Volume 3 — THEREIN. A SONG.

I know a valley fair and green, Wherein, wherein, A dear and winding brook is seen, Therein; The village street stands in its pride With a row of elms on either side, Therein; They shade the village green. In the village street there is an inn. Wherein, wherein, The landlord sits in bottle-green, Therein. His face is like a glowing coal, And his paunch is like a swelling bowl; Therein Is a store of good ale, therein. The inn has a cosy fireside. Wherein, wherein, Two huge andirons stand astride, Therein. When the air is raw of a winter's night, The fire on the hearth shines bright Therein. 'Tis sweet to be therein. The landlord sits in his old arm-chair Therein, therein; And the blaze shines through his yellow hair Therein. There cometh lawyer Bickerstith, And the village doctor, and the smith. Therein Full many a tale they spin. They talk of fiery Sheridan's raid Therein, therein; And hapless Baker's ambuscade Therein; The grip with which Grant throttled Lee, And Sherman's famous march to the sea. Therein Great fights are fought over therein. The landlord has a daughter fair Therein, therein. In ringlets falls her glossy hair Therein. When they speak in her ear she tosses her head; When they look in her eye she hangs the lid, Therein. She does not care a pin. I know the maiden's heart full well. Therein, therein, Pure thoughts and holy wishes dwell Therein. I see her at church on bended knee; And well I know she prays for me Therein. Sure, that can be no sin. Our parish church has a holy priest, Therein, therein. When he sings the mass, he faces the east. Therein. On Sunday next he will face the west, When my Nannie and I go up abreast, Therein, And carry our wedding-ring. And when we die, as die we must; Therein, therein, The priest will pray o'er the breathless dust, Therein; And our graves will be planted side by side. But the hearts that loved shall not abide Therein, But love in Heaven again. C.W.