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Their leaves, the earliest of the year,
And oft by yon blue gushing stream
And lingering pause and lightly tread ;
Away! we know that tears are vain,
And thou, who tell'st me to forget,
With vain endeavour.
And her together.
That fush'd her spirit :
She did inherit,
I ler parents held the Quaker rule, Which doth the human feeling cool ; But she was train'd in Nature's school,
Nature had blest her. A waking'eye, a prying mind, A heart that stirs, is hard to bind; A hawk's keen sight ye cannot blind,
Ye could not Hester.
My sprightly neighbour ! gone before
Some summer morning-
If I had thought thou couldst have died,
I might not weep for thee; But I forgot, when by thy side,
That thou couldst mortal be: It never through my mind had past
The time would e'er be o'er, And I on thee should look my last,
And thou shouldst smile no more !
And still upon that face I look,
And think 'twill smile again; And still the thought I will not brook
That I must look in vain !
What thou ne'er left'st unsaid ;
Sweet Mary! thou art dead !
If thou wouldst stay, e'en as thou art,
All cold and all serene-
And where thy smiles have been. While e'en thy chill, bleak corse I have,
Thou seemest still mine own;
And I am now alone!
Thou hast forgotten me ;
In thinking too of thee :
Of light ne'er seen before,
He is lost to the forest, Like a summer-dried fountain,
When our need was the sorest. The font reappearing
From the raindrops shall borrow, But to us comes no cheering,
To Duncan no morrow ! The hand of the reaper
Takes the ears that are hoary, But the voice of the weeper
Wails manhood in glory. The autumn winds rushing
Waft the leaves that are searest, But our flower was in flushing
When blighting was nearest. Fleet foot on the correi,
Sage counsel in cumber, Red hand in the foray,
How sound is thy slumber!
Like the dew on the mountain,
Like the foam on the river, Like the bubble on the fountain, Thou art gone ; and for ever!
Sir IV. Scott
THE DEATH BED
We watch'd her breathing thro' the night,
Her breathing soft and low,
Kept heaving to and fro.
So slowly moved about,
To eke her living out.
Our fears our hopes belied-
And sleeping when she died.
And chill with early showers,
I saw her in childhood
A bright, gentle thing,
Or the dews of the spring :
Her playmates all day ;
And artless as they.
I saw her again,
A fair girl of eighteen,
Of mind and of mien.
Like moonlight she shone ;
The glory of one.
I stood at her foot :
The blossom was fruit.
Her infant she bore ;
Than ever before.
'Twas the day that she died ;
And God at her side ;
No fears to appal-
H. F. Lyte
O listen, listen, ladies gay!
No haughty feat of arms I tell ; Soft is the note, and sad the lay
That mourns the lovely Rosabelle.
‘Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew !
And, gentle ladye, deign to stay ! Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch,
Nor tempt the stormy firth to-day.