. Perfect pearls of poetry and prose; the most unique, touching, inspiring and beautiful literary . m the humbleviolet, nor a daisy unfold its crimson tints to the morning, but it has beennoticed by these impassioned and delicate observers, and wrought up intosome beautiful morality. THE OLD ARM-CHAIR. ELIZA COOK. LOVE it, I love it! and who shall uareTo chide me for loving that old arm-chair ?r ve treasured it long as a sainted prize, Ive bedewed it with tears, Ive embalmed it with bound by a thousand bands to my heart,-Not a tic wdl break, not a link will start; me THE
. Perfect pearls of poetry and prose; the most unique, touching, inspiring and beautiful literary . m the humbleviolet, nor a daisy unfold its crimson tints to the morning, but it has beennoticed by these impassioned and delicate observers, and wrought up intosome beautiful morality. THE OLD ARM-CHAIR. ELIZA COOK. LOVE it, I love it! and who shall uareTo chide me for loving that old arm-chair ?r ve treasured it long as a sainted prize, Ive bedewed it with tears, Ive embalmed it with bound by a thousand bands to my heart,-Not a tic wdl break, not a link will start; me THE PALACE 0 THE K ING. Would you know the spell ?—a mother sat there!And a sacred thing is that old arm-chair. Id childhoods hour I lingered nearThe hallowed seat with listening ear;^nd gentle words that mother would giveTo fit me to die, and teach me to live. And I almost worshipped her when she smiled,And turned from her Bible to bless hei rolled on, but the last one sped,—My idol was shattered, my earth-star fled!I learnt how much the heart can I saw her die in her old arm-ch» In childhoods hour I lingered nearThe hallowed seat with listening ear. She told me that shame would never betideWith truth for my creed, and God for my guide;She taught me to lisp my earliest I kneit beside that old arm-chair. I sat and watched her many a day. Tis past, tis past! but I gaze on it now,With quivering breath and throbbing brow .Twas there she nursed me, twas there slie memory flows with lava it is folly, and deem me scalding drops start down my choek WlK-n her eyes grew dim, and lier locks were But I love it, I love it, and cannot teargray; • My soul from a mothers old arm-chair. TiriJ PALACE 0 THE KING. WFLTJAM MITCHELL. *TS a bonnie, bonnio warl tliat Win; For its beauty is as naelhing to the pal»«5«livin in the noo, o tlio King. P An-HunnyiH the Ian we traivel , y^^_ ,,,^,^ ^,,^ ^^^^^ ^unmor, wi its merry,
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Keywords: ., bo, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1890, booksubjectenglishliterature
