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ROBERT SOUTHEY.

"What! art thou critical?" quoth he; "Eschew that heart's disease That seeketh for displeasure where The intent hath been to please.

"By those four bells there hangs a tale,
Which being told, I guess,
Will make thee hear their scanty peal
With proper thankfulness.

"Not by the Cliffords were they given,
Nor by the Tuftons' line;
Thou hearest in that peal the crune
Of old John Brunskill's kine.

"On Stanemore's side, one summer eve,
John Brunskill sat to see
His herds in yonder Borrodale
Come winding up the lea.

"Behind them, on the lowland's verge,
In the evening light serene,
Brough's silent tower, then newly built
By Blenkinsop, was seen.

"Slowly they came in long array,
With loitering pace at will;
At times a low from them was heard,
Far off, for all was still.

"The hills returned that lonely sound Upon the tranquil air:

The only sound it was which then
Awoke the echoes there.

"Thou hear'st that lordly bull of mine,
Neighbor,' quoth Brunskill then :
'How loudly to the hills he crunes,
That crune to him again!

"Think'st thou if yon whole herd at once
Their voices should combine,
Were they at Brough, that we might not
Hear plainly from this upland spot
That cruning of the kine?'

"That were a crune, indeed,' replied
His comrade, 'which, I ween,
Might at the Spital well be heard,
And in all dales between.

"Up Mallerstang to Eden's springs, The eastern wind upon its wings

The mighty voice would bear; And Appleby would hear the sound, Methinks, when skies are fair.'

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"Then shall the herd,' John Brunskill

cried,

'From yon dumb steeple crune; And thou and I, on this hillside, Will listen to their tune.

"So, while the merry Bells of Brough
For many an age ring on,
John Brunskill will remembered be,
When he is dead and gone,

"As one who, in his latter years,
Contented with enough,
Gave freely what he well could spare
To buy the Bells of Brough.'

"Thus it hath proved: three hundred years

Since then have passed away, And Brunskill's is a living name Among us to this day.'

"More pleasure," I replied, "shall I From this time forthi partake, When I remember Helbeck woods,

For old John Brunskill's sake.

"He knew how wholesome it would be, Among these wild, wide fells And upland vales, to catch, at times,

The sound of Christian bells ;

"What feelings and what impulses
Their cadence might convey
To herdsman or to shepherd-boy,
Whiling in indolent employ
The solitary day;—

"That, when his brethren were convened To meet for social prayer,

He too, admonished by the call,
In spirit might be there;—

"Or when a glad thanksgiving sound,
Upon the winds of heaven,
Was sent to speak a nation's joy,

For some great blessing given, —

"For victory by sea or land,

And happy peace at length; Peace by his country's valor won,

And stablished by her strength;

"When such exultant peals were borne Upon the mountain air,

The sound should stir his blood, and give An English impulse there."

Such thoughts were in the old man's | I loved a love once, fairest among women!

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He curls up in his sanctuary shell.
He's his own landlord, his own tenant;
stay

Long as he will, he dreads no Quarter Day.
Himself he boards and lodges; both in-

vites

And feasts himself; sleeps with himself o' nights.

He spares the upholsterer trouble to pro

cure

Chattels; himself is his own furniture,
And his sole riches. Wheresoe'er he

roam,

Closed are her doors on me now, I must

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Like an ingrate, I left my friend abruptly; Left him, to muse on the old familiar faces.

Ghost-like I paced round the haunts of my childhood,

Earth seemed a desert I was bound to traverse,

Seeking to find the old familiar faces.

Friend of my bosom, thou more than a brother,

Why wert not thou born in my father's dwelling?

Somight we talk of the old familiar faces,—

How some they have died, and some they have left me,

And some are taken from me; all are departed;

All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.

HESTER.

WHEN maidens such as Hester die,
Their place ye may not well supply,
Though ye among a thousand try,

With vain endeavor.

A month or more hath she been dead,
Yet cannot I by force be led
To think upon the wormy bed
And her together.

Knock when you will, he's sure to be A springy motion in her gait,

at home.

THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES.

I HAVE had playmates, I have had companions,

In my days of childhood, in my joyful school-days;

All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.

I have been laughing, I have been carousing,

Drinking late, sitting late, with my bosom cronies;

All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.

A rising step, did indicate
Of pride and joy no common rate,
That flushed her spirit.

I know not by what name beside
I shall it call;-if 't was not pride,
It was a joy to that allied,
She did inherit.

Her parents held the Quaker rule,
Which doth the human feeling cool;
But she was trained in nature's school,
Nature had blessed her.

A waking eye, a prying mind,
A heart that stirs, is hard to bind;

JAMES HOGG.

A hawk's keen sight ye cannot blind, Ye could not Hester.

My sprightly neighbor, gone before To that unknown and silent shore, Shall we not meet, as heretofore,

Some summer morning,

When from thy cheerful eyes a ray Hath struck a bliss upon the day, A bliss that would not go away,

A sweet forewarning?

JAMES HOGG.

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Young Jock has ta'en the hill for 't,
A waefu' wight is he;

Poor Harry 's ta'en the bed for 't,
An' laid him down to dee;
And Sandy's gane unto the kirk,
And learnin fast to pray;
O, what will a' the lads do
When Maggy gangs away?

The young laird o' the Lang Shaw
Has drunk her health in wine;
The priest has said-in confidence-
The lassie was divine;

And that is mair in maiden's praise
Than ony priest should say;-
But O, what will the lads do
When Maggy gangs away?

The wailing in our green glen
That day will quaver high,

THE RAPTURE OF KILMENY.

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When many a day had come and fled, When grief grew calm, and hope was dead. When mass for Kilmeny's soul had been sung,

When the bedesman had prayed, and the dead-bell rung,

Late, late in a gloamin' when all was still,

When the fringe was red on the westlin' hill,

The wood was sere, the moon i' the wane, The reek o' the cot hung over the plain, Like a little wee cloud in the world its lane;

When the ingle lowed with an eiry leme, Late, late in the gloamin' Kilmeny came hame!

"Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been?

Lang hae we sought baith holt and den,
By linn, by ford, by greenwood tree,
Yet
you are halesome and fair to see.
Where gat you that joup o' the lily sheen?
That bonny snood o' the birk sae green!
And these roses, the fairest that ever were
seen?

Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been?"

Kilmeny looked up with a lovely grace, But nae smile was seen on Kilmeny's face;

T will draw the redbreast frae the wood, As still was her look, and as still was

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For Kilmeny had been she knew not | where,

And Kilmeny had seen what she could not declare.

Kilmeny had been where the cock never

crew,

Where the rain never fell, and the wind never blew;

But it seemed as the harp of the sky had

rung,

And the airs of heaven played round her tongue,

When she spake of the lovely forms she had seen,

And a land where sin had never been,
A land of love and a land of light,
Withouten sun or moon or night;
Where the river swa'd a living stream,
And the light a pure celestial beam :
The land of vision it would seem,
A still, an everlasting dream.
In yon green-wood there is a waik,
And in that waik there is a wene,
And in that wene there is a maike,
That neither has flesh, blood, nor bane;
And down in yon green-wood he walks
his lane.

In that green wene Kilmeny lay,
Her bosom happed wi' the flowerets gay;
But the air was soft, and the silence deep,
And bonny Kilmeny fell sound asleep;
She kend nae mair, nor opened her e'e,
Till waked by the hymns of a far countrye.
She awaked on a couch of the silk sae
slim,

All striped wi' the bars of the rainbow's rim;

And lovely beings round were rife, Who erst had travelled mortal life; And aye they smiled, and 'gan to speer, "What spirit has brought this mortal here?"

They clasped her waist and her hands sae fair,

They kissed her cheek, and they kemed her hair,

And round came many a blooming fere, Saying, "Bonny Kilmeny, ye 're welcome here!

"O, would the fairest of mortal kind
Aye keep the holy truths in mind,
That kindred spirits their motions see,
Who watch their ways with anxious e'e,
And grieve for the guilt of humanitye!
O, sweet to Heaven the maiden's prayer,

And the sigh that heaves a bosom sae fair!
And dear to Heaven the words of truth,
And the praise of virtue frae beauty's
mouth!

And dear to the viewless forms of air,
The minds that kythe as the body fair!
O bonny Kilmeny! free frae stain,
If ever you seek the world again,
That world of sin, of sorrow, and fear,
O, tell of the joys that are waiting here,
And tell of the signs you shall shortly see;
Of the times that are now, and the times
that shall be."

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THOMAS MOORE.

To warn the living maidens fair,
The loved of Heaven, the spirits' care,
That all whose minds unmeled remain
Shall bloom in beauty when time is gane.

With distant music, soft and deep,
They lulled Kilmeny sound asleep;
And when she awakened, she lay her lane,
All happed with flowers in the green-wood

wene.

When seven long years were come and fled;

When grief was calm, and hope was dead; When scarce was remembered Kilmeny's

name,

Late, late in a gloamin' Kilmeny ca.ne hame!

And O, her beauty was fair to see,
But still and steadfast was her e'e!
Such beauty bard may never declare,
For there was no pride nor passion there;
And the soft desire of maiden's een
In that mild face could never be seen.
Her seymar was the lily flower,
And her cheek the moss-rose in the shower,
And her voice like the distant melodye,
That floats along the twilight sea.
But she loved to raike the lanely glen,
And keeped afar frae the haunts of

men;

Her holy hymns unheard to sing,

To suck the flowers, and drink the spring.
But wherever her peaceful form appeared,
The wild beasts of the hill were cheered;
The wolf played blithely round the field,
The lordly bison lowed and kneeled;
The dun deer wooed with manner bland,
And cowered aneath her lily hand.
And when at even the woodlands rung,
When hymns of other worlds she sung
In ecstasy of sweet devotion,

O, then the glen was all in motion !
The wild beasts of the forest came,
Broke from their bughts and faulds the
tame,

And goved around, charmed and amazed;
Even the dull cattle crooned and gazed,
And murmured, and looked with anxious
pain

For something the mystery to explain.
The buzzard came with the throstle-cock;
The corby left her houf in the rock;
The blackbird alang wi' the eagle flew;
The hind came tripping o'er the dew;
The wolf and the kid their raike began,
And the tod, and the lamb, and the
leveret ran;

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FLY TO THE DESERT.

FLY to the desert, fly with me,
Our Arab tents are rude for thee;
But, O, the choice what heart can doubt,
Of tents with love, or thrones without?

Our rocks are rough, but smiling there
The acacia waves her yellow hair,
Lonely and sweet, nor loved the less
For flowering in a wilderness.
Our sands are bare, but down their slope
The silvery-footed antelope
As gracefully and gayly springs
As o'er the marble courts of kings.

Then come,thy Arab maid will be
The loved and lone acacia-tree,
The antelope, whose feet shall bless
With their light sound thy loveliness.

O, there are looks and tones that dart
An instant sunshine through the heart,
As if the soul that minute caught
Some treasure it through life had sought;

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