HEATHER LAYS. 



When dogs and guns are laid to sleep, 

 'Neath the cleft moon thy sweet bells weep 

 To hear the plaintive dying peep 



From birds half killed, 

 As, from soft breasts, sore wounded deep, 



Their life's distilled. 



No more the dusky legs will spring, 

 No more will spread the speckled wing; 

 A bloody head does earthward hing, 



No more to live 

 'Tis sport to some who take the thing 



They cannot give. 



Badge of true manhood and the brave, 



Long may thy purple glory wave 



O'er moor and hill, when red guns rave. 



And death's abroad ; 

 To shield the weak thou canst not save, 



Bright flower of God. 

 -From "Law Lyrics," by Robert Bird, 1887. 



Solitude 



Oh ! beautiful those wastes of heath, 



Stretching for miles to lure the bee, 

 Where the wild bird, on pinions strong, 

 Wheels round and pours his piping song, 

 And timid creatures wander free. 



Mary Howitt. 

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