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LIKE A LAVEROCK IN THE LIFT.

Ir's we two, it's we two, it's we two for aye,
All the world and we two, and Heaven be our stay.
Like a laverock in the lift, sing, O bonny bride!
All the world was Adam once, with Eve by his side.

What's the world, my lass, my love!- what can it do?
I am thine, and thou art mine; life is sweet and new.
If the world have missed the mark, let it stand by,
For we two have gotten leave, and once more we'll try.

Like a laverock in the lift, sing, O bonny bride!
It's we two, it's we two, happy side by side.
Take a kiss from me, thy man, now the song begins:
"All is made afresh for us, and the brave heart wins."

When the darker days come, and no sun will shine,
Thou shalt dry my tears, lass, and I'll dry thine.
It's we two, it's we two, while the world's away,
Sitting by the golden sheaves on our wedding-day.

THE LONG WHITE SEAM.

As I came round the harbor buoy,
The lights began to gleam,
No wave the land-locked water
stirred,

The crags were white as cream; And I marked my love by candlelight

Sewing her long white seam. It's aye sewing ashore, my dear,

Watch and steer at sea,

It's reef and furl, and haul the line,
Set sail and think of thee.

I climbed to reach her cottage door;
Oh, sweetly my love sings!
Like a shaft of light her voice breaks
forth,

My soul to meet it springs,
As the shining water leaped of old,
When stirred by angel wings.

Aye longing to list anew,

Awake and in my dream,
But never a song she sang like this,
Sewing her long white seam.

Fair fall the lights, the harbor
lights,

That brought me in to thee, And peace drop down on that low roof

For the sight that I did see, And the voice, my dear, that rang so clear

All for the love of me.

For oh, for oh, with brows bent low

By the candle's flickering gleam, Her wedding-gown it was wrought,

Sewing the long white seam.

she

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[From Vanity of Human Wishes.]

WISDOM'S PRAYER.

WHERE then shall Hope and Fear their objects find?

Must dull suspense corrupt the stagnant mind?

Must helpless man, in ignorance sedate,

Roll darkling down the torrent of his fate?

Must no dislike alarm, no wishes rise;

No cries invoke the mercies of the skies?

Inquirer, cease; petitions yet remain, Which Heaven may hear, nor deem religion vain.

Still raise for good the supplicating voice,

But leave to Heaven the measure and the choice,

Safe in His power, whose eyes discern afar

The secret ambush of a specious

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Yet, when the sense of sacred presence fires,

And strong devotion to the skies aspires,

Pour forth thy fervors for a healthful mind,

Obedient passions, and a will resigned:

For love, which scarce collective man can fill;

For patience, sovereign o'er transmuted ill;

For faith, that, panting for a happier

seat,

Counts death, kind Nature's signal of

retreat:

These goods for man the laws of Heaven ordain,

These goods He grants, who grants the power to gain;

With these celestial Wisdom calms the mind,

And makes the happiness she does not find.

[From Vanity of Human Wishes.]
CHARLES XII.

ON what foundation stands the
warrior's pride,

How just his hopes, let Swedish Charles decide:

A frame of adamant, a soul of fire, No dangers fright him, and no labors tire;

O'er love, o'er fear, extends his wide domain,

Unconquered lord of pleasure and of pain.

No joys to him pacific sceptres yield, War sounds the trump, he rushes to the field;

Behold surrounding kings their powers combine,

And one capitulate, and one resign; Peace courts his hand, but spreads her charms in vain; "Think nothing gained," he cries. "till naught remain,

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And Winter barricades the realms of frost;

He comes, nor want nor cold his course delay;

Hide, blushing glory, hide Pultowa's day!

The vanquished hero leaves his broken bands,

And shows his miseries in distant lands;

Condemned a needy suppliant to wait,

While ladies interpose and slaves debate.

But did not Chance at length her error mend?

Did no subverted empire mark his end?

Did rival monarchs give the fatal

wound,

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[From London.]

THE FATE OF POVERTY.

By numbers here from shame or censure free,

All crimes are safe but hated poverty, This, only this, the rigid law pursues, This, only this, provokes the snarling

muse.

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BEN JONSON.

TO

DRINK to me only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine:

Or leave a kiss but in the cup
And I'll not look for wine.

CELIA.

I sent thee late a rosy wreath, Not so much honoring thee As giving it a hope that there It could not withered be;

The thirst that from the soul doth But thou thereon didst only breathe

rise

Doth ask a drink divine;

But might I of Jove's nectar sup,

I would not change for thine.

And sent'st it back to me;

Since when it grows, and smells, I

swear,

Not of itself but thee!

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