12 THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS. Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee— Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they? Thy waters wasted them while they were free, And many a tyrant since; their shores obey The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay Has dried up realms to deserts:—not so thou, Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play— Time writes no wrinkle on thy azure browSuch as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now. Byron. HOW SLEEP THE BRAVE. How sleep the brave who sink to rest By fairy hands their knell is rung; Collins. THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS. THERE is a reaper whose name is Death, He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, And the flowers that grow between. THE HOMES OF ENGLAND. “Shall I have nought that is fair?" saith he; "Have nought but the bearded grain? Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me, I will give them all back again." He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, It was for the Lord of Paradise He bound them in his sheaves. "My lord has need of these flowerets gay," The reaper said, and smiled; "Dear tokens of the earth are they, Where he was once a child. They shall all bloom in fields of light, And saints, upon their garments white, And the mother gave, in tears and pain, O, not in cruelty, not in wrath, 'Twas an angel visited the green earth, And took the flowers away. Longfellow. THE HOMES OF ENGLAND. THE stately homes of England, 13 14 THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY, The deer across their green sward bound And the swan glides past them with the sound The merry homes of England! What gladsome looks of household love There woman's voice flows forth in song, The cottage homes of England! The free fair homes of England! May hearts of native proof be rear'd And Where first the child's glad spirit loves Its country and its God. Mrs. Hemans. THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY. Ir was a friar of orders gray Clad in a pilgrime's weedes. THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY. “Now Christ thee save, thou reverend friar! I pray thee tell to me, If ever at yon holy shrine My true love thou didst see?" "And how should I know your true love From many another one?" "O, by his cockle hat and staff, And by his sandal shoone; "But chiefly by his face and mien, "O lady, he is dead and gone! "Within these holy cloysters long And 'playning of her pride. "Here bore him barefaced on his bier "And art thou dead, thou gentle youth, "O, weep not, lady, weep not soe: 15 16 THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY. "O do not, do not, holy friar, My sorrow now reprove; For I have lost the sweetest youth "And nowe, alas! for thy sad losse, "Weep no more, lady, weep no more, For violets pluckt the sweetest showers "Our joys as wingèd dreams doe flye; "O say not soe, thou holy friar; For since my true-love dyed for mee, "And will he never come again? Ah, no! he is dead, and laid in his grave, "His cheek was redder than the rose; But he is dead and laid in his grave: Sigh no more, lady, sigh no more, One foot on sea, and one on land, To one thing constant never. |