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208 THE TOWN CHILD AND THE COUNTRY CHILD.

Birds build no nests, nor in the sun
Glad streams come singing as they run :
A Maypole is thy blossomed tree,
A beetle is thy murmuring bee;
Thy bird is caged, thy dove is where
Thy poulterer dwells, beside thy hare;
Thy fruit is plucked, and by the pound
Hawked clamorous all the city round;
No roses, twinborn on the stalk,
Perfume thee in thy evening walk;
No voice of birds but to thee comes
The mingled din of cars and drums,
And startling cries, such as are rife
When wine and wassail waken strife.

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Child of the country! on the lawn
I see thee like the bounding fawn,
Blithe as the bird which tries its wing
The first time on the winds of spring;
Bright as the sun when from the cloud
He comes as cocks are crowing loud;
Now running, shouting, 'mid sunbeams,
Now groping trouts in lucid streams,
Now spinning like a mill-wheel round,
Now hunting echo's empty sound,
Now climbing up some old tall tree
For climbing sake. 'T is sweet to thee,
To sit where birds can sit alone,

Or share with thee thy venturous throne.

THE TOWN CHILD AND THE COUNTRY CHILD. 209

Child of the town and bustling street,
What woes and snares await thy feet!
Thy paths are paved for five long miles,
Thy groves and hills are peaks and tiles ;
Thy fragrant air is yon thick smoke,
Which shrouds thee like a mourning cloak ;
And thou art cabined and confined

At once from sun, and dew, and wind;
Or set thy tottering feet but on

Thy lengthened walks of slippery stone;
The coachman there careering reels
With goaded steeds and maddening wheels ;
While, flushed with wine, and stung at play,
Men rush from darkness into day.
The stream's too strong for thy small bark;
Where nought can sail, save what is stark.

Fly from the town, sweet child! for health
Is happiness, and strength, and wealth.
There is a lesson in each flower,

A story in each stream and bower;
On

every herb on which you tread
Are written words which, rightly read,
Will lead you from earth's fragrant sod
To hope, and holiness, and God.

P

STANZAS.

COME closer yet, my little one,
Closer, come closer unto me;
This is a day for happiness,

Thy father's come from sea.

For twelve long months, my little one, Our lot has been a lonely lot;

But anxious night and weary day

Are passed

so be they all forgot.

E'en now the ship rides in the bay That bore thy father o'er the sea; Come closer yet, my little one; Come closer unto me;

And clasp thy little hands in mine ; And lift to heaven thy earnest eyes; And, for the joy we feel to-day,

We'll bless our Father in the skies.

This spot has witnessed oft our tears, And prayers for him, so far away, 'T is fit that it should witness too Our gratitude to-day.

Come closer yet, my little one,

Closer, come closer unto me, My heart o'erflows with holy joy, Thy father's come from sea !

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