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Why didst thou praise my humble charms,

And, oh ! then leave them to decay ? Why didst thou win me to thy arms,

Then leave me to mourn the livelong day? The village maidens of the plain

Salute me lowly as they go : Envious they mark my silken train,

Nor think a countess can have woe.

The simple nymphs ! they little know

How far more happy's their estate; To smile for joy, than sigh for woe;

To be content, than to be great.

How far less blessed am I than them,

Daily to pine and waste with care ! Like the poor plant, that, from its stem

Divided, feels the chilling air

Nor, cruel Earl ! can I enjoy

The humble charms of solitude ; Your minions proud my peace destroy,

By sullen frowns, or pratings rude. Last night, as sad I chanced to stray,

The village death-bell smote my ear; They winked aside, and seemed to say,

'Countess, prepare—thy end is near. And now, while happy peasants sleep,

Here I sit lonely and forlorn ; No one to soothe me as I

weep, Save Philomel on yonder thorn. My spirits flag, my hopes decay;

Still that dread death-bell smites my ear; And many a body seems to say,

'Countess, prepare—thy end is near.'

6

Thus sore and sad that lady grieved

In Cumnor Hall, so lone and drear ; And many a heartfelt sigh she heaved,

And let fall many a bitter tear. And ere the dawn of day appear'd,

In Cumnor Hall, so lone and drear,
Full many a piercing scream was heard,

And many a cry of mortal fear.
The death-bell thrice was heard to ring,

An aerial voice was heard to call,
And thrice the raven flapped his wing

Around the towers of Cumnor Hall.

The mastiff howled at village door,

The oaks were shatter'd on the green; Woe was the hour, for never more

That hapless Countess e'er was seen.

And in that manor, now no more

Is cheerful feast or sprightly ball ; For ever since that dreary hour

Have spirits haunted Cumnor Hall. The village maids, with fearful glance,

Avoid the ancient moss-grown wall ; Nor ever lead the merry dance

Among the groves of Cumnor Hall. Full many a traveller has sigh’d,

And pensive wept the Countess' fall, As wandering onwards they've espied The haunted towers of Cumnor Hall.

Mickle.

RUTH.

,

HE stood breast high amid the corn

Like the sweetheart of the sun,
Who many a glowing kiss had won.
On her cheek an autumn flush
Deeply ripen'd ;---such a blush
In the midst of brown was born,
Like red poppies grown with corn
Round her eyes her tresses fell-
Which were blackest none could tell ;
But long lashes veiled a light
That had else been all too bright.
And her hat, with shady brim,
Made her tressy forehead dim ;-
Thus she stood amid the stooks,
Praising God with sweetest looks.
Sure, I said, Heaven did not mean
Where I reap thou shouldst but glean;
Lay thy sheaf adown and come,
Share my harvest and my home.

Hood.

L

SUNRISE.
O! here the gentle lark, weary of rest,

From his moist cabinet mounts up on high,
And wakes the morning from whose silver

breast
The sun ariseth in its majesty,
Who doth the world so gloriously behold,
The altar tops and hills seem burnished gold.

Shakspeare.

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COME, I come! ye have called me long;

I come o'er the mountains with light and song ;

Ye may trace my step o'er the wakening earth,
By the winds which tell of the violet's birth,
By the primrose stars on the shadowy grass,
By the green leaves opening as I pass.

I have breathed on the south, and the chestnut flowers
By thousands have burst from the forest bowers ;
And the ancient graves and the fallen fanes
Are veiled with wreaths on Italian plains ;
But it is not for me, or my hour of bloom
To speak of the ruin or the tomb.

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Away from the dweliings of ease-
The waters are sparkling il gruve an
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The young leaves are dancing ir. breer mer
Their bright stems thrill to the wild woul sta
And youth is abroad in my green domains.

Mrs. Hem

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