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Along the floor, beneath the shade
By those embowering hollies made,
The leaves in myriads jump and spring,
As if with pipes and music rare
Some Robin Good-fellow were there,
And all those leaves, that jump and spring,
Were each a joyous, living thing.

Oh! grant me Heaven a heart at ease
That I may never cease to find,
Even in appearances like these
Enough to nourish and to stir my mind!

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S O N G

FOR THE

WANDERING JEW.

Though the torrents from their fountains
Roar down many a craggy steep,
Yet they find among the mountains
Resting-places calm and deep.

Though almost with eagle pinion
O'er the rocks the Chamois roam,
Yet he has some small dominion

Which no doubt he calls his home.

If on windy days the Raven
Gambol like a dancing skiff,
Not the less he loves his haven

On the bosom of the cliff.

Though the Sea-horse in the ocean
Own no dear domestic cave;
Yet he slumbers without motion

On the calm and silent waye.

Day and night my toils redouble !
Never nearer to the goal,
Night and day, I feel the trouble,
Of the Wanderer in

my

soul.

1

R U T H.

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