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* My little Boy, which like you more," I said, and took him by the arm “ Our home by Kilve's delightful shore, Or here at Liswyn farm ?”

me, had

" And tell


rather be," I said, and held him by the arm, " At Kilve's smooth shore by the green sea, Or here at Liswyn farm?".

In careless mood he looked at me,
While still I held him by the arm,
And said, “ At Kilve I'd rather be
“ Than here at Liswyn farm."

“ Now, little Edward, say why so;

My little Edward, tell me why;"“ I cannot tell, I do not know." “ Why this is strange," said I.

~ For, here are woods, and green-hills warm : “ There surely must some reason be Why you would change sweet Liswyn farm “ For Kilve by the green sea.”

At this, my Boy hung down his head,
He blush'd with shame, nor made reply;
And five times to the Child I said,
Why, Edward, tell me why ?"

His head he raised—there was in sight,
It caught his eye, he saw it plain-
Upon the house-top, glittering bright,
A broad and gilded vane.

Then did the Boy his tongue unlock;
And thus to me he made reply ;
“ At Kilve there was no weather-cock,
<< And that's the reason why.”

Oh dearest, dearest Boy ! my heart For better lore would seldom yearn, Could I but teach the hundredth part Of what from thee I learn.

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LINES Written at a small distance from my House, and sent by

my little boy to the person to whom they are addressed.

It is the first mild day of March :
Each minute sweeter than before,
The Red-breast sings from the tall Larch
That stands beside our door.

There is a blessing in the air,
Which seems a sense of joy to yield
To the bare trees, and mountains bare,

grass in the green field.

My Sister! ('tis a wish of mine)
Now that our morning meal is done,
Make haste, your morning task resign ;
Come forth and feel the sun.

Edward will come with you;


pray, Put on with speed your woodland dress; And bring no book : for this one day We'll give to idleness.

No joyless forms shall regulate
Our living Calendar :
We from to-day, my Friend, will date
The opening of the year.'

Love, now an universal birth,
From heart to heart is stealing,
From earth to man, from man to earth :
-It is the hour of feeling.

One moment now may give us more
Than fifty years of reason :
Our minds shall drink at every pore
The spirit of the season.

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