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expressing the prayerful attitude with which he approached the eternal future. . . . -

, , “SHE LOVED MUCH. “She sat and wept beside His feet. The weight Of sin oppressed her heart; for all the blame, And the poor malice of the worldly shame, To her was past, extinct, and out of date; Only the sin remained—the leprous state. She would be melted by the heat of love, By fires far fiercer than are blown to prove And purge the silver ore adulterate. She sat and wept, and with her untressed hair Still wiped the feet she was so blest to touch; And He wiped off the soiling of despair From her sweet soul, because she loved so much. I am a sinner, full of doubts and fears, Make me a humble thing of love and tears.”

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ISS WORDSWORTH did not write much • . 1 poetry. The few pieces she has left behind, though not of the highest order, are sufficient to show that had she devoted herself to it, she might have attained distinction.* She was so devoted to her brother that she did not attempt for herself an independent position. She preferred to find subjects for the more skilful pen of her brother, and to act as his amanuensis.” The poems that she did write, and which have been published with those of her brother, are worthy. of a place here.” The first of these, written in 1805, is— - “THE COTTAGER To HER INFANT. • (Suggested to Miss Wordsworth when watching one of the Poet's - Children.) “The days are cold, the nights are long, The north wind sings a doleful song; - Then hush again upon my breast; All merry things are now at rest, Save thee, my pretty Love!

“The kitten sleeps upon the hearth,
. The crickets long have ceased their mirth;

There's nothing stirring in the house
Save one wee, hungry, nibbling mouse,
Then why so busy thou?

“Nay! start not at that sparkling light;
'Tis but the moon that shines so bright
On the window pane, bedropped with rain:
Then, little Darling ! sleep again,
And wake when it is day.”

The following (written in 1806) has been described by Charles Lamb as masterly:-


Even ING).

“what way does the Wind come P. What way does he go?

He rides over the water, and over the snow;
Through wood and through vale; and o'er rocky height
Which the goat cannot climb, takes his sounding
- flight; - -
He tosses about in every bare tree,
As, if you look up, you plainly may see;
But how he will come, and whither he goes,
There's never a scholar in England knows.
He will suddenly stop in a cunning nook,
And ring a sharp 'larum;-but, if you should look,
There's nothing to see but a cushion of snow
Round as a pillow, and whiter than milk,
And softer than if it were covered with silk.
Sometimes he'll hide in the cave of a rock,
Then whistle as shrill as the buzzard cock;

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—Yet seek him,-and what shall you find in the place? Nothing but silence and empty space; Save, in a corner, a heap of dry leaves, That he's left, for a bed, to beggars or thieves | As soon as 'tis daylight to-morrow, with me, You shall go to the orchard, and then you will see . That Hé has been thée, and máde such a rout, And cracked the branches, and strewn them about; Heaven gránt that he o but that ofte upright twig . Thät looked (p at the sky so proud and big 'All last summer, as well you know, Studded with apples, a beautiful show ! Hark! over the roof he makes a pause, And growls as if he would fix his claws : Right in the slates, and with a huge rattle, Drive them down, like men in a battle : —Butlet him range round; he does us no harm, We build up the fire, we're snug and warm ; Untouched by his breath, see the candle shines bright, And burns.with a clear and steady light; Books hite we to read-but that häfstified khell, Alas! 'tis the sound of the eight o'clock bell. —Come now, we'll to bed 1 and when we are there, He may work his own will, and whatshall we care He may knock at the door, we'll not let him in ; May drive at the windows, we'll laugh at his din; Let him seek his own home, wherever it be ; Here's a cofie warm house for Edward and me." '

\ The next (also a child's poem), written in 1807, was composed on the eve of the return of Mrs. Wordsworth, after a month's absence in London, Miss Wordsworth and the children were then staying at Coleorton:- .


“A month, sweet little-ones, is past .
Since your dear Mother went awāy,
And she to-morrow will return;
To-morrow is the happy day.

“O blessed tidings I thought of joy
The eldest heard with steady glee;
Silent he stood; then laughed amain, -
And shouted, “Mother, come to me !'

“Louder and louder did he shout,
With withess hope to bring her near;
“Nay, patience patience, little boy I
Your tender mother cannot hear.’

“I told of hills, and far-off towns,
And long, long vales to travel through;-
He listens, puzzled, sore perplexed,
But he submits; what can he do?

“No strife disturbs his sister's breast; .
She wars not with the mystery
Of time and distance, night and day;
The bonds of our humanity.

“Her joy is like an instinct—joy
Of kitten, bird, or summer fly;
She dances, runs without an aim;
She chatters in her ecstacy.

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