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“ O they swell'd and they died ; mother, make my

bed soon,

For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain would lie


“O I fear ye are poison'd, Lord Randal, my son ! O I fear ye are poison'd, my handsome young man!" O yes, I am poison'd! mother, make


bed soon, For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain would lie down."

Scott's Border Minstrelsy.



WEET after showers, ambrosial air,

That rollest from the gorgeous gloom
Of evening over brake and bloom
And meadow, slowly breathing bare

The round of space, and rapt below

Through all the dewy-tassell'd wood,

And shadowing down the horned flood In ripples, fan my brows and blow

The fever from my cheek, and sigh

The full new life that feeds thy breath

Throughout my frame till Doubt and Death, Ill brethren, let the fancy fly

From belt to belt of crimson seas

On leagues of odour streaming far,

To where in yonder orient star
A hundred spirits whisper“ Peace.”

In Memoriam.

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Still, for all slips of hers,
One of Eve's family-
Wipe those poor lips of hers
Oozing so clammily.

Loop up her tresses Escaped from the comb, Her fair auburn tresses ; Whilst wonderment guesses Where was her home?

Who was her father?
Who was her mother?
Had she a sister ?
Had she a brother?
Or was there a dearer one
Still, and a nearer one
Yet, than all other ?

Alas! for the rarity
Of Christian charity
Under the sun !
Oh! it was pitiful !
Near a whole city full,
Home she had none.

Sisterly, brotherly,
Fatherly, motherly
Feelings had changed :
Love, by harsh evidence,
Thrown from its eminence;
Even God's providence
Seeming estranged.

Where the lamps quiver
So far in the river,

With many a light
From window and casement,
From garret to basement,
She stood, with amazement,
Houseless by night.

The bleak wind of March
Made her tremble and shiver :
But not the dark arch,
Or the black flowing river:
Mad from life's history
Glad to death's mystery
Swift to be hurl'd-
Any where, any where
Out of the world!

In she plunged boldly, No matter how coldly The rough river ran,Over the brink of it ; Picture it—think of it, Dissolute man !

Drout of its lare mit Navel



Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care ; Fashion'd so slenderly, Young, and so fair !

Ere her limbs frigidly
Stiffen too rigidly,
Smoothe, and compose them ;
And her eyes, close them,
Staring so blindly!
Dreadfully staring
Through muddy impurity,

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ARK! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,

And Phæbus 'gins arise, His steeds to water at those springs

On chaliced flowers that lies ;
And winking marybuds begin

To ope their golden eyes ;
With every thing that pretty bin :
My lady sweet, arise.
Arise, arise !


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