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THE SHEPHERD'S HOME

WILLIAM SHENSTONE

Y banks they are furnished with bees, Whose murmur invites one to sleep; My grottos are shaded with trees,

And my hills are white over with sheep. I seldom have met with a loss,

Such health do my fountains bestow; My fountains all bordered with moss, Where the harebells and violets blow.

Not a pine in the grove is there seen,
But with tendrils of woodbine is bound;
Not a beech's more beautiful green,

But a sweet-brier entwines it around.
Not my fields in the prime of the year,
More charms than my cattle unfold;
Not a brook that is limpid and clear,
But it glitters with fishes of gold.

I have found out a gift for my fair,

I have found where the wood-pigeons breed; But let me such plunder forbear,

She will say 'twas a barbarous deed;

For he ne'er could be true, she averred,

Who would rob a poor bird of its young; And I loved her the more when I heard Such tenderness fall from her tongue.

HOW SLEEP THE BRAVE

WILLIAM COLLINS

OW sleep the brave, who sink to rest By all their country's wishes blessed! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.

By fairy hands their knell is rung;
By forms unseen their dirge is sung;
There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray,
To bless the turf that wraps their clay;
And Freedom shall awhile repair,
To dwell, a weeping hermit, there!

SPRING

From ODE ON THE PLEASURE ARISING FROM VICISSITUDE

N

THOMAS GRAY

OW the golden morn aloft

Waves her dew-bespangled wing,

With vermeil cheek and whisper soft
She woos the tardy spring;

Till April starts, and calls around

The sleeping fragrance from the ground, And lightly o'er the living scene

Scatters his freshest, tenderest green.

New-born flocks, in rustic dance,
Frisking ply their feeble feet;
Forgetful of their wintry trance,

The birds his presence greet:
But chief, the sky-lark warbles high
His trembling thrilling ecstacy;

And lessening from the dazzled sight,
Melts into air and liquid light.

THE SCHOOLMASTER

From THE DESERTED VILLAGE

OLIVER GOLDSMITH

BESIDE yon straggling fence that skirts the way

With blossomed furze unprofitably gay, There in his noisy mansion skilled to rule, The village master taught his little school. A man severe he was, and stern to view; I knew him well, and every truant knew: Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace The day's disasters in his morning face; Full well they laughed with counterfeited glee At all his jokes, for many a joke had he; Full well the busy whisper, circling round, Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned. Yet he was kind, or if severe in aught, The love he bore to learning was in fault. The village all declared how much he knew, 'Twas certain he could write, and cipher, too; Lands he could measure, times and tides presage, And e'en the story ran that he could gauge. In arguing too, the parson owned his skill; For e'en though vanquished, he could argue still; While words of learned length, and thund'ring sound, Amazed the gazing rustics ranged aroundAnd still they gazed, and still the wonder grew, That one small head could carry all he knew.

THE CRICKET

WILLIAM COWPER

ITTLE inmate, full of mirth,

LITTLE

Chirping on my kitchen hearth,
Wheresoe'er be thine abode
Always harbinger of good,
Pay me for thy warm retreat
With a song more soft and sweet;
In return thou shalt receive
Such a strain as I can give.

Thus thy praise shall be expressed,
Inoffensive, welcome guest!
While the rat is on the scout,

And the mouse with curious snout,
With what vermin else infest
Every dish, and spoil the best;
Frisking thus before the fire,

Thou hast all thy heart's desire.

Though in voice and shape they be
Formed as if akin to thee,
Thou surpassest, happier far,
Happiest grasshoppers that are;
Theirs is but a summer's song -
Thine endures the winter long,
Unimpaired, and shrill, and clear,
Melody throughout the year.

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