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87.— WHAT IS THAT, MOTHER? What is that, Mother?—The lark, my child! The morn 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 morn's first lays, Tuned, like the lark's, to thy Maker's praise.

What is that, Mother ?—The dove, my son!—

And that low, sweet voice, like a 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.

What is that, Mother?—The eagle, boy!—
Proudly careering his course of joy:
Firm, on his own mountain vigour relying,
Breasting the dark storm, the red bolt defying,
His wing on the wind, and his eye on 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.

What is that, 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 song is the last he sings,
Live so, my love, that when death shall come,
Swan-like and sweet, it may waft thee home.


There dwelt a miller hale and bold,

Beside the river Dee;
He work'd and sang from morn to night,

No lark more blithe than he;
And this the burden of his song

For ever used to be,—
"I envy nobody: no not I,

"And nobody envies me !",

"Thou'rt wrong my friend I" said old King Hal,

"Thou'rt wrong as wrong can be; "For could my heart be light as thine,

"I'd gladly change with thee. "And tell me now what makes thee sing

"With voice so loud and free, "While I am sad, though I'm the King,

"Beside the river Dee."

The miller smiled and doff'd his cap:

"I earn my bread," quoth he; "I love my wife, I love my friend,

"I love my children three; "I owe no penny I cannot pay;

"I thank the river Dee, "That turns the mill that grinds the corn,

"To feed my babes and me."

"Good friend," said Hal, and sigh'd the while,

"Farewell! and happy be: "But say no more, if thou'dst be true,

"That no one envies thee.

"Thy mealy cap is worth my crown,—

"Thy mill my kingdom's fee! "Such men as thou art England's hoast,

"O miller of the Dee."



0 Sat what is that thing called Light,
Which I must ne'er enjoy?

What are the blessings of the sight?
O tell your poor blind boy!

You talk of wondrous things you see,
You say the sun shines bright;

1 feel him warm, but how can he
Or make it day or night?

My day or night myself I make

Whene'er I sleep or play:
And could I ever keep awake,

With me 'twere always day.

With heavy sighs I often hear

You mourn my hapless woe;
But sure with patience I can bear

A loss I ne'er can know.

Then let not what I cannot have

My cheer of mind destroy;
Whilst thus I sing, I am a king,

Although a poor blind boy.


I Pell into grief, and began to complain;
I looked for a friend, but I sought him in vain;
Companions were shy, and acquaintance were cold,
They gave me good counsel, but dreaded their gold.
"Let them go," I exclaimed, "I've a friend at my side,
"To lift me, and aid me, whatever betide."
To trust to the world is to build on the sand:—
I'll trust but in Heaven and my good Right Hand.

My courage revived, in my fortune's despite,
And my hand was as strong as my spirit was light;
It raised me from sorrow, it saved me from pain;
It fed me, and clad me, again and again.
The friends who had left me came back every one,
And darkest advisers looked bright as the sun;
I need them no more, as they all understand,—
I thank thee, I trust thee, my good Right Hand!



God save our noble Queen!
Long live our gracious Queen!

God save the Queen!
Send her victorious,
Happy and glorious,
Long to reign over us;

God save the Queen t

O Lord our God, arise!
Scatter her enemies,

And make them fall t

Confound their politics,
Frustrate their knavish tricks;
On Thee our hopes we fix;
God save us all!

Thy choicest gifts in store,
On her be pleased to pour;

Long may she reign!
May she defend our laws,
And ever give us cause,
To sing, with heart and voice,

God save the Queen!



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