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And though it be long since daisies grew
If human love springs up anew,
And angels come and go,
What matters it that the skies were blue
N Liverpool, the good old town, we miss
Bessie Rayner Parkes.
Some crypt or keep, historically dear,
You find, go where you will, all England through: But what have we to venerate, all here
We have our Castle Street, but castle none;
Redcross Street, but its legend who can learn ; Oldhall Street, too, we have, the old hall gone; Tithebarn Street, but no barn.
Huge warehouses for cotton, rice, and corn,
These we can show, but nothing to restore
An ancient mansion with palatial door,
Then rise the merchant princes of old days,
Their silken dames, their skippers from the strand, Who brought their sea-borne riches, not always Quite free from contraband.
And these their mansions, to base uses come,
We have a church that one almost reveres,
And there's St. Peter's, too, not quite so frail,
For when the sun has clomb the middle sky,
They give us "Home, Sweet Home" in plaintive key, And in its turn breaks out "The Scolding Wife," To show that home, however sweet it be,
Is yet not free from strife
But sometimes "Auld Lang Syne " comes clinking forth,
And surely every listening heart is charmed; For what are even the sorrows of the earth When, past, they are transformed?
Yet all is so ridiculously new,
Ay, they are old, but new as well as old,
One metal in a slightly different mould,
The same refiltered stream.
TRANGER! that with careless feet
Where the fern, in fringéd pride,
Know, where now thy footsteps pass
Bright gleaming through the encircling wood,
If her urn, unknown to fame,
Grateful for the tribute paid,
Stranger, curious, wouldst thou learn
Ere yon neighboring spires arose,
Once the maid, in summer's heat,
Forgetful of her daily toil,
To trace each humid tract of soil,
Enfeebled by the scorching ray,
And when she oped her languid eye,
Heedless stranger! who so long
PURE fount, that, welling from the wooded hill,
Dost wander forth, as into life's wide vale,
Time was when other sounds and songs arose :
Stranger, mark the spot;
No echoes of the chiding world intrude.