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“No, never from this hour to part,

We'll live and love so true;
The sigh, that rends thy constant heart,

Shall break thy Edwin's too !”



Give thy thoughts no tongue, Nor any unproportioned thought his act. Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel ; But do not dull thy palm with entertainment Of each new-hatched, unfledged comrade. Beware Of entrance to a quarrel: but, being in, Bear it that the opposed may beware of thee. Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice: Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment. Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, But not expressed in fancy; rich, not gaudy: For the apparel oft proclaims the man; And they in France of the best rank and station Are of a most select and generous, chief in that. Neither a borrower, nor a lender be; For loan oft loses both itself and friend ; And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. This above all,—To thine ownself be true; And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man.

THE SUNSHINE.—Mary Howitt.

I LOVE the sunshine everywhere

In wood, and field, and glen; I love it in the busy haunts

Of town-imprisoned men.

I love it, when it streameth in

The humble cottage door, And casts the chequered casement shade

Upon the red-brick floor.

I love it, where the children lie

Deep in the clovery grass,
To watch among the twining roots,

The gold-green beetle pass.
I love it, on the breezy sea,

To glance on sail and oar, While the great waves, like molten glass,

Come leaping to the shore.

I love it, on the mountain-tops,

Where lies the thawless snow ; And half a kingdom, bathed in light,

Lies stretching out below.

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Upon the earth-upon the sea

And through the crystal air-
Or piled up clouds—the gracious sun

Is glorious everywhere.



HALF a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of death

Rode the Six Hundred.
“ Charge!" was the captain's cry,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs but to do and die :
Into the valley of death

Rode the Six Hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them

Volleyed and thundered ;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well;
Into the jaws of death,
Into the mouth of hell,

Rode the Six Hundred.

Flashed all their sabres bare,
Flashed all at once in air,
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while

All the world wondered :
Plunged in the battery smoke,
Fiercely the line they broke;
Strong was the sabre stroke :
Making an army reel

Shaken and sundered.
Then they rode back, but not-

Not the Six Hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them

Volleyed and thundered ;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
They that had struck so well
Rode through the jaws of death,
Half a league back again,
Up from the mouth of hell,
All that was left of them

Left of Six Hundred.

Honour the brave and bold !
Long shall the tale be told,
Yea, when our babes are old-

How they rode onward.


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 week too soon,

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

Had borne my breath away!

I remember, I remember,

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

Those flowers made of light; The lilacs where the robins built,

And where my brother set The laburnum, on his birthday :

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,

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

The fever on my brow,
I remember, I remember,

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

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

But now 'tis little joy
To know I'm further off from heaven,

Than when I was a boy.


Is there, for honest poverty,

That hangs his head, and a' that; The coward-slave we pass him by,

We dare be poor for a' that. For a' that, and a' that,

Our toils obscure, and a' that, The rank is but the guinea stamp,

The man's the gowd for a' that. What though on hamely fare we dine,

Wear hoddin grey, and a' that; Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,

A man's a man for a' that ;
For a' that, and a that,

Their tinsel show, and a' that;
The honest man, though e'er sae poor,

Is king o' men for a that.

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