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THE SANDS OF DEE.

4. THE SANDS OF DEE.

"O, Mary, go and call the cattle home,

And call the cattle home,

And call the cattle home

Across the sands of Dee;"
The western wind was wild and dank with foam,

And all alone went she. .'

The western tide crept up along the sand,

And o'er and o'er the sand,

And round and round the sand,

As far as eye could see.
The rolling mist came down and hid the land :

And never home came she.

“Oh! is it weed, or fish, or floating hair

A tress of golden hair,

A drowned maiden's hair,

Above the nets at sea ?
Was never salmon yet that shone so fair,

Among the stakes on Dee.”

They rowed her in across the rolling foam,

The cruel, crawling foam,

The cruel, hungry foam,

To her grave beside the sea : But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home,

Across the sands of Dee.

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THE MORNING-GLORY.

5. THE MORNING-GLORY. We wreathed about our darling's head the morning-glory bright, Her little face look'd out beneath, so full of life and light, So lit as with a sunrise, that we could only say, She is the morning-glory true, and her poor types are they.

So always from that happy time we called her by their name,
And very fitting did it seem, for, sure as morning came,
Behind her cradle-bars she smiled to catch the first faint ray,
As from the trellis smiles the flower, and opens to the day.

But not so beautiful they rear their airy cups of blue,
As turned her sweet eyes to the light, brimmed with sleep's tender

dew; And not so close their tendrils fine round their supports are thrown, As those dear arms, whose outstretch'd plea clasped all hearts

to her own.

We used to think how she had come, even as comes the flower,
The last and perfect added gift to crown love's morning hour,
And how in her was imaged forth the love we could not say,
As on the little dew-drops round shines back the heart of day.

We never could have thought, O God, that she must wither up,
Almost before a day was flown, like the morning-glory's cup;
We never thought to see her droop her fair and noble head,
Till she lay stretched before our eyes, wilted, and cold, and dead.

The morning-glory's blossoming will soon be coming round,
We see their rows of heart-shaped leaves up-springing from the

ground;
The tender things the winter killed renew again their birth,
But the glory of our morning has passed away from earth.

0, earth, in vain our aching eyes stretch over thy green plain!
Too harsh thy dews, too gross thine air, her spirit to sustain ;
But up in groves of Paradise full surely we shall see
Qur morning-glory beautiful twine round our dear Lord's knee.

MARIA W. LOWELL.

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A WIDOW mother had a lad,

Now sixteen years was he;
And nothing would content his heart,

But he must go to sea.
Then said the widow, “God is great

Upon both sea and land;
And sailor people he must have,

And lives are in his hand.”

So, with many thoughts of waves and rocks,
She put a Bible in his box; :

And as he took the key,
She gave him in her tears a kiss,
Saying, “ William, when you read in this,

You'll often think of me.”

To comfort her at home were left

Two daughters and a son :
She loved them much, but often thought

About her sailor one.
Sometimes she said, “He's surely lost,"
Then soon a letter came by post,

With William's writing on;
And as they all the letter read,
The widow raised her eyes and said,
“ How very thankful we should be
To hear good news from one at sea !"
Sometimes, with hope that all was well,
There came a curious bird or shell,

From some far place at sea;

THE SAILOR AND HIS MOTHER.

Sometimes, a letter money bore-
He sent it, wishing it was more,

To help the family ;
And then around the times would come,
When he left his ship to visit home,

With his mother dear to be :
And when she saw him, tall and strong,
The widow thought no more how long

She had waited patiently;
But she said, “ How quickly time has flown!
And William, boy, how much you've grown

Since first you went to sea !"

Now his brother James, the carpenter,

Was rising by degrees,
And both the sisters married were,

With little families
When home came William with a wife;

Born far away was she;
Her accent foreign, dark her face ;
She had a woman's truth and grace,

And loved him tenderly.
And he kiss'd her, and call’d her “ Dearest life !"
And said, “Mother, she has shared with me
In many perils of the sea."

The pitying mother hears a tale

Of dangers on the sea;
How dark the night, how strong the gale,

How nearly drown'd was he.
And then she says, “ God bless thee, lad !
It makes my old heart very glad

Your face once more to see.”

THE SAILOR AND HIS MOTHER.

The widow now was growing grey

Warm-hearted still was she ;
And William's wife was often told

How good a son was he..
And then she said, “This weary head

Soon in its rest will be.”

And sickness came, and death drew near;
And once, when all around her were,
As William from the Scripture read,
She on the pillow raised her head,

Saying, " William, give it me."
Then, in her trembling hand she took
An old and well-worn little book ;
And said, with a tear, “Why, William, this
Is the Bible I gave you with my kiss

When first you went to sea.

Soon William stood by his mother's grave,
His tears as salt as any wave,

His breast heaved like the sea;
And the years of voyage he had known,
Came all at once, not one by one,

Back to his memory.

Then sadly home to his wife he went,
And, with head upon her bosom bent,
He said, “Oh, never was a man
No, never since the world began-

With a better mother blest !”
And she answer'd, with her tenderest kiss,

It is true, it is true, I know it is ; But, William, dearest, think of this She's quietly at rest.”

LYNCH.

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