An oak and an elm tree stand beside, A traveller came to the well of St. Keyne; For from cock-crow he had been travelling, He drank of the water so cool and clear, Under the willow-tree. There came a man from the nighboring town "Now art thou a bachelor, stranger?" quoth he, "For an if thou hast a wife, The happiest draught thou hast drank this day That ever thou didst in thy life. "Or has your good woman, if one you have, For an if she have, I'll venture my life "I have left a good woman who never was here," The stranger he made reply; "But that my draught should be better for that, I pray you answer me why." "St. Keyne,"quoth the countryman, "many a time Drank of this crystal well, And before the angel summoned her She laid on the water a spell. "If the husband of this gifted well "But if the wife should drink of it first, "You drank of the well, I warrant, betimes?" He to the countryman said. But the countryman smiled as the stranger spake, And sheepishly shook his head. "I hastened, as soon as the wedding was done, And left my wife in the porch. But i' faith, she had been wiser than me, ROBERT SOUTHEY. HOME, SWEET HOME. HOME. FROM THE OPERA OF "CLARI, THE MAID OF MILAN." MID pleasures and palaces though we may roam, Home! home! sweet, sweet home! An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain ! Flashes the lovelight, increasing the glory, Beaming from bright eyes with warmth of the soul, Telling of trust and content the sweet story, King, king, crown me the king: Home is the kingdom, and Love is the king! Richer than miser with perishing treasure, Served with a service no conquest could bring ; Happy with fortune that words cannot measure, Light-hearted I on the hearthstone can sing. King, king, crown me the king: Home is the kingdom, and Love is the king. REV. WILLIAM RANKIN DURYEA. Without disease, the healthful life; The household of continuance; The mean diet, no delicate fare; The faithful wife, without debate; LORD SURREY. A SHEPHERD'S LIFE. FROM "THIRD PART OF HENRY VI." KING HENRY. O God! methinks, it were a happy life, To be no better than a homely swain ; To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, So many days my ewes have been with young; SHAKESPEARE. THE MEANS TO ATTAIN HAPPY LIFE. MARTIAL, the things that do attain The happy life be these, I find, The riches left, not got with pain; The fruitful ground, the quiet mind, The equal friend; no grudge, no strife; No charge of rule, nor governance; THE FIRESIDE. DEAR Chloe, while the busy crowd, Be called our choice, we'll step aside, From the gay world we'll oft retire Where love our hours employs ; If solid happiness we prize, And they are fools who roam; And that dear hut, our home. Our portion is not large, indeed; But then how little do we need, For nature's calls are few; In this the art of living lies, To want no more than may suffice, And make that little do. We'll therefore relish with content Nor lose the present hour. To be resigned when ills betide, Patient when favors are denied, And pleased with favors given, Dear Chloe, this is wisdom's part, This is that incense of the heart, Whose fragrance smells to heaven. NATHANIEL COTTON. A WINTER'S EVENING HYMN TO MY FIRE. O THOU of home the guardian Lar, Our brave old poets: at thy touch how stirs Thou murmurest, too, divinely stirred, The rhythms so rathe and delicate, And broke, beneath the sombre weight As who would say, ""Tis those, I ween, While the gray snow-storm, held aloof, By him with fire, by her with dreams, Than all the grapes' bewildering juice, A flower of frailest revery, Now laughter-rippled, and now caught BUT where to find that happiest spot below, Who can direct, when all pretend to know? The shudd'ring tenant of the frigid zone Boldly proclaims that happiest spot his own; Extols the treasures of his stormy seas, And his long nights of revelry and ease : The naked negro, panting at the line, Boasts of his golden sands and palmy wine, Basks in the glare, or stems the tepid wave, And thanks his gods for all the good they gave. Such is the patriot's boast, where'er we roam, His first, best country, ever is at home. And yet, perhaps, if countries we compare, And estimate the blessings which they share, Though patriots flatter, still shall wisdom find An equal portion dealt to all mankind; As different good, by art or nature given, To different nations makes their blessing even. OLIVER GOLDSMITH. THE HOMES OF ENGLAND. The stately Homes of England, The deer across their greensward 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 blessed Homes of England! That breathes from Sabbath hours! Solemn, yet sweet, the church-bell's chime All other sounds, in that still time, The cottage Homes of England! They are smiling o'er the silvery brooks, Through glowing orchards forth they peep, |