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usually esteemed to be highly unpalatable to the venerable personage addressed. 

 There are many instances also of bad taste in the composition of the letter, 

 such as exclaiming, " God bless you, my Lord !" as an introduction to your 

 humble servant. But, however faulty the vehicle of the plan may be, the plan 

 itself lays the country under great obligation to its author. 



THE SONGS OF OUR FATHERS. 



" Sing aloud 



Old Songs, the precious Slusic of the Heart." Vyurdttvurth. 



Sing them upon the sunny hills. 



When days are long and bright. 

 And the blue gleam of shining hills 



Is loveliest to the sight ! 

 Sing them along the misty moor. 



Where ancient hunters rov'd, 

 And swell them through the torrent's roar. 



The songs our fathers lov'd ! 



The songs their souls rejoiced to hear. 



When harps were in the hall. 

 And each proud note made lance and spear 



Thrill on the bannered wall : 

 The songs that through our valleys green, 



Sent on from age to age, 

 Like his own river's voice, have been 



The peasant's heritage. 



The reaper sings them when the vale 



Is filled with plumy sheaves ; 

 The woodman, by the starlight pale. 



Cheered homeward through the leaves : 

 And unto them the glancing oars 



A joyous measure keep, 

 Where the dark rocks that crest our shores 



Dash back the foaming deep. 



So let it be ! — a light they shed 



O'er each old fount and grove ; 

 A memory of the gentle dead, 



A lingering spell of love. 

 Murmuring the names of mighty men. 



They bid our streams roll on, 

 And link high thoughts to every glen 



Where valiant deeds were done. 



Teach them your children round the hearth. 



When evening-fires burn clear. 

 And in the fields of harvest mirth. 



And on the hills of deer : 

 So shall each unforgotten word, 



When far those lov'd ones roam, 

 Call back the hearts which once it stirred. 



To childhood's holy home. 



The green woods of their native land 



Shall whisper in the strain. 

 The voices of their household band. 



Shall breathe their names again ; 

 The heathery heights in vision rise 



Where, like the stag, they rov'd — 

 Sing to your sons those melodies. 



The songs your fathers loved ! 



