Imatges de pÓgina





My mother sings at the twilight's fall,
A song of the hills far more sweet than all;
She sings it under our own green tree,
To the babe half slumbering on her knee;
I dreamt last night of that music low-
Lady, kind lady, oh, let me go!



Thy mother hath gone from her cares to-rest,
She hath taken the babe on her quiet breast;
Thou wouldst meet her footstep, my boy, no more,
Nor hear her song at the cabin door;
Come with me to the vineyards nigh,
And we'll pluck the grapes of the richest dye.


Is my mother gone from her home away?
But I know, that my brothers are there at play;
I know they are gathering the fox-glove's bell,
Or the long fern leaves by the sparkling well:
Or they launch their boats where the blue streams
Lady, sweet lady! oh, let me go!


7. Fair child thy brothers are wanderers now.
They sport no more on the mountain's brow;
They have left the fern by the spring's green side;
And the stream where the fairy barks were tried-
Be thou at peace in thy brighter lot,
For thy cabin home is a lonely spot.


Are they gone, all gone from the sunny hill?-
But the bird and the blue fly rove o'er it still;
And the red deer bound in their gladness free,
And the heath is bent by the singing bee;
The waters leap, and the fresh winds blow-
Lady, sweet lady, oh! let me go!






What is that Mother.-REV. G. W. DOANE.

Child. What is that, Mother?

Mother. The lark, my child!
The moon has but just looked out and smiled,
When he starts from his humble, grassy nest,
And is up and away, with the dew on his breast
And a hymn in his heart, to yon pure bright sphere,
To warble it out in his Maker's ear-

Ever, my child, be thy morning lays
Tuned, like the lark's, to thy Maker's praise.

Child. What is that, Mother?

Mother. The dove, my son!

And that low sweet voice, like the widow's moan,
Is flowing out from her gentle breast,
Constant and pure, by that lonely nest,

As the wave is poured from some crystal urn,
For her distant dear one's quick return-
Ever, my son, be thou like the dove,

In friendship, as faithful, as constant in love!

Child. What is that, Mother?

Mother. The eagle, boy!
Proudly careering his course of joy;
Firm, on his own mountain vigor relying,
Breasting the dark storm, the red bolt defying-
His wing on the wind, and his eye in the sun,
He swerves not a hair, but bears onward, right on;
Boy! may the eagle's flight ever be thine,
Onward and upward and true to the line!

Child. What is that, Mother?

Mother. The swan my love!

He is floating down from his native grove;
No loved one now, no nestling nigh,

He is floating down by himself to die;

Death darkens his eye, and unplumes his wings,


Yet his sweetest note is the last he sings-
Live so, my love, that when death shall come;
Swan-like and sweet, it may waft thee home!


The Better Land.-MRS. HEMANS.

"I hear thee speak of a better land;
Thou call'st its children a happy band;
Mother! oh; where is that radiant shore?
Shall we not seek it and weep no more;
Is it where the flower of the orange blows,
And the fire-flies dance through the myrtle boughs?"
-"Not there, not there, my child!”

2. "Is it where the feathery palm trees rise,
And the dates grow ripe under sunny skies?
Or midst the green islands of glittering seas,
Where fragrance of forests perfume the breeze,
And strange bright birds, on their starry wings,
Bear the rich hues of all glorious things?"
66 Not there, not there, my child!”


3. "Is it far away, in some region old,

Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold,
Where the burning rays of the ruby shine,
And the diamond lights up the secret mine,
And the pearl gleams forth from the coral strand?
Is it there, sweet mother! that better land?"
"Not there, not there, my child!"

"Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy!
Ear hath not heard its deep sounds of joy;
Dreams cannot picture a world so fair;
Sorrow and death may not enter there,
Time doth not breath on its fadeless bloom;
Beyond the clouds and beyond the tomb;
It is there, it is there, my.child?"




The Orphan Child.—MRS. OPIE.

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 cheeks 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!

2. Poor, foolish child! how pleased was I
When news of Nelson's victory came,
Along the crowded streets to fly,

To 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 brought-
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 crowdMy mother answered with her tears! "Oh! why do tears steal down your checks," Cried I, "while others shout for joy!" She kissed me, and in accents weak,

She called me her poor orphan boy!

4. "What is an orphan boy?" I said;

When suddenly she gasped for breath,
And her eyes closed; I shrieked for aid:-

But, ah! her eyes were closed in death!
My hardships since I will not tell:

But now no more a parent's joy;
Ah! lady, I have learned too well
What 'tis to be an orphan boy.


Man and Animals.-JANE TAYLOR.

1. Mr. FOSTER and his children, were walking one summer's evening, in what were familiarly called the high woods. A narrow path conducted them through the underwood, where straggling branches of the wild rose intercepted them at every step; the rich and variegated stems of the forest trees were illumined here and there in bright spots, by golden beams of the setting sun, which streamed through the interstices of the massy foliage.

2. Swarms of merry gnats danced in the open spaces of the wood; birds of every note sang, in uninterrupted gladness, amid its deep recesses; the nimble squirrel was observed occasionally leaping from bough to bough; and the timid eye of the wild rabbit was seen peeping from behind the roots of the trees, and then, swiftly disappearing, she escaped into her inaccessible for


3. How happy are young people, whose taste is raised to the enjoyment of these elevated and simple pleasures, and who find in their parents, intelligent friends, capable of cultivating this taste, of inspiring and guiding their love of knowledge, and of giving a right direction to. both!

4. "I think," said little Charles, "that if I were going to be changed into any thing else, I should like best to be a rabbit, and to live in the woods; they seem so happy and comfortable here!" "Can you tell me Charles," said his father, "what is the greatest difference between you and a rabbit?" "Why father," said Charles, "we are as different as can be. Rabbits have long ears, and four legs, and are covered all over with soft hair."

5. "So far then," said his father, "the rabbit seems to have the advantage of you, it can run faster with four legs than you can with only two; and its long ears enable it to hear more acutely; and it has a warm dress,

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