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THE LITTLE GIRL LOST

In futurityI prophetic see,That the earth from sleep,(Grave the sentence deep) Shall arise and seekFor her maker meek:And the desart wildBecome a garden mild.

X x x

In the southern clime,Where the summers prime,Never fades away;Lovely Lyca lay. Seven summers oldLovely Lyca told,She had wanderd long,Hearing wild birds song. Sweet sleep come to meUnderneath this tree;Do father, mother weep, -"Where can Lyca sleep". Lost in desart wildIs your little child.How can Lyca sleep,If her mother weep. If her heart does ake,Then let Lyca wake;If my mother sleep,Lyca shall not weep. Frowning frowning night,O'er this desart bright,Let thy moon arise,While I close my eyes. Sleeping Lyca lay;While the beasts of prey,Gome from caverns deep,View'd the maid asleep The kingly lion stoodAnd the virgin view'd,Then he gambold roundO'er the hallowd ground: Leopards, tygers play,Round her as she lay;While the lion old,Bow'd his mane of gold, And her bosom lick,And upon her neck,From his eyes of flame,Ruby tears there came; While the lionessLoos'd her slender dress,And naked they convey'dTo caves the sleeping maid.

THE LITTLE GIRL FOUND

All the night in woe,Lyca's parents go:Over vallies deep,While the desarts weep. Tired and woe-begone,Hoarse with making moan:Arm in arm seven days,They trac'd the desart ways. Seven nights they sleep,Among shadows deep:And dream they see their childStarv'd in desart wild. Pale thro' pathless waysThe fancied image strays,Famish'd, weeping, weakWith hollow piteous shriek Rising from unrest,The trembling woman prest,With feet of weary woe;She could no further go. In his arms he bore,Her arm'd with sorrow sore:Till before their way,A couching lion lay. Turning back was vain,Soon his heavy mane,Bore them to the ground;Then he stalk'd around. Smelling to his prey,But their fears allay,When he licks their hands:And silent by them stands. They look upon his eyesFili'd with deep surprise:And wondering behold,A spirit arm'd in gold. On his head a crownOn his shoulders down,Flow'd his golden hair.Gone was all their care. Follow me he said,Weep not for the maid:In my palace deep,Lyca lies asleep. Then they followed,Where the vision led:And saw their sleeping child,Among tygers wild. To this day they dwellIn a lonely dellNor fear the wolvish howl,Nor the lions growl.

THE CHIMNEY SWEEPER

A little black thing among the snow:Crying weep, weep, in notes of woe!Where are thy father & mother? say?They are both gone up to the church to pray. Because I was happy upon the heath,And smil'd among the winters snow;They clothed me in the clothes of death,And taught me to sing the notes of woe. And because I am happy, & dance & sing,They think they have done me no injury:And are gone to praise God & his Priest & KingjWho make up a heaven of our misery.

NURSES SONG

When the voices of children, are heard on the greenAnd whisprings are in the dale:The days of my youth rise fresh in my mind,My face turns green and pale. Then come home my children, the sun is gone downAnd the dews of night ariseYour spring & your day, are wasted in playAnd your winter and night in disguise.

THE SICK ROSE



0 Rose thou art sick.The invisible worm,That flies in the nightIn the howling storm; Has found out thy bedOf crimson joy:And his dark secret loveDoes thy life destroy.

Date: 2015-12-18; view: 757


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