I've taught my heart the way to prize
My home, sweet home;
I've learned to look with lover's eyes
On home, sweet home.
There where vows are truly plighted,
There where hearts are so united,
All the world besides I've slighted
For home, sweet home.
Maxwelton's braes are bonnie,
Where early fa's the dew,
And 'twas there that Annie Laurie
Gave me her promise true,
Gave me her promise true,
Which ne'er forgot will be,
And for bonnie Annie Laurie
I'd lay me doon and dee.
Her brow is like the snaw drift,
Her throat is like the swan;
Her face it is the fairest
That e'er the sun shone on.
That e'er the sun shone on,
And dark blue is her e'e,
And for bonnie Annie Laurie,
I'd lay me doon and dee.
Like dew on the gowan lying,
Is the fa' o' her fairy feet,
And like winds in summer sighing,
Her voice is low and sweet,
Her voice is low and sweet,
And she's a' the world to me,
And for bonnie Annie Laurie, I'd lay me doon and dee.
Where is now the merry party,
I remember, long ago,
Laughing round the Christmas fireside,
Brightened by its ruddy glow;
Or in summer's balmy evenings,
In the fields upon the hay?
They have all dispers'd, and wander'd
Far away, far away.
Some have gone to lands far distant,
And with strangers made their home;
Some upon the world of waters
All their lives are forced to roam;
Some are gone from us forever,
Longer here they might not stay,
They have reached a fairer region
Far away, far away.
There are still some few remaining.
Who remind us of the past,
But they change as all things change here
Nothing in this world can last;
Years roll on and pass forever,
What is coming, who can say ?
Ere this closes many may be
Far away, far away.
WHEN THE SWALLOWS.
When the swallows homeward fly,
When the roses scattered lie.
When from neither hill nor dale
Chants the silv'ry nightingale;
In these words my bleeding heart
Would to thee its grief impart,
When I thus thy image lose,
Can I, ah, can I e'er know repose?
When the white swan southward roves,
To seek at noon the orange groves,
When the red tints of the west
Prove the sun has gone to rest;
In these words my bleeding heart
Would to thee its grief impart,
When I thus thy image lose,
Can I, ah, can I e'er know repose?
Hush, my heart! why thus complain
Thou must, too, thy woes contain,
Though on earth no more we rove,
Loudly breathing words of love;
Thou, my heart, must find relief,
Yielding to these words belief;
I shall see thy form again,
Though to-day we part in pain.
Ye banks and braes of bonnie Doon,
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair,
How can ye sing, ye little birds,
And I sae weary, full of care?
You'll break my heart, ye little birds,
That wanton through the flow'ring thorn; Ye mind me of departed joys,
Departed-never to return.
Oft have I strayed by bonnie Doon,
To see the rose and woodbine twine;
Where ilka bird sang of his love,
And fondly sae did I o' mine.
With lightsome heart I pulled a rose,
Full sweet upon its thorny tree;
But my false lover stole the rose,
And left the thorn behind to me.
WATCH ON THE RHINE.
A voice resounds like thunder peal,
'Mid dashing wave and clang of steel;
"The Rhine, the Rhine, the German Rhine!
Who guards to-day my stream divine?"
Cho.-Dear Fatherland! no danger thine,
Firm stand thy sons to watch the Rhine.
They stand a hundred thousand strong,
Quick to avenge their country's wrong;
With filial love their bosoms swell;
They'll guard the sacred landmark well
While flows one drop of German blood,
Or sword remains to guard thy flood,
While rifle rests in patriot's hand,
No foe shall tread thy sacred strand.
Our oath resounds. the river flows,
In golden light our banner glows,
Our hearts will guard thy stream divine,
The Rhine, the Rhine, the German Rhine.
SWINGING 'NEATH THE OLD APPLE-TREE.
Oh, the sports of childhood!
Roaming thro' the wildwood,
Running o'er the meadows happy and free:
How my heart's a-beating
For the old-time greeting,
Swinging 'neath the old apple tree.
Swinging, swinging, swinging, swinging,
Lulling care to rest 'neath the old apple tree,
Swinging, swinging, swinging, swinging,
Swinging 'neath the old apple tree.
Swaying in the sunbeams,
Floating in the shadow,
Sailing on the breezes, happy and free;
Chasing all our sadness,
Shouting in our gladness,
Swinging 'neath the old apple tree.
Oh, the sports of childhood,
Roaming thro' the wild-wood,
Siinging o'er the meadows, happy and free;
How my heart's a-beating,
Thinking of the greeting,
Swinging 'neath the old apple tree.
SHELLS OF OCEAN.
One summer eve, in pensive thought,
I wander'd on the sea beat shore,
Where oft in heedless infant sport,
I gathered shells in days before;
The plashing waves like music fell,
Responsive to my fancy wild;
A dream came o'er me like a spell,
I thought I was again a child.
I stooped upon the pebbly strand,
To cull the toys that round me lay.
But, as I took them in my hand,
I threw them one by one away.
Oh, thus, I said, in ev'ry stage,
By toys our fancy is beguiled;
We gather shells from youth to age,
And then we leave them, like a child.
HOME CAN I FORGET THEE!
Home, home, can I forget thee,
Dear, dear, dearly loved home?
No, no, still I regret thee,
Tho' I may far from thee roam.
Cho.-Home, home, home, home,
Dearest and happiest home.
Home, home, why did I leave thee?
Dear, dear friends, do not mourn,
Home, home, once more receive me,
Quickly to thee I'll return.
LITTLE BOY BLUE. *
The little toy dog is covered with dust,
But sturdy and staunch he stands;
And the little toy soldier is red with rust,
And his musket it moulds in his hands,
Time was when the little toy dog was new,
And the soldier was passing fair,
And there was a time when our Little Boy Blue
Kissed them and put them there.
"Now, don't you go till I come," he said,
"And don't you make any noise !"
So, toddling off to his trundle bed,
He dreamed of the pretty toys:
*From "A Little Book of Western Verse." Copyright 1889, by Eugene Field. Published by Charles Scribner's Sons.
And, as he was dreaming, an angel song
Awakened our Little Boy Blue-
Oh, the years are many, the years are long,
But the little toy friends are true.
Ah, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand,
Each in the same old place,
Awaiting the touch of a little hand,
The smile of a little face;
And they wonder, as waiting these long years thro'
In the dust of that little chair,
What has become of our Little Boy Blue,
Since he kissed them and put them there.
CHIDE MILDLY THE ERRING.
Chide mildly the erring, kind language endears;
Grief follows the sinful, add not to their tears;
Avoid with reproaches fresh pain to bestow,
The heart which is stricken needs never a blow.
Chide mildly the erring, jeer not at their fall;
If strength be but human, how weak were we all!
What marvel that footsteps should wander astray,
When tempests so shadow life's wearisome way?
Chide mildly the erring, entreat them with care,
Their natures are mortal, they need not despair,
We all have some frailty, we all are unwise,
The grace which redeems us must come from the skies.
174.-CONTRASTED SOLILOQUIES.
"Well," exclaimed a young lady just returned from school, "my education is at last finished! Indeed, it would be strange if, after five years' hard application, anything were left incomplete. Happily, that is all over now, and I have nothing to do but exercise my various accomplishments.
"Let me see! As to French, I am mistress of that, and speak it, if possible, with more fluency than English. Italian I can read with ease and pronounce very well. Music I have learned till I am perfectly sick of it. But now that we have a grand piano, I must continue to practice a little; yes, music is the only thing I need now improve myself in.
"My drawings are universally admired, especially the shells and flowers, which are beautiful, certainly; besides this, I have
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