"Rest, little Young One, rest; thou hast forgot the day When my Father found thee first in places far away ; Many flocks were on the hills, but thou wert owned by none, And thy mother from thy side for evermore was gone. "He took thee in his arms, and in pity brought thee home : A blessed day for thee! then whither wouldst thou roam? A faithful Nurse thou hast; the dam that did thee yean Upon the mountain tops no kinder could have been. "Thou knowest that twice a day I have brought thee in this can Fresh water from the brook, as clear as ever ran; "Thy limbs will shortly be twice as stout as they are now, "It will not, will not rest !-Poor Creature, can it be "Alas, the mountain tops that look so green and fair! I've heard of fearful winds and darkness that come there ; The little brooks that seem all pastime and all play, When they are angry, roar like lions for their prey. "Here thou needest not dread the raven in the sky; Night and day thou art safe, -our cottage is hard by. Why bleat so after me? Why pull so at thy chain? Sleep—and at break of day I will come to thee again !` —As homeward through the lane I went with lazy feet, This song to myself did I oftentimes repeat; And it seemed, as I retraced the ballad line by line, That but half of it was hers, and one half of it was mine. Again, and once again, did I repeat the song ; 'Nay," said I, "more than half to the Damsel must belong, For she looked with such a look, and she spake with such a tone, That I almost received her heart into my own." THE CHILDLESS FATHER. “UP, Timothy, up with your staff and away ! -Of coats and of jackets grey, scarlet, and green, On the slopes of the pastures all colours were seen; With their comely blue aprons, and caps white as snow, The girls on the hills made a holiday show. Fresh sprigs of green box-wood, not six months before, A coffin through Timothy's threshold had past; 1 In several parts of the North of England when a funeral takes place, a basin full of Sprigs of Box-wood is placed at the door of the house from which the coffin is taken up, and each person who attends the funeral ordinarily takes a Sprig of this Box-wood, and throws it into the grave of the deceased. Now fast up the dell came the noise and the fray, Perhaps to himself at that moment he said, THE REVERIE OF POOR SUSAN. At the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears, 'Tis a note of enchantment; what ails her? She sees A mountain ascending, a vision of trees; Bright volumes of vapour through Lothbury glide, Green pastures she views in the midst of the dale, She looks, and her heart is in heaven: but they fade, POWER OF MUSIC, AN Orpheus! an Orpheus !-yes, Faith may grow bold, And take to herself all the wonders of old ;— Near the stately Pantheon you'll meet with the same His station is there ;-and he works on the crowd, What an eager assembly! what an empire is this! As the Moon brightens round her the clouds of the night, It gleams on the face, there, of dusky-browed Jack, That errand-bound 'Prentice was passing in haste— The Porter sits down on the weight which he bore ; ; He stands, backed by the wall ;-he abates not his din O blest are the hearers, and proud be the hand Of the pleasure it spreads through so thankful a band; I am glad for him, blind as he is !—all the while If they speak 'tis to praise, and they praise with a smile. That tall Man, a giant in bulk and in height, Can he keep himself still, if he would? oh, not he! Mark that Cripple who leans on his crutch; like a tower That long has leaned forward, leans hour after hour !— That Mother, whose spirit in fetters is bound, While she dandles the Babe in her arms to the sound. Now, coaches and chariots! roar on like a stream; Here are twenty souls happy as souls in a dream: They are deaf to your murmurs-they care not for you, Nor what ye are flying, nor what ye pursue! STAR-GAZERS. WHAT crowd is this? what have we here! we must not pass it by; A Telescope upon its frame, and pointed to the sky : Some little pleasure-skiff, that doth on Thames's waters float. |