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The cottage homes of England !

By thousands on her plains
They are smiling o'er the silvery brooks,

And round the hamlet fanes.
Through glowing orchards forth they peep,

Each from its nook of leaves ;
And fearless there the lowly sleep,

As the bird beneath their eaves.
The free, fair homes of England !

Long, long, in hut and hall,
May hearts of native proof be reared

To guard each hallowed wall !
And green for ever be the groves,

And bright the flowery sod,
Where first the child's glad spirit loves

Its country and its God !


Elite Little Mariner.

Y, sitting on your happy hearths, beside your

mother's knee, How should you know the miseries and dangers

of the sea ? My father was a mariner, and from my earliest years I can remember, night and day, my mother's

prayers and tears.

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I can remember how she sighed when blew the

stormy gale; And how for days she stood to watch the long

expected sail : Hers was a silent, patient grief ; but fears and

long delay, And wakeful nights and anxious days, were

wearing her away. And when the gusty winds were loud, and

autumn leaves were red, I watched, with heavy heart, beside my mother's

dying bed : Just when her voice was feeblest, the neighbours

came to say, The ship was hailed an hour before, and then

was in the bay. Alas! too late the ship returned—too late her

life to save ; My father closed her dying eyes, and laid her in

the grave.

He was a man of ardent hopes, who never knew

dismay; And, spite of grief, the winter-time wore cheer

fully away. He had crossed the equinoctial line full seven

times or more ; And, sailing northward, had been wrecked on

icy Labrador.

He knew the Spice Isles, every one, where the

clove and nutmeg grow, And the aloe towers, a stately tree, with clus

tering bells of snow. He had gone the length of Hindustan, down

Ganges' holy flood; Through Persia, where the peacock broods, a

wild bird of the wood; And, in the forests of the West, had seen the red

deer chased, And dwelt beneath the piny woods, a hunter of

the waste. Oh! pleasant were the tales he told of lands so

strange and new ; And in my ignorance I vowed I'd be a sailor too; My father heard my vow with joy; so in the

early May We went on board a merchantman, bound for

Honduras Bay.* Right merrily, right merrily, we sailed before the

wind, With a briskly heaving sea before, and the

landsman's cheer behind. There was joy for me in every league, delight on

every strand, And I sat for days on the high foretop, on the

long look-out for land.

* HONDURAS BAY.-On the eastern coast of Central America.

There was joy for me in the nightly watch, on

the burning tropic seas, To mark the waves, like living fires, leap up to

the freshening breeze. Right merrily, right merrily, our gallant ship

went free, Until we neared the rocky shoals within the

Western Sea. Yet still none thought of danger near, till in the

silent night The helmsman gave the dreadful word of

“ Breakers to the right!" The moment that his voice was heard, was felt

the awful shock; The ship sprang forward with a bound, and struck

upon a rock.

“ AU. hands aloft !” our captain cried : in terror

and dismay They threw the cargo over board, and cut the

masts away : 'Twas all in vain, 'twas all in vain; the sea

rushed o'er the deck, And, shattered with the beating surf, down went

the parting wreck. The moment that the wreck went down my

father seized me fast, And leaping 'mid the thundering waves, seized

on the broken mast.

I know not how he bore me up, my senses

seemed to swim, A shuddering horror chilled my brain, and

stiffened every limb. What next I knew, was how at morn, on a bleak,

barren shore, Out of a hundred mariners, were living only

four. I looked around, like one who wakes from dreams

of fierce alarm, And round my body still I felt, firm locked, my

father's arm. And with a rigid, dying grasp, he closely held

me fast, Even as he held me when he seized, at midnight,

on the mast. With humble bearts and streaming eyes, down

knelt the little band, Praying Him who had preserved their lives to

lend His guiding hand. And day by day, though burning thirst and

pining hunger came, His mercy, through our misery, preserved each

drooping frame: And after months of weary woe, sickness, and

travel sore,

He sent the blessed English ship that took us

from that shore.

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