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He shall have a cheerful home;

She will order all things duly,

When beneath his roof they come.

Thus her heart rejoices greatly,

Till a gateway she discerns,

With armorial bearings stately,

And beneath the gate she turns;

Sees a mansion more majestic

Than all those she saw belore;

Many a gallant gay domestic,

Bows before him at the door.

And they speak in gentle murmur,

When they answer to his call,

While he treads with footsteps firmer,

Leading on from hall to hall.

And while now she wonders blindly,

Nor the meaning can divine,

Proudly turns he round and kindly,

"All of this is mine and thine,"

Here he lives in state and bounty,

Lord of Burleigh, fair and free,

Not a lord in all the county

Is so great a lord as he.

All at once the colour flushes

Her sweet face from brow to chin:

As it were with shame the blushes,

And her spirit changed within.

Then her countenance all over,

Pale again as death did prove:

But he clasped her like a lover,

And he cheered her soul with love.

So she strove against her weakness,

Though at times her spirits sank;

Shaped her heart with woman's meekness, To all duties of her rank:

And a gentle consort made he,

And her gentle mind was such,

That she grew a noble lady,

And the people loved her much.

But a trouble weighed upon her,

And perplexed her night and morn,

With the burden of an honour

Unto which she was not born.

Faint she grew, and ever fainter,

As she murmur'd, " O, that he

"Were once more that landscape painter

"Which did win my heart from me!"

So she drooped and drooped before him,

Fading slowly from his side:

Three fair children first she bore him,

Then before her time she died.

Weeping, weeping late and early,

Walking up and pacing down,

Deeply mourned the Lord of Burleigh,

Burleigh House by Stamford town.

And he came to look upon her,

And he looked at her, and said,

"Bring the dress, and put it on her,

"That she wore when she was wed."

Then her people, softly treading,

Bore to earth her body drest

In the dress that she was wed in,

That her spirit might have rest.

Tennyson. 42.—FOR A'THAT AND ATHAT.

Is there, for honest poverty,
That hangs his head, and a'that?
The coward slave, we pass him by,
And dare he poor for a'that!
For a'that, and a'that,
Our toils obscure, and a'that;
The rank is but the guinea's stamp;
The man's the gowd for a'that.

What tho' on hamely fare we dine,

Wear hodden,-grey, and a'that;

Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,

A man's a man for a'that.

For a'that, and a'that,

Their tinsel show, and a'that;

An honest man, though e'er sae poor,

Is king o'men for a'that.

Ye see yon birkie,a ca'd a lord,
Wha struts, and stares, and a'that;
Tho' hundreds worship at his word,
He's but a coofB for a'that:
For a'that, and a'that,
His riband, star and a'that;
The man of independent mind,
He looks and laughs at a'that.

A prince can mak a belted knight,

A marquis, duke, and a'that;

But an honest man's aboon his might,

Guid faith he mauna fa' that!

For a'that, and a'that,

Their dignities, and a'that,

humble. a a clever fellow. 3 a blockhead.

G

The pith o'sense, and pride o'worth,
Are higher ranks than a'that.

Then let us pray, that come it may,
As come it will for a'that,
When sense and worth, o'er a'the earth,
Shall bear the gree,4 and a'that:
For a'that, and a'that,
It's coming yet, for a'that,
That man to man, the warld o'er,
Shall brothers be for a'that.

Burns.

43.^-FAITHLESS SALLY BROWN.

Young Ben he was a nice young man,
A carpenter by trade;
And he fell in love with Sally Brown,
That was a lady's maid.

But as they fetch'd a walk one day,
They met a press-gang crew;
And Sally she did faint away,
Whilst Ben he was brought to —

The boatswain swore with wicked words,
Enough to shock a saint,
That though she did seem in a fit,
'Twas nothing but a feint.

"Come, girl," said he, "hold up your head,
"He'll be as good as me;
"For when your swain is in our boat,
"A boatswain he will be."

So when they'd made their game of her,
And taken off her elf,

4 be the victor.

She roused and found she only was
A-coming to herself.

"And is he gone, and is he gone?"
She cried, and wept outright:
"Then I will to the water-side,
"And see him out of sight."

A waterman came up to her,
"Now, young woman," said he,
"If you weep on so, you will make
"Eye-water in the sea."

"Alas! they've taken my beau Ben
"To sail with old Benbow ;"
And her woe began to run afresh,
As if she'd said Gee woe!

Says he, "They've only taken him
"To the Tender ship, you see ;"
"The Tender ship," cried Sally Brown,
"What a hard-ship that must be!

"O! would I were a mermaid now
"For then I'd follow him;
"But oh ! I'm not a fish-woman,
"And so I cannot swim.

"Alas ! I was not born beneath
"The Virgin and the Scales,
"So I must curse my cruel stars,
"And walk about in Wales."

Now Ben had sail'd to many a place
That's underneath the world;
But in two years the ship came home,
And all her sails were furl'd.

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