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Yon naked trees, whose shady leaves are lost, Wherein the birds were won't to build their bower, And now are clothed with moss and hoary frost Instead of blossoms, wherewith your buds did flower, I see your tears that from your boughs do rain, Whose drops in dreary icicles remain.
SPENSER (The Shepherd's Calendar).
Here's a happy New Year, but with reason
I'll beg you'll permit me to sayWish me many returns of the season, But as few as you please of the day.
The happiest of folk are the guileless and free,-
My daily labours past,
My head reclined at last ;
To fond congenial souls,
Our joys shall always last;
Westland Marston, LL.D.
Whate'er my future years may be,
Let joy or grief my fate betide,
(The Spanish Student).
And will not cool
E. B. Browning.
I and my darling, unafraid;
We two are one in faith and prayer,