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Of sorrow and dejection; but I feel
No sadness, when I think of what mine eyes
See daily in that happy family.
-Bright garland form they for the pensive



Of their undrooping Father's widowhood,
Those six fair Daughters, budding yet-not one,
Not one of all the band, a full-blown flower.
Deprest, and desolate of soul, as once 1131
That Father was, and filled with anxious fear,
Now, by experience taught, he stands assured,
That God, who takes away, yet takes not half
Of what he seems to take; or gives it back,
Not to our prayer, but far beyond our prayer;
He gives it-the boon produce of a soil
Which our endeavours have refused to till,
And hope hath never watered. The Abode,
Whose grateful owner can attest these truths,
Even were the object nearer to our sight, 1141
Would seem in no distinction to surpass
The rudest habitations. Ye might think
That it had sprung self-raised from earth, or



Out of the living rock, to be adorned
By nature only; but, if thither led,
Ye would discover, then, a studious work
Of many fancies, prompting many hands.


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Brought from the woods the honeysuckle twines

Around the porch, and seems, in that trim place,


A plant no longer wild; the cultured rose There blossoms, strong in health, and will be


Roof-high; the wild pink crowns the gardenwall,

And with the flowers are intermingled stones Sparry and bright, rough scatterings of the hills.


These ornaments, that fade not with the year,
A hardy Girl continues to provide;
Who, mounting fearlessly the rocky heights,
Her Father's prompt attendant, does for him
All that a boy could do, but with delight 1160
More keen and prouder daring; yet hath she,
Within the garden, like the rest, a bed
For her own flowers and favourite herbs, a

By sacred charter, holden for her use.

These, and whatever else the garden bears Of fruit or flower, permission asked or not, 1166 I freely gather; and my leisure draws A not unfrequent pastime from the hum Of bees around their range of sheltered hives Busy in that enclosure; while the rill, That sparkling thrids the rocks, attunes his voice


To the pure course of human life which there
Flows on in solitude. But, when the gloom
Of night is falling round my steps, then most
This Dwelling charms me; often I stop short,
(Who could refrain ?) and feed by stealth my

With prospect of the company within,
Laid open through the blazing window :- there
I see the eldest Daughter at her wheel
Spinning amain, as if to overtake
The never-halting time; or, in her turn,
Teaching some Novice of the sisterhood
That skill in this or other household work,
Which, from her Father's honoured hand, her-




While she was yet a little-one, had learned.

Mild Man! he is not gay, but they are gay; And the whole house seems filled with gaiety. -Thrice happy, then, the Mother may be


The Wife, from whose consolatory grave 1189 I turned, that ye in mind might witness where, And how, her Spirit yet survives on earth!"

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