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 world they stray, But I at home will dwell, Where I may read my book and pray, And hear the Sabbath-bell.