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His joy at sight of thee,
His tricks, his mimicry,

And all his little wiles !

Oh! these are recollections

Round mothers' hearts that cling, That mingle with the tears And smiles of after years,

With oft awakening.

But thou wilt then, fond mother,

In after years look back, (Time brings such wonderous easing) With sadness not unpleasing,

E'en on this gloomy track.

Thou'lt say, My first born blessing !

It almost broke my heart, When thou wert forced to go ; And yet, for thee I know,'.

'Twas better to depart.

• God took thee in his mercy,

A lamb untasked, untried,
He fought the fight for thee,
He won the victory!
And thou art sanctified !

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SHE IS FAR FROM THE LAND.

She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps,

And lovers around her are sighing ;
But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps,

For her heart in his grave is lying !

She sings the wild song of her dear native plains,

Every note which he loved awaking :
Ah! little they think who delight in her strains,

How the heart of the minstrel is breaking !

He had lived for his love, for his country he died ;

They were all that to life had entwined him; Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried,

Nor long will his love stay behind him !

Oh! make her a grave where the sun-beams rest,

When they promise a glorious morrow ; They'll shine o'er her sleep, like a smile from the west, From her own loved island of sorrow !

Moore. TO THE MEMORY OF A YOUNG LADY.

She is gone

far away. to where Seraphs shall sing Her welcome to bowers of bliss ! And the harps of the blest shall sweetly ring

For her flight from a world like this !

She has gone to the home of the gentle heart,

With spirits of light around herWhere the glow of that innocence ne'er shall depart

In which heaven's messenger found her.

Then weep not for her who brightly came

To beam round her path delight, And ere earth sullied the soul's

Has fled with an angel's flight.

pure flame,

Thou blossoming virtue I thou could'st not die !

But a brighter clime is o'er thee,
And it is not thy fate that demands a sigh,
But the desolate hearts that deplore thee !

Anon.

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