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Blue eye'd grass, and green bur-reed;
Down in valleys green and lowly,
FROM THE GERMAN OF HERDER.
AMONG green pleasant meadows,
All in a grove so mild, Was set a marble image
Of the Virgin and the Child.
There oft on summer evenings,
A lovely boy would rove, To play beside the image That sanctified the
Oft sat his mother by him,
Among the shadows dim, And told how the LORD JESUS,
Was once a child like him.
" And now from highest heaven
He doth look down each day, And sees whate'er thou doest,
And hears what thou dost say.”
Thus spake his tender mother;
And on an evening bright, When the red round sun descended
Mid clouds of crimson light,
Again the boy was playing;
And earnestly said he, “O beautiful LORD JESUS,
Come down and play with me.
“I will find thee flowers the fairest,
And weave for thee a crown;
If thou wilt but come down.
“O holy, holy mother,
Put him down from off thy knee; For in these silent meadows
There are none to play with me.”
Thus spake the boy so lovely;
The while his mother heard; But on his prayer she pondered,
And spake to him no word.
That self same night she dreamed
A lovely dream of joy;
There playing with the boy.
" And for the fruits and flowers
Which thou hast brought to me, Rich blessings shall be given,
A thousand-fold to thee.
" For in the fields of heaven
Thou shalt roam with me at will, And of bright fruits celestial
Shall have, dear child, thy fill.”
Thus tenderly and kindly
The fair Child JEsus spoke; And full of careful musings,
The anxious mother woke.
And thus it was accomplished;
In a short month and day, That lovely boy, so gentle,
Upon his death-bed lay.
And thus he spoke in dying:
A-coming down to me;
66 And in his hand he beareth
Bright flowers as white as snow, And red and juicy strawberries :
Dear mother, let me go."
He died-but that fond mother
Her sorrow did restrain; For she knew he was with JESUS,
And she asked him not again!
EPITAPH ON A HARE.
EPITAPH ON A HARE.
HERE lies, whom hound did ne'er pursue,
Nor swifter greyhound follow, Whose foot ne'er tainted morning dew,
Nor ear heard huntsman's hallo:
Old Tiney, surliest of his kind,
Who, nursed with tender care, And to domestic bounds confined,
Was still a wild Jack-hare.
Though duly from my hand he took
His pittance every night, He did it with a jealous look,
And, when he could, would bite.
His diet was of wheaten bread,
And milk, and oats, and straw; Thistles, or lettuces instead,
With sand to scour his maw.
On twigs of hawthorn he regaled,
On pippins' russet peel,
Sliced carrot pleased him well.