JHojsrsr. 129 
Away o’er th/e frozen lake, the river, and the fen, 
Away! Away!—Ye have winsome steeds, ye little 
Lapland men! 
Ay, winsome steeds in sooth, with their antlers 
branched and high; 
So sure of foot, and swift of pace, they truly seem to 
fly- 
Ye need no palace-stables, no saucy pampered grooms, 
To stretch your cracking purse-strings, and strut in 
liveried plumes; 
No heavy half-year’s bills, for oats, beans, straw, and 
hay. 
The forest yields them lodgment, and food, where’er 
they stray. 
And thus we find, in every clime, things beautiful and 
fair, 
Each fitted to fulfil its task of use and beauty there; 
And I remember thinking so, when, a little child, I 
read 
The history of the good Keindeer, and the Moss whereon 
they fed. 
Louisa A. Twamley. 
Mother! dear mother! the feelings nurst 
As I hung at thy bosom, clung round thee first. 
’Twas the earliest link in love’s warm chain— 
’Tis the only one that will long remain: 
And as year by year, and day by day, 
Some friend still trusted drops away, 
Mother! dear mother! oh! dost thou see 
How the shortened chain brings me nearer thee? 
Willis. 
9 
