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Fair Science frowned not on his humble birth,
Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,
He gave to misery (all he had) a tear,
No farther seek his merits to disclose,
(There they alike in trembling hope repose),
She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
And very few to love:
A violet by a mossy stone
Half hidden from the eye!
Is shining in the sky.
She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;
The difference to me!
I travelled among unknown men
In lands beyond the sea;
What love I bore to thee.
T is past, that melancholy dream;
Nor will I quit thy shore
To love thee more and more.
Among thy mountains did I feel
The joy of my desire;
Beside an English fire.
Thy mornings showed, thy nights concealed,
The bowers where Lucy played;
That Lucy's eyes surveyed.
William Wordsworth. J THREE YEARS SHE GREW
Three years she grew in sun and shower;
On earth was never sown;
A lady of my own.
"Myself will to my darling be
The girl, in rock and plain,
To kindle or restrain.
"She shall be sportive as the fawn
Or up the mountain springs;
Of mute insensate things.
"The floating clouds their state shall lend
Nor shall she fail to see
By silent sympathy.
"The stars of midnight shall be dear
In many a secret place,
Shall pass into her face.
"And vital feelings of delight
Her virgin bosom swell;
Here in this happy dell."
Thus Nature spake. — The work was done —
She died, and left to me
And never more will be.
William Wordsworth. THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES
I Have had playmates, I have had companions,
I have been laughing, I have been carousing,
I loved a love once, fairest among women;
I have a friend, a kinder friend has no man;
Ghost-like I paced round the haunts of my childhood;
Friend of my bosom, thou more than a brother,
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.
UNDER THE DAISIES
The sad, sad lesson of loving.
Been slowly, sadly proving;
With its thousand brilliant phases,
And thus forever throughout the world
Is love a sorrow proving;
But the saddest of all is loving.
Stern fortune the high wall raises;
Is a low grave starred with daisies;
The beautiful, beautiful daisies,
And so I am glad that we lived as we did,
Through the summer of love together,
Ere the coming of winter weather;
And't is one of its surest phases;
Hattie Tyng Griswold.
'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.
Fare-ye-weel, Lucy! was ilka bird's sang;
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,
Yestreen, when he ga'e me't, and saw I was sabbin',
Though now he said naething but Fare-ye-weel, Lucy I
He cudna say mair but just, Fare-ye-weel, Lucy!
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 Laid Law.
WE ARE SEVEN
A Simple child,
I met a little cottage girl:
She had a rustic, woodland air,
"Sisters and brothers, little maid,
"And where are they? I pray you tell.''
"Two of us in the churchyard lie,
"You say that two at Conway dwell,