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So closed our tale, of whi
The random scheme as wil
The words are mostly mine
I wish she had not yielded !
The women and perhaps they felt t For something in the ballads which t.
Or in their silent influence as they sat.
Had ever seem'd to wrestle with burleso
And drove us, last, to quite a solemn close-
Not make her true-heroic-true-sublime ?
Or all, they said, as earnest as the close ?
Then rose a little feud betwixt the two,
Betwixt the mockers and the realists:
And I, betwixt them both, to please them both,
And yet to give the story as it rose,
And maybe neither pleased myself nor them.
But Lilia pleased me, for she took no part In our dispute : the sequel of the tale Had touch'd her; and she sat, she pluck'd the grass, She flung it from her, thinking: last, she fixt
A showery glance upon her aunt, and said,
You—tell us what we are' who might have told,
For she was cramm'd with theories out of books,
But that there rose a shout: the gates were closed
At sunset, and the crowd were swarming now,
To take their lea
The slope to Viviar
Trim hamlets; here ar
Half-lost in belts of hop
The shimmering glimpse
A red sail, or a white; ar
Look there, a garden!
God bless the narrow sea whic
And keeps our Britain, whole w A nation yet, the rulers and the Some sense of duty, something or Some reverence for the laws oursel Some patient force to change them Some civic manhood firm against the
But yonder, whiff! there comes a sudden heat,
The king is scared, the soldier will not fight,
The little boys begin to shoot and stab,
A kingdom topples over with a shriek
Like an old woman, and down rolls the world
In mock heroics stranger than our own;
Revolts, republics, revolutions, most
No graver than a schoolboys' barring out;
Too comic for the solemn things they are,
Too solemn for the comic touches in them,
Like our wild Princess with as wise a dream
As some of theirs—God bless the narrow seas !
I wish they were a whole Atlantic broad.'
Have patience,' I replied, 'ourselves are full
Of social wrong; and maybe wildest dreams
Are but the needful preludes of the truth :
The sport half-science, fill me with a faith.
This fine old world of ours is but a child
Yet in the go-cart. Patience! give it time
To learn its limbs : there is a hand that he's
In such discourse we gain d the garden nada And there we saw Sir Walter where he stoul
Before a tower of crimson holly-oaks,
Among six boys, head under head, and look'd
No little lily-handed Baronet he,
A lord of fat prize-oxen and of sheep.
pamphleteer on guano and on grain,
Welcome, farewell, and welcome for the year To follow: a shout rose again, and made The long line of the approaching rookery swerte From the elms, and shook the branches of the deer
From slope to slope thro' distant ferns, and rang