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REMEMBER, I remember
The house where I was born,

The little window where the sun
Came peeping in at morn ;
He never came a wink too soon,
Nor brought too long a day;
But now I often wish the night
Had borne

my
breath

away y !

I remember, I remember
The roses, red and white,
The violets, and the lily-cups,
Those flowers made of light !
The lilacs where the robin built,
And where my brother set
The laburnum on his birthday,
The tree is living yet!

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I remember, I remember
Where I was used to swing,
And thought the air must rush as fresh
To swallows on the wing ;
My spirit flew in feathers then,
That is so heavy now,
And summer pools could hardly cool
The fever on my brow!
I remember, I remember
The fir-trees dark and high ;
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky :
It was a childish ignorance,
But now 't is little joy
To know I'm farther off from heaven
Than when I was a boy.

THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM.

WAS in the prime of summer time, UL

An evening calm and cool,

And four-and-twenty happy boys Came bounding out of school ;

There were some that ran and some that leapt,

Like troutlets in a pool.

Away they sped with gamesome minds,

And souls untouched by sin ;
To a level mead they came, and there

They drave the wickets in :
Pleasantly shone the setting sun

Over the town of Lynn.

Like sportive deer they coursed about,

And shouted as they ran,
Turning to mirth all things of earth,

As only boyhood can ;
But the usher sat remote from all,

A melancholy man !

His hat was off, his vest apart,

To catch heaven's blessed breeze ;
For a burning thought was in his brow,

And his bosom ill at ease :
So he leaned his head on his hands, and read

The book between his knees !

Leaf after leaf he turned it o'er,

Nor ever glanced aside, -

For the

peace

of his soul he read that book In the golden eventide ; Much study had made him very lean,

And pale, and leaden-eyed.

At last he shut the ponderous tone ;

With a fast and fervent grasp
He strained the dusky covers close,

And fixed the brazen hasp :
“O God ! could I so close my mind,

And clasp it with a clasp !"

Then leaping on his feet upright,

Some moody turns he took, Now

up the mead, then down the mead, And past a shady nook, And, lo ! he saw a little boy

That pored upon a book !

“My gentle lad, what is 't you read,

Romance or fairy fable ? Or is it some historic page,

Of kings and crowns unstable ?” The young boy gave an upward glance, –

“ It is · The Death of Abel.»

The usher took six hasty strides,

As smit with sụdden pain, -
Six hasty strides beyond the place,

Then slowly back again ;
And down he sat beside the lad,

And talked with him of Cain ;

And, long since then, of bloody men,

Whose deeds tradition saves ;
Of lonely folk cut off unseen,

And hid in sudden graves ;
Of horrid stabs, in groves forlorn,

And murders done in caves ;

And how the sprites of injured men

Shriek upward from the sod, Ay, how the ghostly hand will point

To show the burial clod ;
And unknown facts of guilty acts

Are seen in dreams from God !

He told how murderers walk the earth

Beneath the curse of Cain, With crimson clouds before their eyes,

And flames about their brain :

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