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Pull the Primrose, Sister Anne!
He will suddenly stop in a cunning nook, Pull as many as you can.
And rings a sharp larum !-but, if you should look, - Here are Daisies, take your fill;
There's nothing to see but a cushion of snow Pansies, and the Cuckow-flower :
Round as a pillow, and whiter than milk, Of the lofty Daffodil
And softer than if it were covered with silk. Make your bed, and make your bower;
Sometimes he 'll hide in the cave of a rock, Fill your lap, and fill your bosom ;
Then whistle as shrill as the buzzard cock ; Only spare the Strawberry-blossom!
- Yet scck him,-and what shall you find in the place?
Nothing but silence and empty space; Primroses, the Spring may love them
Save, in a corner, a heap of dry leaves,
That he's left, for a bed, to becgars or thieves !
As soon as 't is daylight, to-morrow, with me
You shall go to the orchard, and then you will see When the pretty flowerets die;
That be has been there, and made a great rout, Pluck them, and another year
Apd cracked the branches, and strewn them about; As many will be blowing here.
Heaven grant that he spare but that one upright twig
That looked up at the sky so proud and big God has given a kindlier power
All last summer, as well you know,
Studded with apples, a beautiful show!
Hark! over the roof he makes a pause,
And growls as if he would fix his claws Then will hang on every stalk,
Right in the slates, and with a liuge rattle Each within its leafy bower;
Drive them down, like men in a battle :
– But let him range round; he does us po harm,
And burns with a clear and steady light; CHARACTERISTICS OF A CHILD THREE YEARS Books have we to read, — but that half-stilled knellOLD.
Alas! 't is the sound of the eight o'clock bell. Loving she is, and tractable, though wild;
-Come now we 'll to bed! and when we are there And innocence hath privilege in der
He may work his own will, and what shall we care? To dignify arch looks and laughing eyes ;
He may knock at the door,-we'll not let him in ; And feats of cunning; and the pretty round
May drive at the windows, -- we'll laugh at his din; Of trespasses, affected to provoke
Let bim scck his own home wherever it be;
Here 's a cozie warm llouse for Edward and me.
THE MOTHER'S RETURN.
BY TIME SAME.
A MONTII, sweet Little-ones, is passed
Since your dear Mother went away,
And she to-morrow will return;
O blessed tidings ! thought of joy!
The eldest heard with steady glee; The many-coloured images impressed
Silent be stood ; then laughed amain,Upon the bosom of a placid lake.
And shouted, « Mother, come to me!»
and warm ;
« What ails thee, Young Ope? what? Why pull so at thy
cord ? RURAL ARCHITECTURE.
Is it not well with thee? well both for bed and board? From the meadows of ARMATD, ONTWIRLMERE's wild shore, Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as grass cau be; Three rosy-cheek'd School-boys, the highest not more
Rest, little Young One, rest; what is t that aileth thee? Than the height of a Counsellor's bag; To the top of Great How, were once tempted to climb; «What is it thou wouldst seek? What is wanting to thy And there they built up, without mortar or lime,
heart? A Man on the peak of the crag.
Thy limbs, are they not stroog? And beautiful thou art:
This grass is tender grass; these flowers they have no They built him of stones gathered up as they lay;
peers; They built him and christend him all in one day, And that green corn all day is rustling in thy ears! Ao l'rchin both vigorous and hale; And so without scruple they called him Ralph Jones.
« If the Sun be shining hot, do but stretch thy woollen Now Ralph is renoward for the length of his bones;
chain, The Magog of Legberthwaite dale.
This becch is standing by, its covert thou canst gain;
For rain and mountainstorms? the like thou need'se not Great low is a single and conspicuous bill, which rises towards
fearthe four 4 of Thirimere, on the western side of the beautiful dalo of Loyberdwaite, along the high road between Koswick und Ambles
. The rain and storm are things that scarcely can come
Beneath a rock, upon
grass, Two Boys are sitting in the sun; Boys that have had no work to do, Or work that now is done. On pipes of sycamore they play The fragments of a Christmas lymn; Or with that plant which in our dale We call Stag-horn, or Fox's Tail, Their rusty Hats they trim : And thus, as happy as the Day, Those Shepherds wear the time away.
Along the river's scony marge
Said Walter, leaping from the ground, « Down to the stump
And thy mother from thy side for evermore was gone.
- Away the Sheplerds lew.
Stop!» to his comrade Walter cries-
« Alas, the mountain tops that look so green and fair!
«Cross, if you dare, where I shall cross-
THE IDLE SHEPHERD-BOYS; OR, DUNGEON
The valley rings with mirth and joy;
Ghyll, in the dialect of Cumberland and Westmoreland, is a short, and, for the most part, a stoep narrow valley, with a stream running through it. Force is the word universally employed in these dialects for Waterfall.
With staff in hand across the cleft
The Lamb had slipp'd into the stream,