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“ My little Boy, which like you more,"
I said, and took him by the arm
“ Our home by Kilve's delightful shore,
“ Or here at Liswyn farm ?"

And tell me, had you rather be,” I said, and held him by the arm, " At Kilve's smooth shoré by the green sea, “ Or here at Liswyn farm!”.

In careless mood he looked at me,
While still I held him by the arm,
And said, " At Kilve I'd rather be
“ Than here at Liswyn farm."

“ Now, little Edward, say why so ; « My little Edward, tell me why;"~ I cannot tell, I do not know."

Why this is strange," said I.

« For, here are woods, and green-hills warm : “ There surely must some reason be

Why you would change sweet Liswyn farm • For Kilve by the green sea."

At this, my Boy hung down his head,
He blush'd with shame, nor made reply;
And five times to the Child I said,

Why, Edward, tell me why ?"

His head he raised there was in sight,
It caught his eye, he saw it plain-
Upon the house-top, glittering bright,
A broad and gilded vane.

Then did the Boy his tongue unlock;
And thus to me he made reply ;
At Kilve there was no weather-cock,
" And that's the reason why."

Oh dearest, dearest Boy !: my heart For better lore would seldom yearn, Could I but teach the hundredth part Of what from thee I learn,

LINES
Written at a small distance from my House, and sent by

my little boy to the person to whom they are addressed.

It is the first mild day of March :
Each minute sweeter than before,
The Red-breast 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.

1

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 bírth,
From heart to heart is stealing,
From earth to man, from man to earth :
-It is the hour of feeling.

One moment now may give us more
Than fifty years of reason :
Our minds shall drink at every pore
The spirit of the season.

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