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They pass—and a host of spirits grey Are floating onward—away! away !
Sarah Flower Adams. " March Song."
I'm wearln' awa', John,
Like snaw wreaths in thaw, John,
I'm wearin' awa'
To the land o' the leal. There's nae sorrow there, John, There's neither cold nor care, Johu, The day's aye fair
T the land o' the leal.
1 climbed the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn,
Lakes and mountains beneath me gleamed misty and wide; All was still, save, by fits, when the eagle was yelling,
And starting around me the echoes replied. On the right, Striden-edge round the Red-tarn was bending, And Catchedicam its left verge was defending, One huge nameless rock in the front was ascending, When I mark'd the sad spot where the wanderer had died.
Sir Walter Scott. " Helvellyn."
Welcome, maids of honour 1 You do bring In the spring, And wait upon her. She has virgins man)' Fresh and fair; Yet ye are More sweet than any.