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My cool and rustling leaves;
And I could feel them there
As in the quiet shade

They stood, with tender thoughts
That past along their life
Like wings on a still lake,
Blessing me; and to God,
The blesséd God, who cares
For all my little leaves,
Went up the silent praise;
And I was glad, with joy
Which life of laboring things

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Into a life of rest.

Ages have fled since then: But deem not my pierced trunk And scanty leafage serves No high behest; my name Is sounded far and wide; And in the Providence That guides the steps of men, Hundreds have come to view My grandeur in decay;

And there hath passed from me
A quiet influence

Into the minds of men:
The silver head of age,

The majesty of laws,
The very name of God,
And holiest things that are,
Have won upon the heart,

Of humankind the more,

For that I stand to meet
With vast and bleaching trunk
The rudeness of the sky.

Henry Alford.

Olney.

ON VISITING COWPER'S GARDEN AND SUMMER-HOUSE AT

A

OLNEY.

RE these the trees? is this the place?

These roses, did they bloom for him?
Trod he these walks with thoughtful pace?
Passed he amid these borders trim ?

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Methinks it seems for such a guest!
Why risc not columns, dome-bespread,
By art's elaborate fingers drest?

Art waits on wealth; there let her roam,
Iler fabrics rear, her temples gild;
But Genius, where he seeks a home,
Must send for Nature's self to build.

This quiet garden's humble bound,
This homely roof, this rustic fane,
With playful tendrils twining round,
And woodbines peeping at the pane;

That tranquil, tender sky of blue,
Where clouds of golden radiance skim,
Those ranging trees of varied hue,
These were the sights that solaced him.

We stept within: at once on each
A feeling steals, so undefined;
In vain we seek to give it speech,
'Tis silent homage paid to mind.

They tell us here he thought and wrote,
On this low seat, reclining thus ;
Ye garden breezes, as ye float

Why bear ye no such thoughts to us?

Perhaps the balmy air was fraught
With breath of heaven; or did he toil
In precious mines of sparkling thought
Concealed beneath the curious soil?

Did zephyrs bear on golden wings
Rich treasures from the honeyed dew?
Or are there here celestial springs
Of living waters, whence he drew?

And here he suffered! this recess
Where even Nature failed to cheer,
Has witnessed oft his deep distress,
And precious drops have fallen here!

Here are no richly sculptured urns
The consecrated dust to cover;
But Nature smiles and weeps, by turns,
In memory of her fondest lover.

Jane Taylor.

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Otter, the River.

SONNET TO THE RIVER OTTER.

DEAR native brook! wild streamlet of the West!

How many various-fated years have past,

What happy and what mournful hours, since last
I skimmed the smooth thin stone along thy breast,
Numbering its light leaps! yet so deep imprest
Sink the sweet scenes of childhood, that mine eyes
I never shut amid the sunny ray,

But straight with all their tints thy waters rise,
Thy crossing-plank, thy marge with willows gray,
And bedded sand that, veined with various dyes,
Gleamed through thy bright transparence! On my way,
Visions of childhood! oft have ye beguiled

Lone manhood's cares, yet waking fondest sighs:
Ah! that once more I were a careless child!

Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

IT

Otterburn.

THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE.

fell about the Lammas-tide,

When the muir-men win their hay,

The doughty Douglas bound him to ride
Into England, to drive a prey.

He chose the Gordons and the Græmes,
With them the Lindesays, light and gay;
But the Jardines wald not with him ride,
And they rue it to this day.

And he has burned the dales of Tyne,
And part of Bambrough shire;

And three good towers on Reidswire fells,
He left them all on fire.

And he marched up to Newcastle,

And rode it round about;

"O, wha's the lord of this castle, Or wha's the lady o't?"

But up spake proud Lord Percy then,
And O but he spake hie!

"I am the lord of this castle,
My wife's the lady gay."

"If thou 'rt the lord of this castle,
Sae weel it pleases me!
For, ere I cross the Border fells,
The tane of us shall dee."

He took a lang spear in his hand,
Shod with the metal free,

And for to meet the Douglas there
He rode right furiouslie.

But O how pale his lady looked,
Frae aff the castle wa',

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