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THE GREENWOOD SHRIFT.
66. I will go with you, child,' he said,
Mother, he's here, hard by.”
Looked on with glistening eye.
The bridle on his neck flung free,
Pressed close his bonny bay ;
Than those stood there that day.
So while the little maiden spoke
Looked on with glistening eye
Preached, -“ All is vanity."
But when the dying woman's face
He stepped to where she lay;
My sister ! let us pray,"
And well, withouten book or stole
Into the dying ear
And deat'i's dark shadow's clear.
He spoke of sinners' lost estate,
Of God's most blest decree,
“ Be merciful to me!
He spoke of trouble, pain, and toil,
In patience, faith, and love,
Of happiness above.
Then, as the spirit ebbed away,
That peaceful it might pass;
Close round on the green grass.
Such was the sight their wondering eyes Beheld, in heart-struck, mute surprise,
Who reined their coursers back, Just as they found the long astray, Who, in the heat of chase that day,
Had wandered from their track.
Back each man reined his pawing steed,
In silence at his side ;
That day for mortal pride.
For of the noblest of the land
And central in the ring,
Knelt their anointed king. *
MUTABILITY. - Shelley.
We are as clouds that veil the midnight moon;
How restlessly they speed, and gleam, and quiver, Streaking the darkness radiantly! - yet soon
Night closes round, and they are lost for ever ;
Or like forgotten lyres, whose dissonant strings
Give various response to each varying blast, To whose frail frame no second motion brings
One mood or modulation like the last,
a dream has power to poison sleep ; We rise, -one wandering thought pollutes the day; We feel, conceive, or reason, laugh or weep,
Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away ;
It is the same! -- for, be it joy or sorrow,
The path of its departure still is free;
Naught may endure but Mutability.
George the Third of England.
TO THE MOON. — Shelley.
Art thou pale for weariness Cf climbing heaven, and gazing on the earth,
Wandering companionless Among the stars that have a different birth, And ever-changing, like a joyless eye That finds no object worth its constancy?
OF A CONTENTED MIND.
When all is done and said,
That hath a quiet mind;
To deem can be content
In thinking to be spent.
Is casual every hour;
It to a clod of clay ;
Runs never to decay.
Unto the mind alone;
Through thinking, few or none.
THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY.
Fear oftentimes restraineth words,
But makes not thoughts to cease;
Our wealth leaves us at death ;
Our kinsmen at the grave ;
The heavens with us we have.
I can be well content
To deem in thinking spent.
THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY.- Percy.
It was a friar of orders gray
Walked forth to tell his beads,
Clad in a pilgrim's weeds.
thee tell to me, If ever at yon holy shrine
My truelove you did see.” 66 And how should I
And by his sandal shoon.
That were so fair to view;
And eyes of lovely blue.'