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The Sailor's Mother.

ÖNE morning (raw it was and wet,

A foggy day in winter time)

A woman on the road I met,

Not old, though something past her prime :
Majestic in her person, tall and straight;

And like a Roman matron's was her mien and gait.

The ancient spirit is not dead;

Old times, thought I, are breathing there;
Proud was I that my country bred

Such strength, a dignity so fair :

She begged an alms, like one in poor estate; I looked at her again, nor did my pride abate.

When from these lofty thoughts I woke, "What treasure," said I, " do you bear, Beneath the covert of your cloak,

Protected from the cold damp air?”

She answered, soon as she the question heard,

"A simple burthen, Sir, a little singing-bird."

And, thus continuing, she said,
"I had a son, who many a day
Sailed on the seas, but he is dead;
In Denmark he was cast away;

And I have travelled weary miles to see If aught which he had owned might still remain for me.

"The bird and cage they both were his : 'Twas my son's bird; and neat and trim He kept it: many voyages

This singing-bird had gone with him;

When last he sailed, he left the bird behind; From bodings, as might be, that hung upon his mind.

"Ie to a fellow-lodger's care Had left it, to be watched and fed, And pipe its song in safety ;-there I found it when my son was dead ; And now, God help me for my little wit! I bear it with me, Sir, he took so much delight

in it."

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The Daffodils.

WANDER'D lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky-way,
They stretch'd in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay :
Ten thousand saw I at a glance
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee :-
A poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund company:

I gazed-and gazed-but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought :

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude,

And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

Lucy Gray

FT I had heard of Lucy Gray:
And, when I crossed the wild,
I chanced to see at break of day,
The solitary child.

No mate, no comrade Lucy knew ;·
She dwelt on a wide moor,-

The sweetest thing that ever grew
Beside a human door!

You yet may spy the fawn at play,
The hare upon the green;
But the sweet face of Lucy Gray
Will never more be seen.

"To-night will be a stormy night-
You to the town must go;

And take a lantern, child, to light
Your mother through the snow."

"That, father! will I gladly do;
"Tis scarcely afternoon-

The minster-clock has just struck two,
And yonder is the moon."

At this the father raised his hook,
And snapped a faggot band;

He plied his work ;-and Lucy took
The lantern in her hand.

Not blither is the mountain roe:
With many a wanton stroke
Her feet disperse the powdery snow,
That rises up like smoke.

The storm came on before its time:
She wandered up and down;
And many a hill did Lucy climb;
But never reached the town.

The wretched parents all that night,
Went shouting far and wide;
But there was neither sound nor sight
To serve them for a guide.

At day-break on a hill they stood
That overlooked the moor;

And thence they saw the bridge of wood,
A furlong from their door.

They wept—and, turning homeward, cried, "In Heaven we all shall meet :

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-When in the snow the mother spied
The print of Lucy's feet.

Half breathless from the steep hill's edge

They tracked the footmarks small

;

And through the broken hawthorn hedge,

And by the long stone wall;

And then an open field they crossed:

The marks were still the same;

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