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OME back, come back together,

All fancies of the past,

Ye days of April weather,
Ye shadows that are cast

By the haunted hours before!
Come back, come back, my childhood ;

Thou art summoned by a spell
From the green leaves of the wildwood,

From beside the charmed well,
For Red Riding Hood, the darling,
The flower

of fairy lore ! The fields were covered over

With colours as she went; Daisy, buttercup, and clover Below her footsteps bent;

mer shed its shining store ; She was happy as she press'd them

Beneath her little feet;
She plucked them and caressed them ;

They were so very sweet,

They had never seemed so sweet before, To Red Riding Hood, the darling,

The flower of fairy lore.
How the heart of childhood dances

Upon a sunny day!
It has its own romances,
And a wide, wide world have they !

A world where Phantasie is king,
Made all of eager dreaming ;

When once grown up and tallNow is the time for schemingThen we shall do them all!

Do such pleasant fancies spring For Red Riding Hood, the darling, The flower of fairy lore ?

She seems like an ideal love,

The poetry of childhood shown,
And yet loved with a real love,
As if she were our own

A younger sister for the heart;
Like the woodland pheasant,

Her hair is brown and bright; And her smile is pleasant,

With its rosy light,

Never can the memory part
With Red Riding Hood, the darling,

The flower of fairy lore.
Did the painter, dreaming

In a morning hour, Catch the fairy seeming Of this fairy flower ?

Winning it with eager eyes
From the old enchanted stories,

Lingering with a long delight
On the unforgotten glories
Of the infant sight ?

Giving us a sweet surprise
In Red Riding Hood, the darling,

The flower of fairy lore !
Too long in the meadow staying,

Where the cowslip bends,
With the buttercups delaying
As with early friends,

Did the little maiden stay.
Sorrowful the tale for us;

We, too, loiter 'mid life's flowers,
A little while so glorious,
So soon lost in darker hours.

All love lingering on their way,
Like Red Riding Hood, the darling,
The flower of fairy lore.

E. L. Landon.



S a beam o'er the face of the waters may glow,
While the tide runs in darkness and coldness

below, So the cheek may be tinged with a warm sunny

smile, Though the cold heart to ruin runs darkly the while. One fatal remembrance, one sorrow that throws Its bleak shade alike o'er our joys and our woes, To which life nothing darker or brighter can bring, For which joy has no balm and affliction no sting! Oh! this thought in the midst of enjoyment will stay Like a dead leafless branch in the summer's bright

ray ; The beams of the warm sun play round it in vain, It may smile in his light, but it blooms not again.



HROUGH the green wood-paths, with bird

songs about her,

May has come softly, the beautiful child ! Skies that were sullen and joyless without her,

Broke into sunshine above her, and smiled. Green on the uplands the wheat-fields are springing,

Cowslips are shining, and daisies are white; Through the still meadows the waters are singing,

Brimming with melody, flashing with light. Blooming with clover the orchards are growing,

Flecked by the shadows that tremble and glide; Round their grey trunks, when the west wind is

Sways the young grass in a billowy tide

Strong as the arms of a giant, yet tender,

See what a treasure they lift to the sky ! Take

your red roses, aflame with their splendour, We love the apple-trees, robin and I. Hark! how the joyous bird, flashing and glowing,

Trills his clear whistle, so mellow and wild, Where, o’er the tops, with a lavish bestowing,

Drift upon drift, the sweet blossoms are piled. Where is the lip that has worthily sung them ?

Tinted like sea-shells, or whiter than snow. Bees, all the day, as they linger among them,

Drowsy with nectar, are murmuring low. Pillowed beneath them, I dream, as I listen,

How the long summer above them shall shine, Till on the boughs the ripe fruitage shall glisten,

Tawny and golden, or redder than wine. In the bright days of the mellow September,

How we shall shout as we gather them in, Hoarding their wealth for the chilly December,

Heaping them high in the cellar and bin. Then, when the snow in the moonlight is gleaming,

Out from the darkness the apples we'll bring, Praising their sweets, where the firelight's beaming;

Globes of rich nectar, a poet might sing. Tales of the glowing south lips may be telling ;

Yet, when the legends are done, we shall say, “ Here's to the land where the summer is dwelling;

Here's to the apple-tree, nionarch of May!”


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HEN the srcep are in the fauld, and the kye's

come hame,

And a' the warld to rest are gane; The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my e'e, Unkent by my gudeman who sleeps sound by me. Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and he sought me for

his bride; But saving a crown-piece, he had naething beside ; To mak the crown a pound, my Jamie gaed to sea; And the crown and the pound they were baith for me. He hadna been gone a twelvemonth and a day, When my father brake his arm and the cow was stown

away; My mither she fell sick---my Jamie at the seaAnd auld Robin Gray came a-courting me. My father couldna work, and my mither couldna

spin; I toiled day and night, but their bread I couldna win; Auld Rob maintain'd them baith, and, wi' tears in

his e'e, Said, “ Jennie, oh, for their sakes, will ye no marry


My heart it said na, and I look'd for Jamie back;
But hard blew the winds, and his ship was a wrack;
The ship was a wrack-why didna Jamie dee?
Or why am I spared to cry, Wae is me?
My father urged me sair: my mither didna speak;
But she look'd in my face till my heart was like to

break; They gied him my hand-my heart was in the seaAnd so Robin Gray he was gudeman to me.

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