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THE NORMAN BAKON.

35

Tears upon his eyelids glistened, As he paused awhile, and listened, · And the dying baron slowly

Turned his weary head to hear.

“ Wassail for the kingly stranger
Born and cradled in a manger !
King, like David, priest, like Aaron,

Christ is born to set us free !"

And the lightning shewed the sainted
Figures on the casement painted,
And exclaimed the shuddering baron,

“ Miserere Domine !"

In that hour of deep contrition,
He beheld with clearer vision,
Through all outward show and fashion,

Justice, the Avenger, rise.

All the pomp of earth had vanished,
Falsehood and deceit were banished,
Reason spake more loud than passion,

And the truth wore no disguise.

Every vassal of his banner,
Every serf born to his manor,
All those wrong'd and wretched creatures,

By his hand were freed again!

And, as on the sacred missal
He recorded their dismissal,
Death relaxed his iron features,

And the monk replied, “ Amen."

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Many centuries have been numbered
Since in death the baron slumbered
By the convent's sculptured portal,

Mingling with the common dust.

But the good deed, through the ages
Living in historic pages,
Brighter glows and gleams immortal,
Unconsumed by moth or rust.

LONGFELLOW,

30. LUCY.

She dwelt among the untrodden ways,

Beside the springs of Dove,
A maid whom there were none to praise,

And very few to love.

A violet in a mossy stone

Half hidden from the eye;
Fair as a star when only one

Is shining in the sky.

She lived unknown, and few could know

When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and oh,
The difference to me.

WORDSWORTI.

THE SEAT OF HAPPINESS.

37

31. CRY OF THE SPRING FLOWER-SELLER.

“BUY MY FLOWERS."
VIOLETS, violets-here, see, I bring
Primroses, wet from the woods of the spring ;
Lilies, the whitest that silver our valleys;
Come out from your courts, from the gloom of your alleys-

Buy my flowers !
Here's pleasure a selling !--my blossoms come buy-
Cheap enough for the low, choice enough for the high-

Buy my flowers !
Come, make your close rooms and your dark windows gay
With thoughts of their dwellings on banks far away;
And the hours of work, long so sluggish for many a day,
Through the thoughts that they bring, shall trip lightly away-

Buy my flowers !
And into the heart of the city they'll bring
The country, the meadows, the woodlands, and Spring;
Pleasant hours you spent in the green fields long ago,
On stiles that you loved, and in lanes well you know

Come and buy!

The poorest may buy them, the richest they'll please
There's ne'er a one sells brighter blossoms than these
There's ne'er a one sells such sweet flowers as I-

Buy my flowers !

BENNETT.

32. THE SEAT OF HAPPINESS.
IF happiness has not her seat

And centre in the breast,
We may be wise, or rich, or great,
But never can be blest.

Borns.

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33. THE ORPHAN BOY.
Stay, lady, stay, for mercy's sake,

And hear a helpless orphan's tale!
Ah! sure my looks must pity wake,

'Tis want that makes my cheek so pale.
Yet I was once a mother's pride,

And my brave father's hope and joy ;
But in the Nile's proud fight he died,

And I am now an orphan boy.
Poor foolish child-how pleased was I.

When news of Nelson's victory came,
Along the crowded streets to fly,

And see the lighted windows flame!
To force me home my mother sought,-

She could not bear to see my joy;
For with my father's life 'twas bought,

And made me a poor orphan boy!
The people's shouts were long and loud,

My mother, shuddering, closed her ears ; “ Rejoice! rejoice !” still cried the crowd ;

My mother answered with her tears. “Why are you crying so," said I,

“ While others laugh and shout with joy ?" She kissed me—and with such a sigh!

She called me her poor orphan boy.
What is an orphan boy?" I cried,

As in her face I looked, and smiled ;
My mother through her tears replied,

“You'll know too soon, ill-fated child !" And now they've tolled my mother's knell,

And I'm no more a parent's joy;
O lady, I have learned too well
What 'tis to be an orphan boy!

MRS. OPIE.

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34. THE CHILD IS FATHER OF THE MAN. My heart leaps up when I behold .

A rainbow in the sky:
So was it when my life began;

So is it now I am a man ;
So be it when I shall grow old,

Or let me die!
The Child is father of the Man ;
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.

WORDSWORTH.

35. LULLABY.
Sweet and low, sweet and low,

Wind of the western sea,
Low, low, breathe and blow,

Wind of the western sea!
Over the rolling waters go,
Come from the dying moon, and blov,
Blow him again to me;
While my little one, while my pretty one sleeps
Sleep and rest, sleep and rest,

Father will come to thee soon;
Rest, rest, on mother's breast,

Father will come to thee soon;
Father will come to his babe in the nest,
Silver sails all out of the west

. Under the silver moon;
Sleep my little one, sleep my pretty onc, sleep

TENNYSON.

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