We, who the wide world make our home;
The barren heath our cheerful bed;
Careless o'er mount and moor we roam,
And never tears of sorrow shed.
But merrily, O! Merrily, O!
Through this world of care we go.

Love, that a palace left in tears,
Flew to our houseless feast of mirth:
For here, unfetter'd, beauty cheers,
The heaven alone that's found on earth!
Then merrily, O! Merrily, O!
Through this world of care we go.



SONNET.

THE BEGGAR.


Of late I saw him on his staff reclined,
Bow'd down beneath a weary weight of woes,
Without a roof to shelter from the wind
His head, all hoar with many a winter's snows.
All trembling he approach'd, he strove to speak;
The voice of misery scarce my ear assail'd;
A flood of sorrow swept his furrow'd cheek,
Remembrance check'd him, and his utt'rance fail'd.