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THE LAMB

LITTLE Lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee,
Gave thee life, and bid thee feed
By the stream and o’er the mead ;
Gave thee clothing of delight,
Softest clothing, woolly, bright;
Gave thee such a tender voice
Making all the vales rejoice;

Little Lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?

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Little Lamb, I'll tell thee;
Little Lamb, I'll tell thee.
He is called by thy name,
For He calls himself a Lamb:-
He is meek and He is mild ;
He became a little child.
I a child, and thou a lamb,
We are called by his name.

Little Lamb, God bless thee;
Little Lamb, God bless thee.

William Blake.

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THE FAIRIES OF THE CALDON LOW

A MIDSUMMER LEGEND.

“ AND where have you been, my Mary,

And where have you been from me?"

“I have been to the top of the Caldon Low,

The midsummer night to see.”

“And what did you see, my Mary,

All up on the Caldon Low?" “ I saw the glad sunshine come down,

And I saw the merry winds blow.”

“ And what did you hear, my Mary,

All up on the Caldon Hill ?” “ I heard the drops of the water made,

And the ears of the green corn fill.”

“Oh, tell me all, my Mary,

All, all that ever you know;
For you must have seen the fairies

Last night, on the Caldon Low."

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“ Then take me on your knee, mother;

And listen, mother of mine:
A hundred fairies danced last night,

And the harpers they were nine.

“ And their harpstrings rung so merrily

To their dancing feet so small; But oh, the words of their talking

Were merrier far than all.”

“ And what were the words, my Mary, That then

you

heard them say?" “I'll tell you all, my mother;

But let me bave my way.

“Some of them played with the water,

And rolled it down the hill; . And this,' they said, shall speedily turn The poor

old miller's mill,

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6. For there has been no water

Ever since the first of May; And a busy man will the miller be

At dawning of the day.

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« « Oh, the miller, how he will laugh

When he sees the milldam rise !
The jolly old miller, how he will laugh

Till the tears fill both his eyes!'

“ And some they seized the little winds

That sounded over the hill ;
And each put a horn into his mouth,

And blew both loud and shrill.

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« « And there,' they said, the merry

Away from every horn;
And they shall clear the mildew dark

From the blind old widow's corn.

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“Oh, the poor, blind widow,

Though she has been blind so long, She'll be blithe enough when the mildew's gone,

And the corn stands tall and strong.'

“And some they brought the brown lint-seed,

And flung it down from the Low;

6

And this,' they said, 'by the sunrise,

In the weaver's croft shall grow.

6 Oh, the poor, lame weaver,

How will he laugh outright
When he sees his dwindling flax-field

All full of flowers by night!'

“And then outspoke a brownie,

With a long beard on his chin: "I have spun up all the tow,' said he,

"And I want some more to spin.

“I've spun a piece of hempen cloth,

And I want to spin another ; A little sheet for Mary's bed,

And an apron for her mother.'

“With that I could not help but laugh,

And I laughed out loud and free; And then on the top of the Caldon Low

There was no one left but me.

“ And all on the top of the Caldon Low

The mists were cold and gray,
And nothing I saw but the mossy stones,

That round about me lay.

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“ But coming down from the hilltop

I heard afar below
How busy the jolly miller was,

And how the wheel did go.

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“ And I peeped into the widow's field,

And, sure enough, were seen
The yellow ears of the mildewed corn

All standing stout and green.

And down by the weaver's croft I stole,

To see if the flax were sprung ; And I met the weaver at his gate,

With the good news on his tongue.

“Now this is all I heard, mother,

And all that I did see ;
So, prythee, make my bed, mother,

,
For I'm tired as I can be.”

Mary Howitt.

THE PHANTOM SHIP

IN Mather's Magnalia Christi,

Of the old colonial time,
May be found in prose the legend

That is here set down in rhyme.

A ship sailed from New Haven,

And the keen and frosty airs, That filled her sails at parting,

Were heavy with good men's prayers.

“ O Lord ! if it be thy pleasure

Thus prayed the old divine “ To bury our friends in the ocean,

Take them, for they are thine !”

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