours employs ;
To spoil our heartfelt joys.
KING HENRY. O God! methinks, it were a
happy life, To be no better than a homely swain ; To sit upon a hill, as I do now, To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, Thereby to see the minutes how they run ; How many make the hour full complete ; How many hours bring about the day ; How many days will finish up the year ; How many years a mortal man may live. When this is known, then to divide the times, So many hours must I tend my flock ; So many hours must I take my rest; So many hours must I contemplate ; So many hours must I sport myself ; So many days my ewes have been with young; So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean ; So many years ere I shall shear the fleece : So minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years, Passed over to the end they were created, Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave. Ah, what a life were this ! how sweet ! how lovely ! Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade To shepherds, looking on their silly sheep, Than doth a rich embroidered canopy To kinys that fear their subjects' treachery?
If solid happiness we prize,
And they are fools who roam ;
And that dear hut, our home.
Our portion is not large, indeed ; But then how little do we need,
For nature's calls are few; In this the art of living lies, To want no more than may suffice,
And make that little do.
We'll therefore relish with content Whate'er kind Providence has sent,
Nor aim beyond our power ; For, if our stock be very small, 'T is prudence to enjoy it all,
Nor lose the present hour.
THE MEANS TO ATTAIN HAPPY LIFE.
Martial; the things that do attain
The happy life be these, I find, The riches left, not got with pain ;
The fruitful ground, the quiet mind, The equal friend ; no grudge, no strife ;
No charge of rule, nor governance ;
To be resigned when ills betide,
And pleased with favors given, -
A WINTER'S EVENING HYMN TO MY FIRE.
O THOU of home the guardian Lar,
Thou murmurest, too, divinely stirred,
The aspirations unattained,
The rhythms so rathe and delicate,
They bent and strained
And broke, beneath the sombre weight Of any airiest mortal word.
As who would say, ""Tis those, I ween,
By him with fire, by her with dreams,
Than all the grapes' bewildering juice,
THE HOMES OF ENGLAND.
It was noon, and on flowers that languished around
In silence reposed the voluptuous bee ; Every leaf was at rest, and I heard not a sound But the woodpecker tapping the hollow beech
And “Here in this lone little wood,” I exclaimed, “With a maid who was lovely to soul and to
eye, Who would blush when I praised her, and weep if
I blamed, How blest could I live, and how calm could I
"By the shade of yon sumach, whose red berry
dips In the gush of the fountain, how sweet to
recline, And to know that I sighed upon innocent lips, Which had never been sighed on by any but
The stately Homes of England,
But where to find that happiest spot below, Who can direct, when all pretend to know? The shuld'ring tenant of the frigid zone Boldly proclaims that happiest spot his own ; Extols the treasures of his stormy seas, And his long nights of revelry and ease : The naked negro, panting at the line, Boasts of his golden sands and palmy wine, Basks in the glare, or stems the tepid wave, And thanks his gods for all the good they gave. Such is the patriot's boast, where'er we roam, His first, best country, ever is at home. And yet, perhaps, if countries we compare, And estimate the blessings which they share, Though patriots flatter, still shall wisdom find An equal portion dealt to all mankind; As different good, by art or nature given, To different nations makes their blessing even.
The cottage Homes of England !
The free, fair Homes of England !