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And thumping and flumping and bumping and jumping,
GOOD HEART AND WILLING HAND.
Go forth to work or play;
They bless them by the way.
The two best friends I know;
Where'er their faces glow.
Come cold—'tis warm ere long !
Merrily sound the song !
Who falls may stand, if good Right Hand
Is first, not second best :
Has lodged in his breast.
When they sit down to dine :
The water good as wine.
They lead no creature wrong;
Merrily sound the song !
Without these twain, the poor complain
Of evils hard to bear;
And finds a loaf to spare !
Their looks are fire-their words inspire
Their deeds give courage high ;
Or climb, they know not why.
Ne'er finds the journey long ;-
Oh ! heard ye yon pibroch sound sad in the gale,
Glenara came first with, the mourners and shroud;
In silence they reached over mountain and moor,
"And tell me, I charge you, ye clan of my spouse,
"I dreamed of my lady, I dreamed of her shroud,” Cried a voice from the kinsmen, all wrathful and loud; " And empty that shroud and that coffin did seem : Glenara ! Glenara! now read me my dream !" Oh! pale grew the cheek of that chieftain, I ween, When the shroud was unclosed, and no body was seen; Then a voice from the kinsmen spoke louder in scorn'Twas the youth that had loved the fair Ellen of Lorn,-
"I dreamed of my lady, I dreamed of her grief;
In dust low the traitor has knelt to the ground, And the desert revealed where his lady was found : From a rock of the ocean that beauty is borne ;Now joy to the house of fair Ellen of Lorn!
SONG OF THE WINTER TREE.
What a happy life was mine,
When the sunbeams used to shine Like golden threads about my summer suit !
When my warp and woof of green
Let enough of light between,
What troops of friends I had,
When my form was richly clad, When I was fair ’mid fairest things of earth!
Good company came round,
And I heard no rougher sound
The old man sat him down
To note my emerald crown,
The squirrel on the spray
Kept swinging all the day, And the song-birds chattered to me through the night,
The dreaming poet laid
His soft harp in my shade
The village maiden came,
To read her own dear name
The merry music breathed
While the bounding dancers wreathed In mazy windings round my giant stem;
And the joyous words they poured,
As they trod the chequered sward, Told the green tree was a worshipped thing by them.
Oh, what troops of friends I had,
To make my strong heart glad!
I was hailed with siniling praise
In the glowing summer days,
But the bleak wind has swept by,
And the gray cloud dimmed the skyMy latest leaf has left my inmost bough;
I creak in grating tones,
Like the skeleton's bleached bones, And not a footstep seeks the old tree now.
I stand at morning's dawn,
The cheerless and forlorn;
The mates who shared my bloom
Have left me in my gloom;
The hearts that turned this way
When I stood in fine array, Forsake me now, as though I ceased to be :
I win no painter's gaze,
I hear no minstrel’s lays--
But the kind and merry train
Will be sure to come again, With love and smiles as ready as of yore;
I must only wait to wear
My robe so rich and fair And they will throng as they have thronged before.
Oh! ye who dwell in pride,
With parasites beside, Only lose your summer green leaves, and ye'll see
That the courtly friends will change
Into things all cold and strange, And forget ye as they do the winter tree.
THE MARCH OF TIME.
In the palace, in the cottage,
By the river, by the rill,
Ever onward-onward still :
Never tiring, never resting,
Neither bending to our will;
Ever onward-onward still.
Secrets lost in dark oblivion,
Human tongue shall never tell ;
Marches onward-onward still.
Dreams and echoes of the past,
Waken in us mem'ry's thrill;
A king has left his place!
All other from his face !
No longer lean adown,