OUR PETS. 1G5 



RANGER'S GRAVE. 



He 's dead and gone ! He 's dead and gone ! 

 And the lime-tree branches wave, 

 And the daisy blows, 

 And the green grass grows, 

 Upon his grave. 



He 's dead and gone ! He 's dead and gone ! 

 And he sleeps by the flowering lime, 

 Where he loved to lie 

 When the sun was high. 

 In summer time. 



We 've laid him there, for I could not bear 

 His poor old bones to hide 

 In some dark hole, 

 Where rat and mole 



And blind-worms bide. 



We 've laid him there, where the blessed air 

 Disports with the lovely light, 

 And raineth showers 

 Of those sweet flowers 

 So silver white : 



Where the blackbird sings, and the wild bee's wings 

 Make music all day long, 



And the cricket at night 

 (A dusky sprite) 



Takes up the song. 



He loved to lie, where his wakeful eye 

 Could keep me still in sight, 

 Whence a word, or a sign, 

 Or a look of mine, 



Brought him like light. 



