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- Yet some maintain that to this day

She is a living child;
That you may see sweet Lucy Gray

Upon the lonesome wild.
O'er rough and smooth she trips along,

And never looks behind;
And sings a solitary song
"That whistles in the wind.

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

I Remember, I Remember.

I REMEMBER, I remember

The house where I was born, The little window where the sun

Came peeping in at morn; He never came a wink too soon,

Nor brought too long a day; But now, I often wish the night

Had borne my breath away!

The Children's Hour. BETWEEN the dark and the daylight,

When the night is beginning to lower, Comes a pause in the day's occupations,

That is known as the children's hour. I hear in the chamber above me

The patter of little feet,
The sound of a door that is opened,

And voices soft and sweet.
From my study I see in the lamplight,

Descending the broad hall stair, Grave Alice and laughing Allegra,

And Edith with golden hair. A whisper and then a silence:

Yet I know by their merry eyes
They are plotting and planning together

To take me by surprise.
A sudden rush from the stairway,

A sudden raid from the hall,
By three doors left unguarded,

They enter my castle wall. They climb up intu my turret,

O'er the arms and back of my chair; If I try to escape, they surround me;

They seem to be everywhere.
They almost devour me with kisses,

Their arms about me entwine,
Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen,

In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine.

I remember, I remember

The roses, red and white, The violets, and the lily-cups —

Those flowers made of light! The lilacs where the robin built,

And where my brother set The laburnum on his birth-day,–

The tree is living yet !

I remember, I remember

Where I was used to swing,
And thought the air must rush as fresh

To swallows on the wing,
My spirit flew in feathers then,

That is so heavy now,
And summer pool could hardly cool

The fever on my brow!

Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti,

Because you have scaled the wall, Such an old moustache as I am

Is not a match for you all ?

I remember, 1 remember

The fir-trees dark and high;
I used to think their slender tops

Were close against the sky.
It was a childish ignorance,

But now 'tis little joy
To know I'm farther off from Heaven
Than when I was a boy.

Thomas Hoon.

I have you fast in my fortress,

And will not let you depart, But put you into the dungeon

In the round-tower of my heart.
And there will I keep you forever,

Yes, forever and a day,
Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,
And moulder in dust away.

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

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