But they answer, "Are your cowslips of the meadows Like our weeds a-near the mine? Leave us quiet in the dark of the coalshadows, From your pleasures fair and fine! "For oh," say the children, "we are weary, And we cannot run or leap; If we cared for any meadows, it were merely To drop down in them and sleep. Our knees tremble sorely in the stooping, We fall upon our faces, trying to go; And, underneath our heavy eyelids drooping, The reddest flower would look as pale as Turn the black flies that crawl along the "Two words, indeed, of praying we re ceiling, member, And at midnight's hour of harm, Our Father,' looking upward in the cham ber, We say softly for a charm. We know no other words except 'Our Father,' And we think that, in some pause of angels' song, Ay, be silent! Let them hear each other God may pluck them with the silence breathing For a moment, mouth to mouth! Let them touch each other's hands, in a fresh wreathing Of their tender human youth! Let them feel that this cold metallic motion Is not all the life God fashions or re veals; "But no!" say the children, weeping Our blood splashes upward, O gold faster, "He is speechless as a stone: And they tell us of His image is the master, Go to!" say the children,-" up in heaven, Do not mock us; grief has made us unbelieving : We look up for God, but tears have made us blind." Do you hear the children weeping and disproving, O my brothers, what ye preach? For God's possible is taught by His world's loving, And the children doubt of each. TO A HIGHLAND GIRL. (AT INVERSNEYDE, UPON LOCH LOMOND.) And, these gray Rocks; this household These Trees, a veil just half withdrawn; And well may the children weep before you! This fall of water, that doth make They are weary ere they run; A murmur near the silent Lake; They have never seen the sunshine, nor the This little Bay, a quiet Road glory Which is brighter than the sun. That holds in shelter thy Abode; They know the grief of man, without its Like something fashion'd in a dream; wisdom; They sink in man's despair, without its calm; Such Forms as from their covert peep Are slaves, without the liberty in Christ- I bless thee with a human heart: dom, God shield thee to thy latest years! Are martyrs, by the pang without the I neither know thee nor thy peers; palm: Are worn as if with age, yet unretrievingly reap, And yet my eyes are fill'd with tears. With earnest feeling I shall pray Are orphans of the earthly love and heav- For never saw I mien or face, enly. Let them weep! let them weep! They look up with their pale and sunken faces, And their look is dread to see, In which more plainly I could trace For they 'mind you of their angels in high And maidenly shamefacedness: places, With eyes turned on Deity. "How long," they say, "how long, O cruel nation, Will you stand, to move the world, on a child's heart, tion, Thou wear'st upon thy forehead clear Stifle down with a mailed heel its palpita- With no restraint, but such as springs 5 A bondage sweetly brook'd, a strife What hand but would a garland cull Of the wild sea: and I would have Now thanks to Heaven! that of its grace WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. MAIDENHOOD. MAIDEN! with the meek, brown eyes, Standing, with reluctant feet, Gazing, with a timid glance, On the brooklet's swift advance, On the river's broad expanse! Deep and still, that gliding stream Then why pause with indecision, When bright angels in thy vision Beckon thee to fields Elysian? Seest thou shadows sailing by, As the dove, with startled eye, Sees the falcon's shadow fly? Hearest thou voices on the shore, That our cars perceive no more, Deafen'd by the cataract's roar? O thou child of many prayers! Like the swell of some sweet tune, Childhood is the bough, where slumber'd Birds and blossoms many-number'd :-Age, that bough with snows encumber'd, Gather, then, each flower that grows, Bear a lily in thy hand; Bear through sorrow, wrong, and ruth, Oh, that dew, like balm, shall steal Into wounds that cannot heal, Even as sleep our eyes doth seal; And that smile, like sunshine, dart HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE BLIND BOY. OH, say what is that thing call'd Light, You talk of wondrous things you see, You say the sun shines bright; I feel him warm, but how can he My day or night myself I make Whene'er I sleep or play; And could I ever keep awake With me 'twere always day. With heavy sighs I often hear You mourn my hapless woe; Then let not what I cannot have When what to my wondering eyes should He had a broad face and a little round appear, belly But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny That shook, when he laugh'd, like a bowì reindeer, full of jelly. With a little old driver, so lively and He was chubby and plump-a right jolly quick, I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. came, old elf And I laugh'd when I saw him, in spite of myself. A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head, And he whistled, and shouted, and call'd, Soon gave me to know I had nothing to them by name: dread. "Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Pran- He spake not a word, but went straight to cer! now, Vixen! his work, On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donder and And filled all the stockings; then turn'd Blitzen!-with a jerk, To the top of the porch, to the top of the And laying his finger aside of his nose, wall! Now, dash away, dash away, dash away all!" As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky, So, up to the house-top the coursers they flew, With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nich olas too. And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound. He was dress'd all in fur from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnish'd with ashes and soot; A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, his pack. His eyes how they twinkled! his dimples how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry, His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow. The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath. So I piped with merry cheer. Sing thy songs of happy cheer!" While he wept with joy to hear. “Piper, sit thee down and write In a book, that all may read." And I stain'd the water clear, WILLIAM BLAKE, |