There are fragments of song that nobody sings, And a part of an infant's prayer; There's a lute unswept, and a harp without strings; There are broken vows and pieces of rings, And the garments that she used to wear. There are hands that are waved when the fairy shore By the Mirage is lifted in air, And we sometimes hear through the turbulent roar Sweet voices we heard in the days gone before, When the wind down the river is fair. O remember'd for aye, be the blessed Isle, THERE COMES A TIME. There comes a time, or soon or late, To bear reproof from spirits broken, Oh! were the wealth of worlds our own, When anger arms the thoughtless tongue, In what remorse thy wrath may end; A WISH. 8. ROGERS. Mine be a cot beside the hill; A bee hive's hum shall soothe mine ear; A willowy brook that turns a mill, The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch, Around my ivied porch shall spring Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew; And Lucy, at her wheel, shall sing In russet gown and apron blue. The village-church among the trees, Where first our marriage vows were given, With merry peals shall swell the breeze, And point with taper spire to heaven. LINES WRITTEN WHILE SAILING IN A BOAT AT EVENING. W. WORDSWORTH. How richly glows the water's breast The boat her silent course pursues! Such views the youthful bard allure; He deems their colors shall endure Till peace go with him to the tomb. And let him nurse his fond deceit, And what if he must die in sorrow! Who would not cherish dreams so sweet, Though grief and pain may come to-morrow! WHO WILL CARE. Who will care? When we lay beneath the daisies, Who will care? Who will come to weep above us, Full of beauty, rich and sweet, And the world is clad in splendor That the years shall e'er repeat— Who will care? Who will care? Who will think of white hands lying |