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SELECTIONS IN POETRY.

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HEN thy heart is sad and heavy,
When thy life is all misread,

Give not anger for injustice,

Give a gentle word instead.

When another's heart is hardened,
Say not "It is naught to me!"
Do thy best to heal the mischief,
Lest the sin should rest on thee.

Never speak in bitter scorning,
Seeking any heart to pain;
As the seed is, so the blossom,
And the curse comes back again.

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TH

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HERE'S no dew left on the daisies and clover,
There's no rain left in heaven.

I've said my

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seven times over and over, –

Seven times one are seven.

I am old, so old I can write a letter;

My birthday lessons are done.

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The lambs play always, they know no better;
They are only one times one.

O Moon! in the night I have seen you sailing
And shining so round and low.

You were bright — ah, bright — but your light is failing;
You are nothing now but a bow.

O velvet Bee! you 're a dusty fellow,-
You 've powdered your legs with gold.
O brave marsh Mary-buds, rich and yellow,
Give me your money to hold!

O Columbine! open your folded wrapper,
Where two twin turtle-doves dwell!
O Cuckoo-pint! toll me the purple clapper
That hangs in your clear green bell!

And show me your nest, with the young ones in it, –
I will not steal them away:

I am old! you may trust me, linnet, linnet!
I am seven times one to-day.

Ex. 76. THE BIRD LET LOOSE.

HE bird let loose in eastern skies,

THE

When hastening fondly home,
Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies
Where idle warblers roam;

Moore.

But high she shoots through air and light,
Above all low delay,

Where nothing earthly bounds her flight.
Nor shadow dims her way.

So grant me, God, from every care
And stain of passion free,
Aloft, through Virtue's purer air,
To hold my course to thee!
No sin to cloud, no lure to stay

My soul, as home she springs ;

Thy sunshine on her joyful way,
Thy freedom on her wings.

Who once began to linger in the street

How varied are the images arising to n Of those who wished to shun the wro praised the right!

Yet from the silken bonds of sloth they Which held them gently prisoned in and-By.

Then shun the spot, my youthful while yet you may;

d

Let not old age o'ertake you as you slo Lest you should gaze around you, and You have reached the house of “Neve By-and-By.

Ex. 78.

LULLABY.- T

SWE

WEET and low, sweet a
Wind of the western s

Low, low, breathe and blow,
Wind of the western sea!
Over the rolling waters go,
Come from the dying moon,
Blow him again to me;
my little one, while my pr

While

er will come to his babe in the nest, r sails all out of the west

ader the silver moon ;

little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep.

THE SMACK IN SCHOOL. — Palmer.

ISTRICT school, not far away, Mid Berkshire hills, one winter's day, _mming with its wonted noise escore mingled girls and boys; w upon their task intent, re on furtive mischief bent, ile the master's downward look tened on a copy-book;

uddenly, behind his back,

arp and clear a rousing smack! ere a battery of bliss

in one tremendous kiss!

's that?" the startled master cries; hir," a little imp replies,

William Willith, if you pleathe,-
him kith Thuthanna Peathe!"
own to make a statue thrill,

ster thundered, "Hither, Will!"
etch o'ertaken in his track,

olen chattels on his back,

ng his head in fear and shame,

the awful presence came,

SELECTIONS IN POETRY.

A great, green, bashful simpleton,
The butt of all good-natured fun.

With smile suppressed and birch upraised
The threatener faltered, "I'm amazed
That you, my biggest pupil, should
Be guilty of an act so rude!

Before the whole set school to boot
What evil genius put you to 't?"

"'T was she herself, sir," sobbed the lad,
"I did not mean to be so bad;

But when Susannah shook her curls,
And whispered I was 'fraid of girls,
And dursn't kiss a baby's doll,
I could n't stand it, sir, at all,
But up and kissed her on the spot!
I know boo-hoo- I ought to not,
But, somehow, from her looks-boo-hoo
I thought she kind o' wished me to!"

Ex. 80. THE QUARREL. - Coleridge.

LAS! they had been friends in youth;
But whispering tongues can poison truth;

And constancy lives in realms above;
And life is thorny; and youth is vain ;
And to be wroth with one we love

Doth work like madness in the brain.
And thus it chanced, as I divine,
With Roland and Sir Leoline!
Each spoke words of high disdain

And insult to his heart's best brother;
They parted, ne'er to meet again!
But never either found another

To free the hollow heart from paining.

83

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