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THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH.
It sounds to him like her mother's voice, Singing in Paradise!
He needs must think of her once more,
How in the grave she lies;
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes A tear out of his eyes,
Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing,
Onward through life he goes; Each morning sees some task begin, Each evening sees it close;
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night's repose.
Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, For the lesson thou has taught!
Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought;
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought!
THE rising moon has hid the stars: Her level rays, like golden bars, Lie on the landscape green,
With shadows brown between
And silver white the river gleams,
As if Diana, in her dreams,
Had dropt her silver bow
On such a tranquil night at this, She woke Endymion with a kiss, When, sleeping in the grove, He dreamed not of her love.
Like Dian's kiss; unasked, unsought,
It comes, the beautiful, the free.
In silence and alone.
To seek the elected onc.
It lifts the boughs, whose shadows deep,
And kisses the closed eyes
Of him, who slumbering lies.
O, weary hearts! O, slumbering eyes!
Are fraught with fear and pain,
No one is so accursed by fate,
No one so utterly desolate,
But some heart, though unknown,
Responds, as if with unseen wings,
A breath from heaven had touched its strings; And whispers, in its song,
"Where hast thou stayed so long?"
THE TWO LOCKS OF HAIR
FROM THE GERMAN OF PFIZER.
A YOUTH, light-hearted and content, I wander through the world; Here, Arab-like, is pitched my tent And straight again is furled.
Yet oft I dream, that once a wife
A blessed child I rocked.
I wake! Away that dream,-away! Too long did it remain !
So long, that both by night and day It ever comes again.