THE GIPSY'S TENT.
1
When now cold winter's snows are fled,
And birds sing blithe again,
Look where the gipsy's tent is spread,
In the green village lane.
2
Oft by the old park pales, beneath
The branches of the oak,
The watchdog barks, when, in slow wreath,
Curls o'er the woods the smoke.
3
No home receives the wandering race;
The panniered ass is nigh,
Which patient bears from place to place
Their infant progeny.
4
Lo! houseless o'er the the world they stray,
But I at home will dwell,
Where I may read my book and pray,
And hear the Sabbath-bell.
