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In the skies the sapphire blue
Night and day
Come away! Where the boughs with dewy gloom Darken each thick bed of bloom
In the deep heart of the rose
Sheds a ray,
Come away! Where the fairy cup-moss lies, With the wild-wood strawberries,
Now each tree by summer crown'd, Sheds its own rich twilight round, Glancing there from sun to shade,
Bright wings play ; There the deer its couch hath made
Where the smooth leaves of the lime Glisten in their honey-time
When the wind blows
In the sweet rose-tree, And the cow lows
On the fragrant lea, And the stream flows
All bright and free,
'Tis not for thee, 'tis not for me, 'Tis not for any one here I trow:
The gentle wind bloweth,
The merry stream floweth,
O the Spring! the bountiful Spring !
Where come the sheep ?
To the rich man's moor. Where cometh sleep?
To the bed that's poor. Peasants must weep,
And kings endure;
That is a fate that none can cure ;
She brings the bright hours,
She dresseth her bowers,
O the Spring, &c.
THE SOLDIER'S GRAVE.
L. E. LANDON.
THERE's a white stone placed upon yonder tomb,
Beneath is a soldier lying, The death-wound came amid sword and plume,
When banner and ball were flying.
Yet now he sleeps, the turf on his breast,
By wet wild flowers surrounded ; The church shadow falls o'er his place of rest,
Where the steps of his childhood bounded.
There were tears that fell from manly eyes,
There was woman's gentle weeping, And the wailing of age and infant cries,
O'er the grave where he lies sleeping.
He had left his home in his spirit's pride,
With his father's sword and blessing ; He stood with the valiant side by side,
His country's wrongs redressing.
He came again, in the light of his fame,
When the red campaign was over ;
Was claimed by the soldier lover.
But the cloud of strife came upon the sky;
He left his sweet home for battle ;
And his young child's lisp for the loud war-cry,
And the cannon's long death-rattle.
He came again,—but an altered man:
The path of the grave was before him,
And the shadow of death hung o'er him..
He spoke of victory,-spoke of cheer :
These are words that are vainly spoken To the childless mother or orphan's ear,
Or the widow whose heart is broken.
A helmet and sword are engraved on the stone,
Half hidden by yonder willow ; There he sleeps, whose death in battle was won,
But who died on his own home-pillow.
BARD OF ETTRICK AND HIS DAUGHTER.
“Child of my age and dearest love!
“ 'Tis very strange, my little dove !
“ Crow on, sweet child! thy wild delight