The Inglenook But sune the big warl's cark an' care Yet come what will to ilka ane, May He who sits aboon Aye whisper, though their pows be bauld, "O, bairnies, cuddle doon." ALEXANDER ANDERSON. I Am Lonely The world is great: the birds all fly from me, The world is great: I tried to mount the hill And I am lonely. The world is great: the wind comes rushing by. The world is great: the people laugh and talk, And I am lonely. From "The Spanish Gypsy." GEORGE ELIOT. Brother and Sister But were another childhood-world my share, I would be born a little sister there. I I cannot choose but think upon the time When our two lives grew like two buds that kiss 'At lightest thrill from the bee's swinging chime, Because the one so near the other is. He was the elder and a little man Of forty inches, bound to show no dread, I held him wise, and when he talked to me I thought his knowledge marked the boundary rest. If he said "Hush!" I tried to hold my breath; II Long years have left their writing on my brow, The Inglenook The With rod and line. Our basket held a store Inglenook Baked for us only, and I thought with joy That I should have my share, though he had more, Because he was the elder and a boy. The firmaments of daisies since to me Have had those mornings in their opening eyes, And wild-rose branches take their finest scent III Our mother bade us keep the trodden ways, Clung to us lessening, and pursued us still Across the homestead to the rookery elms, And here the Lady-fingers in deep shade; And made a happy strange solemnity, A deep-toned chant from life unknown to me. IX We had the selfsame world enlarged for each A measuring glance to guide my tiny shoe Thus boyish Will the nobler mastery learned His years with others must the sweeter be GEORGE ELIOT. The Inglenook Home O Falmouth is a fine town with ships in the bay, The Inglenook For it's home, dearie, home-it's home I want to be. Our topsails are hoisted, and we'll away to sea. O the oak and the ash and the bonnie birken tree They're all growing green in the old countree. In Baltimore a-walking a lady I did meet street; And I thought how I sailed, and the cradle standing ready For the pretty little babe that has never seen its daddie. And it's home, dearie, home,— O, if it be a lass, she shall wear a golden ring; And it's home, dearie, home, O, there's a wind a-blowing, a-blowing from the west, And that of all the winds is the one I like the best, pennon free, And it soon will blow us home to the old countree. |