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100 TO THE GRASSHOPPER AND CRICKET.
"I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her shroud," Cried a voice from the kinsmen, all wrathful and loud; ia And empty that shroud and that coffin did seem; Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream!"
O, pale grew the cheek of that chieftain, I ween, When the shroud was unclosed and no lady was seen; When a voice from the kinsmen spoke louder in
scorn, -—>Twas the youth who had loved the fair Ellen of Lorn,—
"I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her grief,
In dust low the traitor has knelt to the ground,
TO THE GRASSHOPPER AND CRICKET. — Hunt.
Green little vaulter in the sunny grass,
O sweet and tiny cousins, that belong,
One to the fields, the other to the hearth,
Both have your sunshine, both, though small, are strong
At your clear hearts; and both seem given to earth
To sing in thoughtful ears this natural song,—
In doors and out, summer and winter — mirth.
LORD ULLEN'S DAUGHTER. — Campbell.
A Chieftain to the Highlands bound
And I '11 give thee a silver pound
"Now who be ye would cross Lochgyle,
"O, I 'm the chief of Ulva's Isle,
"And fast before her father's men
For should he find us in the glen,
"His horsemen fast behind us ride, —
Then who will cheer my bonny bride
Outspoke the hardy Highland wight,
It is not for your silver bright,
102 Lord Ullen's Daughter.
"And, by my word, the bonny bird
In danger shall not tarry;
By this the storm grew loud apace,
And in the scowl of heaven each face
But still, as wilder blew the wind,
"0, haste thee, haste," the lady cries,
I '11 meet the raging of the skies,
The boat has left a stormy land, A stormy sea before her, —
And still they rowed, amidst the roar
Of waters fast prevailing;
His wrath was changed to wailing.
For, sore dismayed, through storm and shade,
His child he did discover;
And one was round her lover.
"Come back! come back!" he cried in grief,
"Across this stormy water; And I '11 forgive your Highland chief, —
My daughter! O my daughter!"
'T was vain; the loud waves lashed the shore,
Return or aid preventing;
And he was left lamenting.
TO THE FRINGED GENTIAN.-Bryant.
Thou blossom bright with autumn dew,
Thou comest not when violets lean
Thou waitest late, and com'st alone,
Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye
104 MY DOVES.
I would that thus, when I shall see
MY DOVES. — Miss Barrett.
My little doves have left a nest
Upon an Indian tree,
Or motion from the sea;
The tropic flowers looked up to it, The tropic stars looked down;
And God them taught, at every close
Of water far, and wind,
Their chanting voices kind;
Fit ministers! of living loves
Theirs hath the calmest sound, —
Their living voice the likest moves
In such sweet monotone as clings
To music of insensate things!