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I remember, I remember
But now 'tis little joy
To know I'm farther off from heav'n
Than when I was a boy.
ODE TO THE CUCKOO.
HAIL, beauteous stranger of the grove!
What time the daisy decks the green,
Delightful visitant! with thee
I hail the time of flowers,
The school-boy, wandering through the wood
Starts, the new voice of Spring to hear,
And imitates thy lay.
What time the pea puts on the bloom
Thou fliest thy vocal vale,
An annual guest in other lands,
Another Spring to hail.
Sweet bird! thy bower is ever green,
Thy sky is ever clear;
Thou hast no sorrow in thy song,
O, could I fly, I'd fly with thee!
WHEN Britain first, at Heaven's command,
This was the charter of the land,
Rule, Britannia, rule the waves;
The nations, not so bless'd as thee,
Must, in their turns, to tyrants fall;
Still more majestic shalt thou rise,
Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame;
To thee belongs the rural reign;
Thy cities shall with commerce shine;
The Muses, still with freedom found,
Bless'd isle! with matchless beauty crown'd,
And manly hearts to guard the fair :
Rule, Britannia, rule the waves,
Britons never will be slaves."
THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD.
THEY grew in beauty side by side,
They filled one home with glee ;Their graves are severed far and wide, By mount, and stream, and sea.
The same fond mother bent at night
One, 'midst the forests of the West,
The Indian knows his place of rest,
The sea, the blue lone sea, hath one-
One sleeps where Southern vines are drest
He wrapt his colours round his breast
And one-o'er her the myrtle showers
And parted thus they rest, who played
They that with smiles lit up the hall,
And naught beyond, O Earth!
F. D. HEMANS.
"SOLDIER, rest! thy warfare o'er,
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking; Dream of battled fields no more,
Days of danger, nights of waking. In our isle's enchanted hall,
Hands unseen thy couch are strewing,
Fairy strains of music fall,
Every sense in slumber dewing.
Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er,
Dream of fighting-fields no more:
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking,
"No rude sound shall reach thine ear,
Mustering clan, or squadron tramping.
"Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done, While our slumbrous spells assail ye, Dream not, with the rising sun,
Bugles here shall sound reveillé.
Sleep! thy hounds are by thee lying;