Fair Science frowned not on his humble birth,
And Melancholy marked him for her own.
Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,
Heaven did a recompense as largely send;

He gave to misery (all he had) a tear,

He gained from Heaven ('t was all he wished) a friend. No farther seek his merits to disclose,

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode; (There they alike in trembling hope repose), The bosom of his Father and his God.

THOMAS GRAY.

LUCY

SHE dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,

A maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love :

A violet by a mossy stone

Half hidden from the eye!

Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky.

She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;

But she is in her grave, and Oh,

The difference to me!

I travelled among unknown men
In lands beyond the sea;
Nor, England, did I know till then
What love I bore to thee.

'Tis past, that melancholy dream;
Nor will I quit thy shore
A second time; for still I seem
To love thee more and more.

Among thy mountains did I feel

The joy of my desire;

And she I cherished turned her wheel

Beside an English fire.

Thy mornings showed, thy nights concealed,
The bowers where Lucy played;

And thine too is the last green field

That Lucy's eyes surveyed.

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

THREE YEARS SHE GREW

THREE years she grew in sun and shower;
Then Nature said, "A lovelier flower
On earth was never sown;
This child I to myself will take;

She shall be mine, and I will make
A lady of my own.

"Myself will to my darling be
Both law and impulse; and with me
The girl, in rock and plain,

In earth and heaven, in glade and bower,
Shall feel an overseeing power

To kindle or restrain.

"She shall be sportive as the fawn
That wild with glee across the lawn
Or up the mountain springs ;
And hers shall be the breathing balm,
And hers the silence and the calm,
Of mute insensate things.

"The floating clouds their state shall lend
To her; for her the willow bend;

Nor shall she fail to see

E'en in the motions of the storm

Grace that shall mould the maiden's form

By silent sympathy.

"The stars of midnight shall be dear

To her;

and she shall lean her ear

In many a secret place,

Where rivulets dance their wayward round,

And beauty born of murmuring sound

Shall pass into her face.

"And vital feelings of delight

Shall rear her form to stately height,

Her virgin bosom swell;

Such thoughts to Lucy I will give,

While she and I together live

Here in this happy dell."

Thus Nature spake. The work was done

How soon my Lucy's race was run!

She died, and left to me

This heath, this calm and quiet scene;

The memory of what has been,

And never more will be.

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES

I HAVE had playmates, I have had companions,
In my days of childhood, in my joyful school-days;
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.

I have been laughing, I have been carousing,
Drinking late, sitting late, With my bosom cronies;
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.

I loved a love once, fairest among women ;
Closed are her doors on me, I must not see her;
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.

I have a friend, a kinder friend has no man ;
Like an ingrate I left my friend abruptly;
Left him, to muse on the old familiar faces.

Ghost-like I paced round the haunts of my childhood;
Earth seemed a desert I was bound to traverse,
Seeking to find the old familiar faces.

Friend of my bosom, thou more than a brother,
Why wert not thou born in my father's dwelling?
So might we talk of the old familiar faces,—

How some they have died, and some they have left me,
And some are taken from me; all are departed;
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.

CHARLES LAMB.

UNDER THE DAISIES

I HAVE just been learning the lesson of life,
The sad, sad lesson of loving.

And all of its power for pleasure and pain
Been slowly, sadly proving;

And all that is left of the bright, bright dream,

With its thousand brilliant phases,

Is a handful of dust in a coffin hid

A coffin under the daisies;

The beautiful, beautiful daisies,
The snowy, snowy daisies.

And thus forever throughout the world
Is love a sorrow proving;

There's many a sad, sad thing in life,
But the saddest of all is loving.

Life often divides far wider than death;
Stern fortune the high wall raises;
But better far than two hearts estranged
Is a low grave starred with daisies;

The beautiful, beautiful daisies,
The snowy, snowy daisies.

And so I am glad that we lived as we did,
Through the summer of love together,
And that one of us, wearied, lay down to rest,
Ere the coming of winter weather;
For the sadness of love is love grown cold,
And 't is one of its surest phases;
So I bless my God, with a breaking heart,
For that grave enstarred with daisies;
The beautiful, beautiful daisies,

The snowy, snowy daisies.

HATTIE TYNG GRISWOLD.

LUCY'S FLITTIN'

'T WAS when the wan leaf frae the birk tree was fa'in',
And Martinmas dowie had wound up the year,
That Lucy row'd up her wee kist wi' her a' in 't
And left her auld maister and neebours sae dear.
For Lucy had served in the Glen a' the simmer;
She cam' there afore the flower bloom'd on the pea;
An orphan was she, and they had been gude till her,
Sure that was the thing brocht the tear to her ee.

She gaed by the stable where Jamie was stan'in',
Richt sair was his kind heart the flittin' to see:
"Fare-ye-weel, Lucy!" quo Jamie, and ran in ;
The gatherin' tears trickled fast frae his ee.
As down the burn-side she gaed slow wi' her flittin',
Fare-ye-weel, Lucy! was ilka bird's sang;

She heard the craw sayin' 't, high on the tree sittin',
And robin was chirpin' 't the brown leaves amang.

Oh, what is 't that pits my puir heart in a flutter?
And what gars the tears come sae fast to my ee?
If I wasna ettled to be ony better,

Then what gars me wish ony better to be?
I'm just like a lambie that loses its mither;
Nae mither or friend the puir lambie can see ;
I fear I ha'e tint my puir heart a'thegither,
Nae wonder the tear fa's sae fast frae my ee.

Wi' the rest o' my claes I ha'e row'd up the ribbon,
The bonnie blue ribbon that Jamie ga'e me;
Yestreen, when he ga'e me 't, and saw I was sabbin',
I'll never forget the wae blink o' his ee.

Though now he said naething but Fare-ye-weel, Lucy!
It made me I neither could speak, hear, nor see;
He cudna say mair but just, Fare-ye-weel, Lucy!
Yet that I will mind till the day that I dee.

The lamb likes the gowan wi' dew when its droukit;
The hare likes the brake, and the braird on the lea;
But Lucy likes Jamie; she turned and she lookit,
She thocht the dear place she wad never mair see.
Ah, weel may young Jamie gang dowie and cheerless,
And weel may he greet on the bank o' the burn;
For bonnie sweet Lucy, sae gentle and peerless,
Lies cauld in her grave, and will never return.

WILLIAM LAIDLAW.

WE ARE SEVEN

A SIMPLE child,

That lightly draws its breath,
And feels its life in every limb,
What should it know of death?

I met a little cottage girl:

She was eight years old, she said;
Her hair was thick with many a curl
That clustered round her head.

She had a rustic, woodland air,
And she was wildly clad :

Her eyes were fair, and very fair;
Her beauty made me glad.

"Sisters and brothers, little maid,

How many may you be ?"

66 How many ? Seven in all," she said,

And wondering looked at me.

"And where are they? I pray you

She answered, "Seven are we;

And two of us at Conway dwell,

And two are gone to sea.

"Two of us in the churchyard lie,
My sister and my brother;
And in the churchyard cottage, I
Dwell near them with my mother.'

tell.'