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 308 CONSOLATIONS OF SOLITUDE

No wife, no babes, to greet his glance ; No village children come to dance. And bless his eve.

��No music cheers his hours forlorn,

Save when some bullfrog's croak he hears , Or when, from early eve till morn The shrill mosquito winds its horn Full in his ears.

Sad fate, to dwell like one that's dead.

Unknown except to wolf or fox. Or woodpecker that taps o'erhead, Or wildcat that, with stealthy tread. Prowls 'mongst the rocks !

I'd rather drown me in the sea,

Than dwell in such a cheerless gloom. Sure, man was made with man to be, To live in sweet society. Not in the tomb.

��THE GRAVE.

Ah, what a blessed life, I ween,

'Mongst harmless birds to live like one I No bickerings blight the peaceful scene ; No blood bestains the herbage green ; Hated by none.

Silent he wanders day by day.

Bent on God's glorious works to brood Where harmless conies skip and play, Fearless and free, and far away From black ingratitude.

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