This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1861 Excerpt: ... hear the solemn hymn that Death Has lifted up for all, that he shall go To his long resting-place without a tear. Longfellow. THE RURAL WALK. OR I have loved the rural walk through lanes Of grassy swarth, close cropped by nibbling sheep, And skirted thick with intertexture firm Of thorny boughs; have loved the rural ...
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This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1861 Excerpt: ... hear the solemn hymn that Death Has lifted up for all, that he shall go To his long resting-place without a tear. Longfellow. THE RURAL WALK. OR I have loved the rural walk through lanes Of grassy swarth, close cropped by nibbling sheep, And skirted thick with intertexture firm Of thorny boughs; have loved the rural walk O'er hills, through valleys, and by river's brink, E'er since, a truant boy, I passed my bounds, T' enjoy a ramble on the banks of Thames; And still remember, nor without regret, Of hours, that sorrow has since much endeared, How oft, my slice of pocket store consumed, Still hungering, penniless, and far from home, I fed on scarlet hips and stony haws, Or blushing crabs, or berries, that emboss The bramble, black as jet, or sloes austere. Hard fare! but such as boyish appetite Disdains not, nor the palate, undepraved By culinary arts, unsavoury deems. William CowrER. SPRING. T is the first mild day of March, Each minute sweeter than before; The redbreast sings from the tall larch, That stands beside our door. There is a blessing in the air, Which seems a sense of joy to yield To the bare trees, and mountains bare, And grass in the green field. My sister! ('tis a wish of mine, ) Now that our morning meal is done, Make haste, your morning task resign; Come forth, and feel the sun. Edward will come with you; and pray Put on with speed your woodland dress, And bring no book; for this one day We'll give to idleness. No joyless forms shall regulate Our living calendar: We from to-day, my friend, will date The opening of the year. Love, now an universal birth, From heart to heart is stealing; From earth to man, from man to earth;--It is an hour of feeling. One moment now may give us more Than fifty years of reason: Our minds will drink at every po...
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