Forest Runes 1887

This Is A New Release Of The Original 1887 Edition.

This scarce antiquarian book is a facsimile reprint of the original. Due to its age, it may contain imperfections such as marks, notations, marginalia and flawed pages. Because we believe this work is culturally important, we have made it available as part of our commitment for protecting, preserving, and promoting the world's literature in affordable, high quality, modern editions that are true to the original work.

This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1887 edition. Excerpt: ... As we loitered side by side, Where the roses bloomed and died, Half a dozen summers since. He was rustling through the leaves, Where the golden tassels swayed, Half in- pleasure, half afraid, Hiding in the furrowed shade, Where the August cricket grieves. Silken tassels on the corn, Silken curls about his head; "Which is which ?" we laughing said; While the sun a glory shed On the curls and tasseled corn. Saxon eyes and face and hair, Saxon blood in every vein, Cheeks like roses after rain; Never shall we see again Childish loveliness so rare. When the apple and the quince i All their summer fragrance shed, How we miss our darling dead; How we miss thS curly head Of our lovely little prince. Little Charley was a prince -- But, somebody in the sky Had more need of him than I, So we laid him down to die Half a dozen summers since. IT DOES NOT PAY. Inscribed to the memory of " Uncle John Mayo," a Puritan freethinker, sans peur et sans reproche. If my lines were as good as the man, I could discount Milton. ABENT old man with silvery hair, A palsied hand and brow of care, Sat in the shade on a summer day. And he musingly said with thoughtful air, It does not pay. For years he had mixed in the world's turmoil Of busy strife, and with manly toil Had battled many a weary day. And ever the world was still his foil. It did not pay. Partners had swindled and friends betrayed, Those he had succored refused their aid When adverse storms rose over the way. He only said as he sat in the shade, It does not pay. No bitterness lurked in the old man's heart, Bravely and well he had played his part In the game of life, and well might say, As he backward looked on the troubled chart, It does not pay. Restfully, peacefully sat he there; The south wind lifted...