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If those, who sit at shepherd's board,
Soothe not their taste by wanton

art;

They take what Nature's gifts afford,
And take it with a cheerful heart.

If those who drain the shepherd's bowl,

No high and sparkling wines can boast,

With wholesome cups they cheer the soul,

And crown them with the village
toast.

If those who join in shepherd's sport,
Gay dancing on the daisied ground,
Have not the splendor of a court:
Yet love adorns the merry round.

RULE, BRITANNIA!

WHEN Britain first, at Heaven's
command,

Arose from out the azure main,
This was the charter of the land,
And guardian angels sung this
strain:

Rule, Britannia, rule the

waves;

Britons never will be slaves.

The nations, not so blessed as thee, Must, in their turns, to tyrants fall;

While thou shalt flourish great and

free,

The dread and envy of them all.
Rule, etc.

Still more majestic shalt thou rise,
More dreadful from each foreign

stroke;

As the loud blast that tears the skies
Serves but to root thy native oak.
Rule, etc.

Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall

tame:

All their attempts to bend thee down

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All hail, my love, good cheer!
Keep back thy unshed tear!
Not thou nor I

Shall mourn or sigh.
Nay now, we twain-
Old man, old wife.

The few days that remain

Yea, old like Abraham, when he went, Let us make merry- let us laugh!

With head down bent,

And mantle rent,

In dole for her who lay in death,
And to the Sons of Heth

The silver shekels gave

For Mamre's gloomy cave,

To be her grave; ·

Or, older still, like him
Who, feeble not of limb,
With eyes not dim,

Upclimbed, with staff in hand,
To where Mount Nebo cleft the sky,
And looked and saw the Promised
Land

For now at length we quaff
The last, best wine of life, -
The very last - the very best,
The double cup of love and rest.

What though the groaning world declare

That life is but a load of care?
A burden wearisome to bear ? -
That as we journey down the years,
The path is through a vale of tears ?-
Yet we who have the burden borne,
And travelled until travel-worn,
Forget the weight upon the back,
Forget the long and weary track,

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"The spirit and the body part, Yet love abideth, heart to heart.

"O silent comrade of my rest,

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"Love's dust,

Whatever grave it fill,

With hands here crossed upon thy Though buried deep, is deathless still!

breast,

I know thee who thou art!

O marble brow,

Here pillowed next to mine,

I know the soul divine

That tenanted thy shrine!

"For, though above us, green and high,

The yew-trees grow,

And churchyard ravens fly,

And mourners come and go,

Yet thou and I,

Who dust to dust lie here below,
Still one another know!

"Yea, thee I know it still is thou;
And me thou know'st-it still is I;
True lovers once, true lovers now!
The same old vow,
The same old thrill,

The same old love between us still!

"The gloomy grave hath frosts that kill,

But love is chilled not with their chill.

"Love's flame

Consuming, unconsumed

In breasts that breathe in hearts

entombed

Is fed by life and death the same!

Love hath no death, and cannot die! This love is ours, as here we lie, Thou and I!"

THE FOUR SEASONS.

IN the balmy April weather, My love, you know,

-

When the corn began to grow,
What walks we took together,
What sighs we breathed together,
What vows we pledged together,
In the days of long ago!

In the golden summer weather,
My love, you know,

When the mowers went to mow,
What home we built together,
What babes we watched together,
What plans we planned together,

While the skies were all aglow!

In the rainy autumn weather,
My love, you know,

When the winds began to blow,
What tears we shed together,
What mounds we heaped together,
What hopes we lost together,

When we laid our darlings low!

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