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THE PROMISE OF CHILDHOOD,

THE PROMISE OF CHILDHOOD.

A ROSE-BUD by my early walk,
Adown a corn-enclosed bawk,
Sae gently bent its thorny stalk,

All on a dewy morning.

Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fled,
In a' its crimson glory spread,
And drooping rich the dewy head,

It scents the early morning.

Within the bush, her covert nest
A little linnet fondly prest,
The dew sat chilly on her breast

Sae early in the morning.

She soon shall see her tender brood,
The pride, the pleasure o' the wood,
Amang the fresh green leaves bedew'd,

Awake the early morning.

So thou, dear bird, young Jeany fair,
On trembling string, or vocal air,
Shall sweetly pay the tender care

That tents thy early morning.

So thou, sweet rose-bud, young and gay,
Shalt beauteous blaze upon the day,
And bless the parent's evening ray

That watch'd thy early morning.

R. Burns.

BLIGHTED IN THE BUD.

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BLIGHTED IN THE BUD.

THREE years she grew in sun and shower;
Then Nature said, “A lovelier flower
On earth was never sown:
This child I to myself will take;
She shall be mine, and I will make
A lady of my own.

“Myself will to my darling be
Both law and impulse: and with me
The girl, in rock and plain,
In earth and heaven, in glade and bower
Shall feel an overseeing power
To kindle or restrain.

“She shall be sportive as the fawn
That wild with glee across the lawn
Or up the mountain springs;
And her's shall be the breathing balm,
And her's the silence and the calm
Of mute insensate things.

“The floating clouds their state shall lend
To her; for her the willow bend;
Nor shall she fail to see
E'en in the motions of the storm
Grace that shall rnould the maiden's form
By silent sympathy.

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BLIGHTED IN THE BUD.

“The stars of midnight shall be dear
To her; and she shall lean her ear
In many a secret place
Where rivulets dance their wayward round,
And beauty born of murmuring sound
Shall
pass

into her face.

“And vital feelings of delight
Shall rear her form to stately height,
Her virgin bosom swell;
Such thoughts to Lucy I will give
While she and I together live
Here in this happy dell.”

Thus Nature spake:—

The work was done-
How soon my Lucy's race was run!
She died, and left to me
This heath, this calm and quiet scene;
The memory of what has been,
And never more will be.

William Wordsworth. BEREAVEMENT.

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BEREAVEMENT.

SHE dwelt among the untrodden ways

Beside the springs of Dove;
A maid whom there were none to praise,

And very few to love.

A violet by a mossy stone

Half-hidden from the eye!
-Fair as a star, when only one

Is shining in the sky.

She lived unknown, and few could know

When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and O!
The difference to me!

W. Wordsworth.

Moa.

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RECONCILEMENT THROUGH LOSS.

RECONCILEMENT THROUGH LOSS.

As thro' the land at eve we went,

And plucked the ripened ears,
We fell out, my wife and I,
We fell out, I know not why,

And kissed again with tears.

And blessings on the falling out

That all the more endears,
When we fall out with those we love,

And kiss again with tears!

For when we came where lies the child

We lost in other years,
There above the little grave,
O there above the little grave,
We kissed again with tears.

A. Tennyson.

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