I found [thee] them blind I taught [thee] how to see
And now [thou knowst] they know neither [thyself] themselves nor me
Tis Excellent to turn a thorn to a pin
A[Knave] Fool to a bolt a [Fool] Knave to a glass of gin

If I had made thy proffered arm
A pillow for my head
For but the moment's time, in which
A summer's dream had fled,
What would the world have said?

Said Secrecy to Cowardice and Fraud,
Falsehood and Treachery, in close council met,
Deep under ground, in Pluto's cabinet,
‘The frost of England's pride will soon be thawed;
Hooded the open brow that overawed
Our schemes; the faith and honour, never yet
By us with hope encountered, be upset;—
For once I burst my bands, and cry, applaud!’
Then whispered she, ‘The Bill is carrying out!’
They heard, and, starting up, the Brood of Night
Clapped hands, and shook with glee their matted locks;
All Powers and Places that abhor the light

His debts are paid, but all his land is gone;
He leaves our narrow seas with many a tear,
Bound for the south, dishearten'd and alone,
To use those energies he wasted here.
A colony of larks their passage take
With him. Small cheer his own sad voyage yields:
The rolling seas contrast his quiet lake,
And fleeting shores his patrimonial fields.
At last he lands, half hopeful, half forlorn,
A human heart with all its cares and ties.
The larks, his fellow emigrants, will rise
At once and sing, on alien breezes borne,

O honey-throated warbler of the grove!
That in the glooming woodland art so proud
Of answering thy sweet mates in soft or loud,
Thou dost not own a note we do not love;
The moon is o'er thee, laying out the lawn
In mighty shadows—but the western skies
Are kept awake, to see the sun arise,
Though earth and heaven would fain put back the dawn!
While, wandering for the dreams such seasons give,
With lonely steps, and many a pause between,
The lover listens to thy songs unseen;
And if, at times, the pure notes seem to grieve,

Behold, a Silly, tender Babe,
In freezing winter night,
In homely manger trembling lies,
Alas! a piteous sight.
The inns are full, no man will yield
This little pilgrim bed;
But forced is He with silly beasts
In crib to shroud His head.
Despise Him not for lying there;
First what He is enquire;
As orient pearl is often found
In depth of dirty mire.
Weigh not His crib, His wooden dish,
Nor beasts that by Him feed;
Weigh not His mother's poor attire,
Nor Joseph's simple weed.
This stable is a Prince's court,
The crib His chair of state;

Sleeping the sacred sleep, here Saon lies;
For never be it said, the good man dies.

The dykes half bare are lying in the bath
Of quivering sunlight on this Sunday morn,
And bobolinks aflock make sweet the worn
Old places, where two centuries of swath
Have fallen to earth before the mower's path.
Across the dykes the bell's low sound is borne
From green Grand Pré, abundant with the corn.
With milk and honey which it always hath.—
And now I hear the Angelus ring far;
See faith bow many a head that suffered wrong,
Near all these plains they wrested from the tide!
I see the vision of their final griefs that mar

Of the Lady Lu there were stories told,
For she was a woman of comely mould,
In heart-experience old.

Too many a man for her whimful sake
Had borne with patience chill and ache,
And nightly lain awake!

This epicure in pangs, in her tooth
For more of the sweet, with a calm unruth
Cast eyes on a painter-youth.

Her junior he; and the bait of bliss
Which she knew to throw—not he to miss—
She threw, till he dreamed her his.

To her arts not blind, he yet sued long,
As a songster jailed by a deed of wrong

In readin' the story of early days, it's a cause of much personal pain
At the way the author-men leave out us in charge of the wagon train;
Granted the rest of 'em worked and fit in the best way that they could do—
If it wasn't for us that skinned the mules, how would the bunch have come through?

We have frosted ourselves on the prairie sweeps a-bringin' the Sioux to book,
And the sojer men never had no kick that the front rank had been forsook;
They cussed warm holes in the blizzard's teeth when waitin' fer grub and tents,