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To-night I saw the sun set : he set and left be

hind The good old year, the dear old time, and all

my peace of mind; And the New-year's coming up, mother, but I

shall never see The blossom on the blackthorn, the leaf upon

the tree.

Last May we made a crown of flowers: we

had a merry day; Beneath the hawthorn on the green they made

me Queen of May; And we danced about the May-pole and in the

hazel copse, . Till Charles's Wain came out above the tall

white chimney-tops.

There's not a flower on all the hills: the frost

is on the pane : I only wish to live till the snowdrops come

again : I wish the snow would melt and the sun come

out on high : I long to see a flower so before the day I die.

The building rook ’ill caw from the windy tall

elm-tree, And the tufted plover pipe along the fallow lca, And the swallow 'ill come back again with sum

mer o'er the wave, But I shall lie alone, mother, within the moul

dering grave.

Upon the chancel-casement, and upon that

grave of mine, In the early, early morning the summer sun

’ill shine, Before the red cock crows from the farm upon

the hill, When you are warm asleep, mother, and all

the world is still.

When the flowers come again, mother, beneath

the waning light, You 'll never see me more in the long gray

fields at night; When from the dry dark wold the summer airs

blow cool On the oat-grass and the sword-grass, and the

bulrush in the pool.

You ’ll bury me, my mother, just beneath the

hawthorn shade, And you 'll come sometimes and see me where

I am lowly laid.
I shall not forget you, mother, I shall hear you

when you pass, With your feet above my head in the long and

pleasant grass. I have been wild and wayward, but you ’ll for

give me now; You 'll kiss me, my own mother, and forgive

me ere I go: Nay, nay, you must not weep, nor let your

grief be wild, You should not fret for me, mother, you have

another child. If I can, I 'll come again, mother, from out my

resting-place; Though you ’ll not see me, mother, I shall look

upon your face; Though I cannot speak a word, I shall hearken

what you say, And be often, often with you when you think

I’m far away.

Good night, good night, when I have said

good night forevermore, And you see me carried out from the threshold

of the door; Don't let Effie come to see me till my grave

be growing green : She'll be a better child to you than ever I have

been.

She 'll find my garden-tools upon the granary

floor; Let her take 'em : they are hers: I shall never

garden more : But tell her, when I'm gone, to train the rose

bush that I set About the parlor-window and the box of mign

onette.

Good night, sweet mother: call me before the

day is born. All night I lie awake, but I fall asleep at morn; But I would see the sun rise upon the glad

New-year, So, if you ’re waking, call me, call me early,

mother dear.

SERIES

CONCLUSION.

THOUGHT to pass away before, and

yet alive I am; And in the fields all round I hear the

bleating of the lamb. How sadly, I remember, rose the morning of

the year! To die before the snowdrop came, and now the

violet 's here.

O sweet is the new violet, that comes beneath

the skies, And sweeter is the young lamb's voice to me

that cannot rise, And sweet is all the land about, and all the

flowers that blow, And sweeter far is death than life to me that

long to go.

It seemed so hard at first, mother, to leave the

blessed sun,

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