• TABLE OF CONTENTS
HIDE
 Front Cover
 Front Matter
 Frontispiece
 Title Page
 Dedication
 Preface
 Table of Contents
 Olden times
 Madam Fortescue and her cat
 Andrew Lee the fisher boy
 The wanderer's return
 A swinging song
 Ellen More
 A day of disasters
 The young mourner
 The bear and the bakers
 The soldier's story
 Marion Lee
 The child's lament
 The sailor's wife
 The morning drive
 The found treasure
 Thoughts of Heaven
 A day of hard work
 The old man and the carrion...
 May Fair
 French and English
 The little mariner
 The snow-drop
 A poetical letter
 Alice Fleming
 One of the vanities of human...
 The garden
 Song for the ball-players
 The kitten's mishap
 Spring
 Life among the mountains
 Pilgrims
 Cowslips
 The Indian bird
 The children's wish
 The English mother
 The departed
 September
 A poetical chapter on tails
 Advertising
 Back Cover
 Spine






Group Title: Tales in verse : for the young
Title: Tales in verse
CITATION THUMBNAILS PAGE TURNER PAGE IMAGE ZOOMABLE
Full Citation
STANDARD VIEW MARC VIEW
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00085435/00001
 Material Information
Title: Tales in verse for the young
Alternate Title: Howitt's Tales in verse
Physical Description: 207, 16 p., 6 leaves of plates : ill. (some col.) ; 16 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Howitt, Mary Botham, 1799-1888
Darton & Clark ( Publisher )
Publisher: Darton and Clark
Place of Publication: London
Publication Date: [between 1837 and 1845]
Edition: New ed.
 Subjects
Subject: Children's poetry   ( lcsh )
Children's poetry -- 1840   ( lcsh )
Publishers' catalogues -- 1840   ( rbgenr )
Bldn -- 1840
Genre: Children's poetry
Publishers' catalogues   ( rbgenr )
poetry   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: England -- London
 Notes
General Note: Darton and Clark succeeded Darton & Son in 1837 and was succeeded by Darton & Co in 1845.
General Note: Frontispiece printed in colors and plates in a red floral border.
General Note: Publisher's catalogue follows text.
Statement of Responsibility: by Mary Howitt.
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00085435
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002231887
notis - ALH2274
oclc - 234189869

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Front Matter
        Page i
    Frontispiece
        Page ii
    Title Page
        Page iii
    Dedication
        Page iv
    Preface
        Page v
        Page vi
    Table of Contents
        Page vii
        Page viii
    Olden times
        Page 1
        Page 2
        Page 3
        Page 4
        Page 5
        Page 6
        Page 6a
        Page 7
        Page 8
    Madam Fortescue and her cat
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
    Andrew Lee the fisher boy
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
    The wanderer's return
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
    A swinging song
        Page 38
        Page 39
    Ellen More
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
    A day of disasters
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 50a
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
    The young mourner
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
    The bear and the bakers
        Page 58
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 68a
        Page 69
    The soldier's story
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 74
        Page 75
        Page 76
        Page 77
    Marion Lee
        Page 78
        Page 79
        Page 80
    The child's lament
        Page 81
        Page 82
        Page 83
        Page 84
    The sailor's wife
        Page 85
        Page 86
        Page 87
        Page 88
        Page 89
        Page 90
        Page 91
        Page 92
    The morning drive
        Page 93
        Page 94
        Page 95
        Page 96
        Page 97
    The found treasure
        Page 98
        Page 99
        Page 100
    Thoughts of Heaven
        Page 101
        Page 102
        Page 103
    A day of hard work
        Page 104
        Page 105
        Page 106
        Page 107
        Page 108
        Page 109
    The old man and the carrion crow
        Page 110
        Page 111
        Page 112
        Page 113
        Page 114
        Page 115
        Page 116
    May Fair
        Page 117
        Page 118
        Page 119
        Page 120
        Page 121
    French and English
        Page 122
        Page 123
    The little mariner
        Page 124
        Page 125
        Page 126
        Page 127
        Page 128
        Page 129
        Page 130
    The snow-drop
        Page 131
        Page 132
        Page 132a
    A poetical letter
        Page 133
        Page 134
        Page 135
        Page 136
        Page 137
        Page 138
        Page 139
        Page 140
    Alice Fleming
        Page 141
        Page 142
        Page 143
        Page 144
        Page 145
        Page 146
        Page 147
        Page 148
    One of the vanities of human wishes
        Page 149
        Page 150
        Page 151
        Page 152
        Page 153
    The garden
        Page 154
        Page 155
        Page 156
        Page 157
    Song for the ball-players
        Page 158
        Page 159
        Page 160
        Page 160a
    The kitten's mishap
        Page 161
        Page 162
        Page 162a
        Page 163
        Page 164
        Page 165
    Spring
        Page 166
        Page 167
        Page 168
        Page 169
    Life among the mountains
        Page 170
        Page 171
        Page 172
    Pilgrims
        Page 173
        Page 174
        Page 175
        Page 176
    Cowslips
        Page 177
        Page 178
        Page 179
    The Indian bird
        Page 180
        Page 180a
        Page 181
        Page 182
        Page 183
        Page 184
        Page 185
        Page 186
        Page 187
    The children's wish
        Page 188
        Page 189
        Page 190
        Page 191
        Page 192
        Page 192a
    The English mother
        Page 193
        Page 194
        Page 195
        Page 196
    The departed
        Page 197
        Page 198
        Page 199
    September
        Page 200
        Page 201
    A poetical chapter on tails
        Page 202
        Page 203
        Page 204
        Page 205
        Page 206
        Page 207
    Advertising
        Page 208
        Page 209
        Page 210
        Page 211
        Page 212
        Page 213
        Page 214
        Page 215
        Page 216
        Page 217
        Page 218
        Page 219
        Page 220
        Page 221
        Page 222
        Page 223
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
    Spine
        Spine
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T ALES


IN VERSE;


FOR THE YOUNG.


BY

MARY HOWITT.


A NEW EDITION.





LONDON:


DARTON AND CLARK, HOLBORN HILL.













TO

THE CHILDREN

OF


HER BELOVED SISTER ANNA,


THIS LITTLE VOLUME OF


TALES AND POEMS


?s Inscribeb bi U

THEIR AFFECTIONATE AUNT.











P IEFACE


TO THE FIRST EDITION.



I'ElinAI's sonm of my yooung readers may be
tempted to turn critical, and say that some of the
pieces in this volume are not strictly entitled to
th( name of tales; I think it best, therefore, to
plead guilty at once, and explain that the title
was adopted as the most simple, and, at the same
time, sufficiently expressive of the bulk of its
contents. Indeed, the whole of the prose volume
which is to succeed this, I believe, consists of
tales; and the poems in this volume which are
not literally stories, will, I hope, find such favour





i I'IHEFACE.

in the eyes of my young friends, that they shall not
deem them unfitting companions to the best talcs
amongst them.
I can wish no better for my kind young readers,
so far as the book is concerned, than that it may
become as popular amongst them as the Sketches
of Natural History which I wrote for them some
time ago, and a second volume of which I hope to
offer them before long.


Nottilngihm, June 10tl, 1836.














CONTENTS.






Page
,1LDEN TIMES .

MADAM FORTESCT'E AND IHE1 CAT 0

ANDREW LEE 4

THE WANDERER'S RETrI 'N. Q

A SWINGING SONG .

ELLEN MORE 40

A DAY OF DISASTERS 4

THE YOUNG MOURNE .

THE BEAR AND THE BAKERS .

THE SOLDIER S STORY 7

MARION LEE 78

TIE CILDS LAMENT 81

THE SAII.-OIS WIFE 85

TIE MORNING DRIVE 93

THE FOUND TREASURE 98






(ON'TEN T.


TIIOUGHTS F' HEAVEN .

A DAY 01 HAOID WOH K 10)

THE OLD MAN AND THE CARRION C(ROW (1

MAY FAIR 7

FRENCH AND ENGLISH ~I

TIIE 1.I''L MAlINF 12

ITHE SNOW-DRO,' :11

A POETICAL LETT I ::

ALTCE FLEMING I

ONE 1)1OF THE VANITIES 1FI' III-'AN W\VIlE- .

THE GARDEN I1

SONG FOR TIE B.UAI. PLAYERS .

THE KITTEN'S MISHAP -I
SPRING il

LIFE AMONG THE MOUNTIATNS 17

PILGRIM :

COWSLIPS 177

THE INDIAN THIRD I

THE CHILDREN S WI. ]

THE ENGLISH MOTHER .

THE DEPARTED 197

SEPTEMBER ()

A POETICAL CIAPTIER ON TAILS )2.











OLDEN TIMES.


DEDICATED, WITH MUCH RESPECT, TO JUVENILE
ANTIQUARIANS.




THE fields with corn are rich and deep,
Which only he who sows can reap;
And in old woodlands' grassy lea
Are cattle grazing peacefully;-
And hamlet-homes in valleys low
Fear neither famine, fire, nor foe.
A thousand busy towns are rife
With prosperous sounds of trade and life,
And bustling crowds are in the streets,
Where man is friend with all he meets.
No need is there of city wall,
Nor gates to shut at evening-fall;
B





OLDEN TIMES.


For, know ye not, the land I praise
Is England in these happy days !
It was not thus in wood and wold,-
It was not thus in times of old;
Where waves the corn the red fern bowed
On healthy turf that ne'er was ploughed;
And boundless tracts were covered o'er
With mossy bog and barren moor;
The green hill-slopes, the pastoral lea,
Were shadowed by the forest-tree;
And herds of deer, of nought afraid,
Went bounding through the greenwood shade;
And 'mong the leafy boughs above,
Loud screamed the jay, and cooed the dove;
The squirrel sprang from tree to tree,
The timid badger gamboled free,
And the red fox barked dismally;
And the grim wolf, at close of day,
Made the lone mountain herds his prey.
Then fasts were held, and prayers were said
When knight or yeoman journeyed,
For peril great was on the road,
Where'er a daring traveller trode;





OLDEN TIMES.


And ever as they came or went,
Before the way-side cross they bent,
Their beads to tell, their prayers to say,
And crave protection for the way.
Yet, save when quiet woodmen past
Silently through the forest vast,
Or hermit stole from out his cell
Down to some holy way-side well,
Or portly monk in habit grey,
And long black cowl, rode by the way,
Or pilgrim went, with staff in hand,
To some famed shrine across the land,
But rarely man had man in view,
For travellers in this land were few.
Yet, at times upon the breeze was borne
The gallant sound of hunter's horn;
And barons from their halls came forth
With leashed hounds and sounds of mirth;
And dames in quaint, embroidered dresses,
And hooded hawks with bells and jesses;
With yeomen bold a thousand strong,
Careered right gallantly along.
B 2





OLDEN TIMES.


And at times, stout men, like Robin Hood,
With outlawed dwellers of the wood,
With their merry men, clad all in green,
A hunting in the woods were seen.

Not then each golden harvest-field
Was reaped for him whose toil had tilled;
Little was reeked of cruel wrong-
The weak man laboured for the strong;
And civil war fierce ruin wrought,
And battles, many a one, were fought;
And the old remnants of the slain
Moulder on hill, and heath, and plain.
Then, learning was of little note,
And, saving monks, none read or wrote;
And even kings, with nought of shame,
Confessed they could not sign their name i
Then ladies' lives were dull, for they
Wrought tapestry-work from day to day;
And peasant-women, brown with toil,
Tilled with the men the barren soil.





OLDEN TIMES.


Then towns were few, and small, and lone,
Inclosed with massy walls of stone;
And at each street an outer gate,
To shut before the day grew late;
And not a lamp might give its light
After the curfew rang at night.
And if perchance it happened so
That a traveller came on journey slow,
In scarlet cloak and leather belt,
And high-crowned hat of sable felt,
And huge jack-boots, and iron spur,
Riding, the king's grave messenger,
How stared the townsfolk, half aghast,
As solemnly he onward passed
To the low hostel, built of wood !
And how in wondering groups they stood,
With questioning poured out amain,
To see him journey forth again !

Another day of blither cheer
Might come, some three times in the year,





OLDEN TIMES.


When the customer traders came with packs
Of needful things on horses' backs;
With jingling bells to the leader's rein,
Sounding afar on the narrow lane;-
A long array of near a score,
With armed riders on before;
And the men of trade with visage thin,
In travelling caps of badger skin,
And rough, huge cloaks, and ponderous gear
Of arms and trappings, closed the rear.
On went they, guests of special grace,
On to the little market-place;-
And quickly might be purchased there
From the Sheffieldman his cutler-ware;
And winter garb and woollen vest
From the sturdy weaver of the West;
And scarlet hose and broidered shoon,
And wooden bowl and horny spoon;
Buckles and belts, and caps of hide,
And a thousand other things beside,
Till the townsfolk had laid in their store,
And the traders could sell nothing more.





















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OLDEN TIMES.


Then at dawn of day, the sober train
Set out upon their way again;
Travelling on by dale and down,
Warily to some distant town-
Or to some dark, grey castle tall,
Guarded with drawbridge, moat, and wall;
With porter stern and bloodhounds grim,
With towers of strength and dungeons dim;
Where minstrels stood with pipes to play,
And a jester gibed the live-long day;-
Or to halt in some green vale, before
The monastery's gothic door,
To meekly ask, with speaking eye,
What the Lord Abbot chose to buy-
Or ermine soft, or linen fine,
Or precious flasks of foreign wine ?

Thus was it in the days of old
Men lived, and thus they bought and sold;
Sordid, and ignorant, and poor,
Was baron bold and churlish boor.





8 OLDEN TIMES.

'Tis well for ye your days are cast
When ignorance, like a cloud, has passed,
And God has showered his blessings down
On wood and wild, in tower and town,
And all in peace and plenty dwell;
And so thank Heaven, and fare-ye-well.











MADAM FORTESCUE AND HER CAT.

AN ILLUSTRATION OF THREE PICTURES, DESIGNED AND DRAWN
BY ANNA MARY HOWITT, FOR HER
BROTHER CLAUDE.

PART I.


Within this picture you may view
The Cat and Madam Fortescue-
And very soon you will discover
That Mistress Pussy lived in clover."


THIS is a nice pleasant parlour,
As you may see in a minute;
It belongs to Madam Fortescue,
And there she sits in it.

That's the dear old lady,
In a green tabby gown,
And a great lace cap,
With long lace ruffles hanging down.





MADAM FORTESCUE


There she sits
In a cushioned, high backed-seat,
Covered over with crimson damask,
With a footstool at her feet.

You see what a handsome room it is,
Full of old carving and gilding;
The house is, one may be sure,
Of the Elizabethan style of building.

It is a pleasant place;
And through the window one sees
Into old-fashioned gardens
Full of old yew trees.

And on that table,-that funny table,
With the curious thin legs,-
Stand little tea-cups, a china jar,
And great ostrich eggs.

One can see in a moment,
That she is very rich indeed;
With nothing to do, all day long,
But sit in a chair and read.





AND HER CAT.


And those are very antique chairs,
So heavy and so strong;
The seats are tent-stitch, the lady's work,
All done when she was young.

And that's Mr. Fortescue's portrait,
That hangs there on the wall,
In the thunder-and-lightning coat,
The bag-wig and all.

Very old-fashioned and stately,
With a sword by his side;
But 'tis many a long year now
Since the old gentleman died.

Thus you see the room complete,
With a Turkey carpet on the floor;
And get a peep into other rooms
Through that open door.

But the chiefest thing of all
We have yet passed over,
The tortoise-shell cat, which our motto says
Now lives in clover."





MADAM FORTESCUE


Meaning she has nothing to do,
All the long year through,
But sleep and take her meals
With good Madam Fortescue.

Only look, on that crimson cushion
How soft and easy she lies,
Just between sleep and wake,
With half buttoned-up eyes!

And good Madam Fortescue,
She lifts her eyes from her book,
To see if she wants anything,
And to give her a loving look.

But now turn your eyes
Behind this great Indian screen-
There sits Madam Fortescue's woman,
Very crabbed and very lean.

She makes believe to her lady,
To be very fond of the cat;
But she hates her,
And pinches when she pretends to pat.





AND HER CAT.


But the lady never knows it,
For the cat can but mew;
She can tell no tales, however ill-used,
And that Mrs. Crabthorn knew.

So she smiled, and was smooth-spoken,
And the lady said, Crabthorn,
You are the best waiting-woman
That ever was born!

" And when I die, good Crabthorn,
In my will it shall appear,
That my cat I leave to you,
And fifty pounds a-year.

" For I certainly think, Crabthorn,
You will love her for my sake!"
" That I shall!" said the waiting-woman,
And all my pleasure will she make !"
Now all this has been said and done
This very day, I am sure-
For there lies the lady's will,
Tied up with red tape secure.





MADAM FORTESCUE


PART II.


New men, new measures," as 'tis said;
Now Madam Fortescue is dead,
And the poor Cat, as we shall show,
In little time doth suffer woe.


Now comes the second picture ;
And here we shall discover,
That the poor pussy now
No longer lives in clover.

For she gets no sups of cream-
Not even a crumb of bread:
Cross Mrs. Crabthorn rules the house,
Now Madam Fortescue is dead.

And the fine crimson cushion
Into the lumber-room is thrown-
Only look at that poor cat,
She would melt a heart of stone.





AND HER CAT.


She may well look so forlorn,-
Poor creature! that she may;
And only think what kicks she's had,
And nothing to eat all day !

This, then, is the dressing-room,
Grand and stately as you see;
Yet everything in the room
Looks as solemn as can be!

The very peacock's feathers
Over the old glass on the wall,
Look like great mourning plumes
Waving at a funeral.

And that glass in the black frame;
And the footstool on the floor,
And the chair where Madam sat to dress,
But where she'll sit no more!

Everything looks as if some
Great sorrow would befall!
See, there's the old tabby gown
Hanging on the wall;





MADAM FORTESCUE


And there's the lace cap,-
But there's no lace border on it;
And in that half-open box
Is the dear old lady's bonnet.

And there lie the black silk mits,
And the funny high-heeled shoes;
And there the pomatum-pot,
And the powder-puffs she used to use.

But she will never use them more,
Neither to-day nor to-morrow!
She is dead-and gone from this world,
As the cat knows to her sorrow !

But now through that open door,
If you take a peep,
You see the great stately bed
On which she used to sleep.

And there rests her coffin
On that very stately bed,-
For you must clearly understand
That Madam Fortescue is dead I





AND HER CAT.


See now, in this dressing-room,
There sits the poor cat;
Could you have thought a few days .
Would make a change like that?.

See, how wo-begone she looks-
In what miserable case,
I really think I see the tears
All running down her face !

She has reason enough to cry, poor thing,
She has had a great loss!
She had a mistress the best in the world,
She has one now-so cross !

There she sits trembling,
And hanging down her head,
As if she knew misfortune was come,
Now Madam Fortescue is dead !

And look, there stands Mrs. Crabthorn,
With a rope in her hand,
Giving to that surly fellow
A very strict command.
C





MADAM FORTESCUE


For what? To hang the cat!
For then, Scroggin," says she,
"I shall still have my fifty pounds a-year,
And what's the cat to me!

" To be sure I promised Madam
To love the cat like a relation,-
But now she is dead and gone,
Why that's no signification!

"And cats I never could bear,
And I'll not be plagued with that;
So take this new rope, Scroggin,
And see you hang the cat!

"Be sure to do it safely,-
Hang her with the rope double;
And her skin will make you a cap,
Friend Scroggin, for your trouble!"

Poor thing, she hears their words-
Well may she moan and sob;
He is an ill-looking fellow,
And seems to like the job !





AND HER CAT.


He will take the rope with joy,
He's no pity-not he !
And in less than half-an-hour,
She'll be hanging on a tree !



PART III.


Now in this third part you will see
The end of Crabthorn's treachery;
How she had cause to rue the day
Whereon the Cat was made away.


SEE now, my dear brother,
This is the great dining-hall,
Where the company is assembled
After the funeral.

It is a very noble room;
But now we cannot stay,
We must look at the old wainscot
And the pictures some other day.
c2





MADAM FORTESCUE


See here sits the company,
The heir and all the cousins;
The nephews and the grand-nephews,
And the nieces by dozens.

And there is the lawyer
Reading the lady's will;
For an hour they've sat listening,
All of them stock siill.

The lawyer he has just reached
To where the will said,
"Mrs. Crabthorn shall have fifty pounds
A-year, till the cat be dead.

"That fifty pounds a-year
Shall be left to her to keep
The cat in good condition,
With a cushion whereon to sleep;

"That as long as the cat live
The money shall be her due. "
And the old lady prayed her, in her will,
To be a loving guardian and true.





AND HER CAT.


" Goodness me screamed Mrs. Crabthorn,
"The cat's dead, I do declare !
Who thought that Madam meant the money
Only for the cat's share !

"Lawk, sirs, she loved my lady
More than all the world beside;
And so, like any Christian,
She took to her bed and died !

" She died of grief for my lady,
On the third day and no other!"
" You shall not be forgotten, Crabthorn! "
Said good Madam Fortescue's brother.

And with that up jumps Scroggin,
You see where he stands,
Dangling the very rope
In his great, rough hands.

And moreover than that,
To make it past a doubt,
There's the cat-skin in his pocket,
Which he will presently pull out.





MADAM FORTESCUE


And he tells all the company
Assembled there that day,
How Crabthorn had misused the cat,
And had her made away.

Now if you inquire of me
Why her death he did not smother,
I can only say, bad people
Often betray one another.

And I can very well suppose
They have quarrelled since that day,
And now, to be revenged on her,
He determines to betray.

But you see how angry she is,
How her face is in a blaze;
But she deserved her disappointment,
And so every one says.

And now remember this,
My dear little brother,
Never be unkind or cruel
To one thing or another.




AND HER CAT.

For nobody knows how sorely
They may have cause to repent;
And always, sooner or later,
There comes a punishment











ANDREW LEE THE FISHER BOY.


AH! Fisher Boy, I well know thee,
Brother thou art to Marion Lee !
What, didst thou think I knew thee not,
Couldst thou believe I had forgot ?
For shame, for shame! what I forget
The treasures of thy laden net,
And how we went one day together,
One day of showery, summer weather,
Up the sea-shore, and for an hour
Stood sheltering from a pelting shower,
Within an upturned, ancient boat,
That had not been for years afloat?
No, no, my boy! I liked too well
The old sea-stories thou didst tell;





ANDREW LEE.


I liked too well thy roguish eye-
Thy merry speech-thy laughter sly;
Thy old sea-jacket, to forget,-
And then the treasures of thy net !

O Andrew thou hast not forgot-
I'm very sure that thou hast not-
All that we talked about that day,
Of famous countries far away;
Of Crusoes in their islands lone,
That never were nor will be known,
And yet this very moment stand
Upon some point of mountain land,
Looking out o'er the desert sea,
If chance some coming ship there be.
Thou know'st we talked of this-thou know'st
We talked about a ship-boy's ghost-
A wretched little orphan lad
Who served a master stern and bad,
And had no friend to take his part,
And perished of a broken heart:
Or by his master's blows, some said,





ANDREW LEE.


For in the boat they found him dead,
And the boat's side was stained and red!


And then we talked of many a heap
Of ancient treasure in the deep,
And the great serpent that some men
In far-off seas meet now and then;
Of grand sea-palaces that shine
Through forests of old coralline;
And wondrous creatures that may dwell
In many a crimson Indian shell;
Till I shook hands with thee, to see
Thou wast a poet-Andrew Lee !
Though thou wast guiltless all the time
Of putting any thoughts in rhyme.
Ah, little fisher boy since then
Ladies I've seen, and learned men,
All clever, and some great and wise,
Who study all things, earth and skies,
Who much have seen and much have read,
And famous things have writ and said;





ANDREW LEE. 27

But, Andrew, never have I heard
One who so much my spirit stirred,
As he who sat with me an hour,
Screened from the pelting thunder-shower-
Now laughing in his merry wit;
Now talking in a serious fit,
In speech that poured like water free;
And that was thou-poor Andrew Lee !

Then shame to think I knew thee not-
Thou hast not, nor have I forgot;
And long 't will be ere I forget
How thou took'st up thy laden net,
And gave me all that it contained,
Because I too thy heart had gained












THE WANDERER'S RETURN.




THERE was a girl of fair Provence,
Fresh as a flower in May,
Who neathh a spreading plane tree sat
Upon a summer-day,
And thus unto a mourner young,
In a low voice did say:-

" And said I, I shall dance no more;
For though but young in years,
I know what makes men wise and sad,-
Affection's ceaseless fears,
And that dull aching of the heart,
Which is not eased by tears.





THE WANDERER'S RETURN.


" But sorrow will not always last,
Heaven keeps our griefs in view;
Mine is a simple tale, dear friend,
Yet I will tell it you;
A simple tale of household grief
And household gladness too.


" My father in the battle died,
And left young children three;
My brother Marc, a noble lad,
With spirit bold and free,
More kind than common brothers are;
And Isabel and me.


"When Marc was sixteen summers old,
A tall youth and a strong,
Said he I am a worthless drone,
I do my mother wrong-
I'll hence and win the bread I eat,
I've burdened you too long !'





THE WANDERER'S RETURN.


" Oh! many tears my mother shed;
And earnestly did pray,
That he would still abide with us,
And be the house's stay;
And be like morning to her eyes,
As he had been always.


" But Marc he had a steadfast will,
A purpose fixed and good,
And calmly still and manfully
Her prayers he long withstood;
Until at length she gave consent,
Less willing than subdued.


"'Twas on a shining morn in June,
He rose up to depart;
I dared not to my mother show
The sadness of my heart;
We said farewell, and yet farewell,
As if we could not part.





THE WANDERER'S RETURN.


" There seemed a gloom within the house,
Although the bright sun shone;
There was a want within our hearts-
For he, the dearest one,
Had said farewell that morn of June,
And from our sight was gone.


" At length most doleful tidings came,
Sad tidings of dismay;
The plague was in the distant town,
And hundreds died each day;
We thought, in truth, poor Marc would die,
'Mid strangers far away.



" Weeks passed, and months, and not a word
Came from him to dispel
The almost certainty of death
Which o'er our spirits fell;
My mother drooped from fears, which grew
Each day more terrible.





THE WANDERER'S RETURN.


"At length, said she, 'I'll see my son,
In life if yet he be,
Or else the turf that covers him!'
When sank she on her knee,
And clasped her hands in silent prayer,
And wept most piteously.


" She went into the distant town,
Still asking everywhere
For tidings of her long-lost son:-
In vain she made her prayer;
All were so full of woe themselves,
No pity had they to spare.


" To hear her tell that tale would move
The sternest heart to bleed;
She was a stranger in that place,
Yet none of her took heed;
And broken-hearted she came back,
A bowed and bruised reed.





THE WANDERER'S RETURN.


" I marked her cheek yet paler grow,
More sunken yet her eye;
And to my soul assurance came
That she was near to die,
And hourly was my earnest prayer
Put up for her on high.



" Oh, what a woe seemed then to us,
The friendless orphan's fate!
I dared not picture to my mind,
How drear, how desolate-
But like a frightened thing, my heart
Shrunk from a pang so great!


" We rarely left my mother's side,
'Twas joy to touch her hand,
And with unwearying, patient love,
Beside her couch to stand,
To wait on her, and every wish
Unspoke to understand.
D





THE WANDERER'S RETURN.


" At length, oh, joy beyond all joys '
When we believed him dead,
One calm and sunny afternoon
As she lay on her bed
In quiet sleep, methought below
I heard my brother's tread.


" I rose, and on the chamber stair
I met himself-no other-
More beautiful than ere before,
My tall and manly brother !
I should have swooned, but for the thought
Of my poor sleeping mother.


"I cannot tell you how we met;-
I could not speak for weeping;
Nor had I words enough for joy,-
My heart within seemed leaping,
I should have screamed, but for the thought
Of her who there lay sleeping !





THE WANDERER'S RETURN.


That Marc returned in joy to us,
My mother dreamed e'en then,
And that prepared her for the bliss
Of meeting him again;-
To tell how great that bliss would need
The tongue of wisest men !


"His lightest tone, his very step,
More power had they to win
My drooping mother back to life,
Than every medicine;
She rose again, like one revived
From death where he had been!


" The story that my brother told
Was long and full of joy;
Scarce to the city had he come,
A poor and friendless boy,
Than he chanced to meet a merchant good,
From whom he asked employ
D2





THE WANDERER'S RETURN.


" The merchant was a childless man,
And in my brother's face,
Something he saw that moved his heart
To such unusual grace;
'My son,' said he, 'is dead, wilt thou
Supply to me his place?'


" Even then, bound to the golden East,
His ship before him lay;
And this new bond of love was formed
There standing on the quay;
My brother went on board with him,
And sailed that very day!


"The letter that he wrote to us,
It never reached our hand;
And while we drooped with anxious love,
He gained the Indian strand,
And saw a thousand wondrous things,
In that old, famous land.





THE WANDERER'S RETURN.


" And many rich and curious things,
Bright bird and pearly shell,
He brought as if to realize
The tales he had to tell;
My mother smiled, and wept, and smiled,
And listened, and grew well.


" The merchant loved him more and more,
And did a father's part;
And blessed my brother for the love
That healed his wounded heart;
He was a friend that Heaven had sent
Kind mercy to impart.


"So do not droop, my gentle friend,
Though grief may burden sore;
Look up to God, for he hath love
And comfort in great store,
And ofttimes moveth human hearts
To bless us o'er and o'er."










A SWINGING SONG.


MERRY it is on a summer's day,
All through the meadows to wend away;
To watch the brooks glide fast or slow,
And the little fish twinkle down below;
To hear the lark in the blue sky sing,
Oh, sure enough, 'tis a merry thing-
But 'tis merrier far to swing-to swing !


Merry it is on a winter's night,
To listen to talcs of elf and sprite,
Of caves and castle so dim and old,-
The dismallest tales that ever were told;
And then to laugh, and then to sing,
You may take my word is a merry thing,-
But 'tis merrier far to swing-to swing !





A SWINGING SONG. 39

Down with the hoop upon the green;
Down with the ringing tambourine;-
Little heed we for this or for that;
Off with the bonnet, off with the hat!
Away we go like birds on the wing !
Higher yet! higher yet! Now for the King !"
This is the way we swing-we swing !


Scarcely the bough bends, Claude is so light,-
Mount up behind him-there, that is right!
Down bends the branch now !-swing him away;
Higher yet-higher yet-higher I say !
Oh, what a joy it is! Now let us sing
" A pear for the Queen-an apple for the King !"
And shake the old tree as we swing-we swing !












ELLEN MORE.



SWEET Ellen More," said I, "come forth
Beneath the sunny sky;
Why stand you musing all alone,
With such an anxious eye ?
What is it, child, that aileth you?"
And thus she made reply:-


"The fields are green, the skies are bright,
The leaves are on the tree,
And 'mong the sweet flowers of the thyme
Far flies the honey-bee;
And the lark hath sung since morning prime,
And merrily singeth he.





ELLEN MORE.


" Yet not for this shall I go forth
On the open hills to play,
There's not a bird that singeth now
Would tempt me hence to stray;-
I would not leave our cottage-door
For a thousand flowers to-day!"


"And why?" said I; "what is there here
Beside your cottage-door,
To make a merry girl like you
Thus idly stand to pore ?
There is a mystery in this thing,-
Now tell me, Ellen More !"


The fair girl looked into my face,
With her dark and serious eye,
Silently awhile she looked,
Then heaved a quiet sigh;
And, with a half-reluctant will,
Again she made reply:-





ELLEN MORE.


" Three years ago, unknown to us,
When nuts were on the tree,
Even in the pleasant harvest-time,
My brother went to sea-
Unknown to us to sea he went,
And a woful house were we.



" That winter was a weary time,
A long, dark time of woe;
For we knew not in what ship he sailed,
And vainly sought to know;
And day and night the loud, wild winds
Seemed evermore to blow.


"My mother lay upon her bed,
Her spirit sorely tossed
With dismal thoughts of storm and wreck
Upon some savage coast;
But morn and eve we prayed to Heaven
That he might not be lost.




ELLEN MORE.


" And when the pleasant spring came on,
And fields again were green,
He sent a letter full of news,
Of the wonders he had seen;
Praying us to think him dutiful
As he afore had been.


The tidings that came next were from
A sailor old and grey,
Who saw his ship at anchor lie
In the harbour at Bombay;
But he said my brother pined for home,
And wished he were away.



"Again he wrote a letter long,
Without a word of gloom;
And soon, and very soon, he said,
He should again come home;-
I watched, as now, beside the door,
And yet he did not come.





ELLEN MORE.


" I watched and watched, but I knew not then
It would be all in vain;
For very sick he lay the while,
In a hospital in Spain.
Ah, me I fear my brother dear
Will ne'er come home again?


"And now I watch-for we have heard
That he is on his way,
And the letter said, in very truth,
He would be here to-day.
Oh! there's no bird that singeth now
Could tempt me hence away! "


That self-same eve I wandered down
Unto the busy strand,
Just as a little boat came in
With people to the land;
And 'mongst them was a sailor-boy
Who leaped upon the sand.





ELLEN MORE. 45

I knew him by his dark-blue eyes,
And by his features fair;
And as he leaped ashore, he sang
A simple Scottish air,-
" There's nae place like our ain dear hame
To be met wi' anywhere "











A DAY OF DISASTERS.


A CONVERSATION BETWEEN PETER AND ZEDEKIAH.


PETER.-Zedekiah, come here !
ZEDEKIAH.-Well now, what's the matter ?
PETER.-Look at my hat; the more I set it right, it
only gets the flatter.
ZEDEKIAH.-Why, Peter, what's come to your hat?
I never saw such a thing.
PETER.-I've had nothing but ill-luck to-day; I
did this with the swing;
I've been tossed into the apple-tree just as if I were a
ball,
And though I caught hold of a bough, I've had a
terrible fall;
I'm sure I should have cracked my skull, had it not
been for my hat.





A DAY OF DISASTERS. 47

You may see what a fall it was, for the crown's quite
flat;
And it will never take its shape again, do all that
ever I may !
ZEDEKIAH.-Never mind it, Peter Put it on your
head, and come along, I say!
PETER.-Nay, I shall not. I shall sit down under
this tree;
I've had nothing but ill-luck to-day. Come, sit down
by me,
And I'll tell you all, Zedekiah, for I feel quite for-
lorn;
Oh dear! oh dear! I'm lamed now!-I've sat down
upon a thorn!
ZEDEKIAH.-Goodness' sake, Peter! be still-what
a terrible bellow!
One would think you'd sat on a hornet's nest; sit
down, my good fellow.
PETER.-I'll be sure there are no more thorns here
before I sit down;
Pretty well of one thorn at a time, Master Zedekiah
Brown!





48 A DAY OF DISASTERS.

There, now, I think this seat is safe and easy-so
now you must know
I was fast asleep at breakfast-time; and you'll always
find it so,
That if you begin the day ill, it will be ill all the
day.
Well, when I woke, the breakfast-things were clat-
tering all away;
And I know they had eggs and fowl, and all sorts
of good things;
But then none may partake who are in bed when
the morning bell rings;
So, sadly vexed as I was, I rolled myself round
in bed,
And, as "breakfast is over, I'll not hurry myself,"
I said;
So I just got into a nice little doze, when in came
my mother;
And For shame, Peter," she said, "to be a-bed
now! well, you can't go with your brother I"
Then out of the door she went, without another
word;





A DAY OF DISASTERS. 49

And just then a sound of wheels and of pawing
horses' hoofs I heard;
So I jumped up to the window to see what it was,
and I declare
There was a grand party of fine folks setting off
somewhere:
There was my brother, mounted on the pony so
sleek and brown;
And Bell in her white frock, and my mother in her
satin gown;
And my father in his best, and two gentlemen
beside ;
And I had never heard a word about it, either of
drive or ride!
I really think it was very queer of them to set off in
that way-
If I'd only known over-night, I'd have been up by
break of day!
As you may think, I was sadly vexed, but I did' not
choose to show it,
So I whistled as I came down stairs, that the servants
might not know it;




50 A DAY OF DISASTERS.

Then I went into the yard, and called the dog by
his name,
For I thought if they were gone, he and I might
have a good game;
But I called and called, and there was no dog either
in this place or th' other;
And Thomas said, Master Peter, Neptune's gone
with your brother."
Well, as there was no dog, I went to look for the
fox,
And sure enough the chain was broke, and there was
no creature in the box;
But where the fellow was gone nobody could
say,
He had broken loose himself, I suppose, and so had
slipped away;
I would give anything I have but to find the fox
again-
And was it not provoking, Zedekiah, to lose him just
then?
ZEDEKIAH.-Provoking enough. Well, Peter, and
what happened next?








































SPage..

;, Page 51.





A DAY OF DISASTERS.


PETER.-Why, when I think of it now, it makes me
quite vexed;
I went into the garden, just to look about
To see if the green peas were ready, or the scarlet-
lychnis come out;
And there, what should I clap my eyes on but the
old sow
And seven little pigs making a pretty row !
And of all places in the world, as if for very
spite,
They had gone into my garden, and spoiled and
ruined it quite!
The old sow, she had grubbed up my rosemary and
old man by the root,
And my phlox and my sunflowers, and my hollyhocks,
that were black as soot;
And every flower that I set store on was ruined for
ever;
I never was so mortified in all my life-never!
ZEDEKIAH.-YOu sent them off, I should think, with
a famous swither!





A DAY OF DISASTERS.


PETER.-Grunting and tumbling one over the other,
I cared not whither.
Well, as I was just then standing, grieving over the
ruin,
I heard Thomas call, Master Peter, come and see
what the rats have been doing-
They've eaten all the guinea-pigs' heads off! "
ZEDEKIAH.-Oh, Peter, was it true?
PETER.-Away I ran, not knowing what in the
world to do !-
And there-I declare it makes me quite shudder to
the bone-
Lay all my pretty little guinea-pigs as dead as a
stone!
"It's no manner of use," says Thomas, setting
traps; for you see
They no more care for a trap, than I do for a pea;
I'll lay my life on't, there are twenty rats now down
in that hole,
And we can no more reach 'em than an under-ground
mole !"





A DAY OF DISASTERS. 53

I declare, Zedekiah, I never passed such a day before
-not I;
It makes me quite low-spirited, till I am ready to
cry.
All those pretty guinea-pigs, and I've nothing left
at all,
Only the hawk, and I've just set his cage on the
wall.
ZEDEKIAH.-Hush! hush, now! for Thomas is saying
something there.
PETER.-What d'ye say, Thomas?
THOMrAS.-The hawk's soaring in the air! The
cage-door was open, and he's flown clean
away !
PETER.-There now, Zedekiah, is it not an unfor-
tunate day?
I've lost all my favourites-I've nothing left at
all,
And my garden is spoiled, and I've had such a
dreadful fall!
I wish I had been up this morning as early as
the sun,





a A DAY OF DISASTERS.

And then I should have gone to Canonley, nor have
had all this mischief done !
I'm sure it's quite enough to make me cry for a
year-
Let's go into the house, Zedckiah; what's the use of
sitting here ?













THE YOUNG MOURNER.




LEAVING her sports, in pensive tone,
'Twas thus a fair young mourner said,
" How sad we are now we're alone,-
I wish my mother were not dead !

" I can remember she was fair;
And how she kindly looked and smiled,
When she would fondly stroke my hair,
And call me her beloved child.

"Before my mother went away,
You never sighed as now you do;
You used to join us at our play,
And be our merriest playmate too.





THE YOUNG MOURNER.


"Father, I can remember when
I first observed her sunken eye,
And her pale, hollow cheek; and then
I told my brother she would die!

" And the next morn they did not speak,
But led us to her silent bed;
They bade us kiss her icy cheek,
And told us she indeed was dead !

" Oh! then I thought how she was kind,
My own beloved and gentle mother !
And calling all I knew to mind,
I thought there ne'er was such another !

" Poor little Charles and I!-that day
We sat within our silent room;
But we could neither read nor play,-
The very walls seemed full of gloom.

" I wish my mother had not died,
We never have been glad since then;
They say, and is it true," she cried,
That she can never come again?"





THE YOUNG MOURNER.

The father checked his tears, and thus
He spake, "My child, they do not err,
Who say she cannot come to us;
But you and I may go to her.

" Remember your dear mother still,
And the pure precepts she has given;
Like her, be humble, free from ill,
And you shall see her face in heaven!"













THE BEAR AND THE BAKERS.

A TRUE STORY.




IN the old town in which I live,
The event occurred of which I mean to speak;
To know what town that is, ye need not seek;
No further information shall I give.
In this town is an annual fair,
Such as, I will be bound to say,
May not be met with everywhere.
Then all the people look extremely gay,
And all the children have a holiday:
Then there are cows, and sheep, and pigs to sell,
And more than I can tell;





THE BEAR AND THE BAKERS.


And booths are ranged in rows,
Full of all sorts of pretty things,
Glass necklaces, and copper rings,
And pins, and gloves, and bracelets, combs, and boxes,
And then there are such quantities of shows,
All crammed with lions, elephants, and foxes !
And for the little people, dolls and balls,
Horses and coaches, whips and penny trumpets:
And many different sorts of stalls,
Filled with sweet cakes, and ginger-bread, and
crumpets;
And then there is the learned pig,
And the great "Mister Bigg,"
The famous English Patagonian;
And the grey pony that can dance so well;
And then there is the wee, wee man,
That in seven languages can read and spell,
Though scarcely bigger than a lady's fan;
And crowds of people staring in amaze,
And thronging twenty different ways,
And pushing you against the wall,
Till you can scarcely keep your legs at all.





60 THE BEAR AND THE BAKERS.


Well, unto this same fair
There came, the night before,
A famous dancing bear,
And several monkeys on his back he bore;
But with the monkeys we have nought to do-
The bear alone concerns our story.
Now as night's curtain had begun to drop,
And they had travelled far,
The master of the bear resolved to stop,
Just where the town lay stretching out before ye,
Until the morning, at the Golden Star;
So, without more ado,
The bear was led,
Into a little shed,
And housed, as they thought, for the night.
Bruin, however, did not like his quarters,
And, without asking if the thing were right,
Or sifting an important business through,
As reasonable people do,
Walked out; nor did mine hostess nor her daughters,
Nor guest of any sort behold him go.





THE BEAR AND THE BAKERS.


By this time it was dark enough;
And Bruin walked into a common rough,
That lay behind the Golden Star;
And there he wandered up and down-
When thus it came to pass,
A baker from the town
Was carrying faggots for the morning;
And he had not gone far
Before he saw what he supposed an ass,
In the dusk night-fall, shaggy, wild, and black;
So, without any warning,
He threw the faggots on his back,
Thinking it was a lucky chance
To meet with such a beast!
Bruin, thus taken by surprise,
Began to prance
And growl, and stare with fiery eyes.
The man, who never in the least
Expected such a spirited retort,
Stopped for a moment short;
Then sprang along o'er smooth and rough,
Expecting that a thing





62 THE BEAR AND THE BAKERS.

So wild and gruff
Upon his back would make a sudden spring,
And eat him at a mouthful, sure enough!
Poor Bruin had no such intent,
But on he went,
Down to a neighboring lane,
Picking his way as best he could.
]But in my second part, I will explain
The nature of the place whercon he stood.






PART II.

'Twas on the confines of that common hoary,
Which, like a wall, stood up against the lane-
Because the common was much higher ground-
So that the houses standing there
Seemed at the back only one single story,
Though, in the front, they all of them were twain.





THE BEAR AND THE BAKERS.


I'm very much afraid this will be found
An explanation rather dark and lame;
But as you read, you'll understand it better,
If you attend, at least, unto the letter.
But let us now unto the bear:-
'Twas to the back of such a house he came,
Built againstt this higher ground;
So that he found,
Without being in the least to blame,
His nose against a window-grate
Which opened straight
Into a well-stored larder.
In this small house there dwelt another baker,
A famous man for penny pies;
Of cakes and ginger-bread, a noted maker,
And sausages likewise.
No wonder let it be, therefore,
That there was such a store
Of legs of mutton, dainty pork,
And pies just ready for the knife and fork.
These things just standing under Bruin's nose,
You may suppose





64 THE BEAR AND THE BAKERS.

Would make him long to have a little taste;
So, through the grate,
Headlong he plunged-a lumbering weight-
And many jingling tins displaced.
Poor Bruin never thought, not he-
The window was just at the ceiling-
That he should fall so far and heavily,
And, after all, be taken up for stealing !
The baker being awakened by this din,
Blunder on blunder, tin on tin,
Thought twenty thieves were breaking in !
He was a tall and sturdy fellow,
And to his only son
Most stoutly he began to bellow-
" Jack, get the double-barrelled gun,
A host of thieves are in the pantry-
Twenty they are, or more;
Do you go out and keep strict sentry,
And shoot the first who ventures out,
The while I guard the door !"
As soon as said, the thing was done,-
Jack took the double-barrelled gun,





THE BEAR AND THE BAKERS.


And stood before the broken grate :
" Ah, thieves!" said he, with lusty shout,
" If you come out,
I'll scatter twenty bullets round about!"
The bear, so frightened at this sad disaster,
And, thinking Jack must be his master,
Lay quite stock still:
Meanwhile the baker stood before,
And double-locked the pantry-door.
" There, there!" said he, "I've got them fast,
I've caught the rogues at last!"
All this poor Bruin heard,
And much he marvelled at his case,
Thus prisoned in that trap-like place;
Yet so the baker scolded if he stirred,
And so much did he fear his master's stick,
Heavy and thick,
He dared not reconnoitre, nor look out,
Lest something worse should come about;
Therefore he lay quite still,
Though it was very much against his will.
F





THE BEAR AND THE BAKERS.


Jack was outside, a watchful sentinel,
He noted all that happened in the night:
He heard the asses braying on the common;
He saw the earliest streak of morning light;
He heard the watchmen in the town,
With their dull voices, passing up and down,
And the Exchange clock, with its heavy bell,
The hours with quarters tell:
He saw the earliest passing countrywoman;
And now a man, and now a boy he saw;
And now the morning grew so keen and raw,
He wished his task was o'er;
And now he heard the clocks strike four;
And now-oh, welcome sight-
He, in the Golden Star, beheld a light!

While Jack to notice all these things was able,
His father made
A very decent sort of barricade
Of chair and table;
So that the foe, if he had been inclined
To issue forth, might find
The thing impracticable.





THE BEAR AND THE BAKERS.


This done, soon as the clock struck four.
The baker left his door;
But all so silently,
That the trapped enemy
Might still suppose him watching at his post,
As powerful as a host.
Down to the Golden Star in haste he ran,
And there he found them bustling all about,
Fetching and carrying, mistress, maid, and man,
Though 'twas so early, going in and out.
To them he told the adventures of the night,
And all were in a great affright;
And all indignant at the thieves' audacity:
" Is it not wonderful?" said they,
" But in the present day,
All men, even thieves, have an improved capacity!"
This said, with sudden haste
They called up every guest,
Carter and cattle-driver, groom and jockey,
And the bear's master, wild and black;
Until the baker thought he was most lucky
To muster such a party at his back.
F2





68 THE BEAR AND THE BAKERS.

Unto the house they came, and pulled down, first,
The formidable barricade;
And then they grew afraid,
Lest out the dreadful enemy should burst.
At length each heart grew bolder,
And o'er his neighbour's shoulder
Each held a lighted candle; and, en masse,
They rushed into the place where Bruin was!
There, skulking in his shaggy coat, they saw
A frightful something with a paw !
" Up, up with you at once!"
Shouted poor Bruin's master in his ears;
And he, who was no dunce,
And had so many fears,
And knew that voice so well,
Sprang'in a moment on his hinder legs,
Just like a dog that begs,
And danced a hornpipe to a miracle!
Half angry was the baker, seeing thus,
That after all this fuss,
The thieves were nothing but a dancing-bear !





- ~?- .
-' S..


N-

I~ *j>



k
*1





THE BEAR AND THE BAKERS. 69

And yet he took it in good part,
And tried to laugh with all his heart,
And said it was a joke most capital!
And through all the fair
'Twas told at every booth and every stall,
What fancy Bruin had for dainty store;
And many people gave him ginger-bread;
And he with buns and penny pies was fed,
So that he never fared so well before !













THE SOLDIER'S STORY.




" HEAVEN bless the boys!" the old man said,
I hear their distant drumming,-
Young Arthur Bruce is at their head,
And down the street they're coming.

"And a very noble standard too
He carries in the van;
By the faith of an old soldier, he
Is born to make a man!"

A glow of pride passed o'er his cheek,
A tear came to his eye;
"Hurrah, hurrah! my gallant men!"
Cried he, as they came nigh.





THE SOLDIER'S STORY.


" It seems to me but yesterday
Since I was one like ye,
And now my years are seventy-two,-
Come here, and talk with me!"

They made a halt, those merry boys,
Before the aged man;
And tell us now some story wild,"
Young Arthur Bruce began;

"Of battle and of victory
Tell us some stirring thing !"
The old man raised his arm aloft,
And cried, "God save the king !

" A soldier's life is a life of fame,
A life that hath its meed-
They write his wars in printed books,
That every man may read.

"And if you'd hear a story wild
Of war and battle done,
I am the man to tell such tales,
And you shall now have one.





THE SOLDIER'S STORY.


"In every quarter of the globe
I've fought-by sea, by land;
And scarce for five-and-fifty years
Was the musket from my hand.

"But the bloodiest wars, and fiercest too,
That were waged on any shore,
Were those in which my strength was spent,
In the country of Mysore.

"And oh! what a fearful, deadly clime
Is that of the Indian land,
Where the burning sun shines fiercely down
On the hot and fiery sand!

"The life of man seems little worth,
And his arm hath little power;
His very soul within him dies,
As dies a broken flower.

"Yet spite of this was India made
As for a kingly throne;
There gold is plentiful as dust,
As sand the diamond stone ;





THE SOLDIER'S STORY.


" And like a temple is each house,
Silk-curtained from the sun;
And every man has twenty slaves,
Who at his bidding run.

" He rides on the lordly elephant,
In solemn pomp ;-and there
They hunt the gold-striped tiger,
As here they hunt the hare.

" Yet it is a dreadful clime! and we
Up in the country far
Were sent,-we were two thousand men-
In a disastrous war.

"The soldiers died in the companies
As if the plague had been;
And soon in every twenty men,
The dead were seventeen.

" We went to storm a fort of mud-
And yet the place was strong-
Three thousand men were guarding it,
And they had kept it long.





THE SOLDIER'S STORY.


" We were in all three hundred souls,
Feeble, and worn, and wan;
Like walking spectres of the tomb,
Was every living man.

"Yet Arthur Bruce, now standing there,
With the ensign of his band,
Reminds me of a gallant youth,
Who fought at my right hand.

"Scarce five-and-twenty years of age,
And feeble as the rest,
Yet with the bearing of a king,
That a noble soul expressed.

But a silent grief was in his eye,
And oft his noble frame
Shook like a quivering aspen leaf,
And his colour went and came.

He marched by my side for seven days,
Most patient of our band;
And night and day he ever kept
Our standard in his hand.





THE SOLDIER'S STORY.


" They fought with us like tigers,
Before that fort of mud;
And all around the burning sands
Were as a marsh with blood.

" We watched that young man,-he to us
Was as a kindling hope;
We saw him pressing on and on,
Bearing the standard up.

"At length it for a moment veered-
A ball had struck his hand,
But he seized the banner with his left,
Without a moment's stand.

" He mounted upward to the wall;
He waved the standard high,-
But then another smote him!-
And the captain standing by

" Said, 'Of this gallant youth take care,
He hath won for us the day!'
I and my comrades took him up,
And bore him thence away.





THE SOLDIER'S STORY.


"There was no tree about the place,
So neathh the fortress shade
We carried him, and carefully
Upon the red sand laid.

"I took the feather from my cap,
To fan his burning cheek;
I gave him water, drop by drop,
And prayed that he would speak.

"At length he said, 'Mine hour is come !
My soldier-name is bright;
But a pang there is within my soul,
That hath wrung me day and night:

" I left my mother's home without
Her blessing;-she doth mourn,
Doth weep for me with bitter tears,-
I never can return!
"'This bowed mine eagle-spirit down,
This robbed mine eye of rest;
I left her widowed and alone:-
Oh! that I had been blessed!'





THE SOLDIER'S STORY. 77

" No more he said,-he closed his eyes,
And yet he died not then;
He lived till the morrow morning came,
But he never spoke again."

This tale the veteran soldier told,
Upon a summer's day;-
The boys came merrily down the street,
But they all went sad away.












MARION LEE.




NOT a care hath Marion Lee,
Dwelling by the sounding sea!
Her young life's a flowery way:-
Without toil from day to day,
Without bodings for the morrow,-
Marion was not made for sorrow !

Like the summer-billows wild
Leaps the happy-hearted child;
Sees her father's fishing-boat
O'er the waters gaily float;
Hears her brother's fishing-song
On the light gale borne along!





MARION LEE.


Half a league she hears the lay,
Ere they turn into the bay,
And with glee, o'er cliff and main,
Sings an answer back again,
Which by man and boy is heard,
Like the carol of a bird.
Look! she sitteth laughing there,
Wreathing sea-weed in her hair,
Saw ye e'er a thing so fair?

Marion, some are rich in gold,
Heaped-up treasure-stores untold;
Some in thought sublime, refined,
And the glorious wealth of mind;
Thou, sweet child, life's rose unblown,
Hast a treasure of thine own-
Youth's most unalloyed delights,
Happy days and tranquil nights;
Hast a brain, with thought unvexed;
A heart untroubled, unperplexed!
Go, thou sweet one, all day long,
Like a glad bird, pour thy song;





80 MARION LEE.

And let thy young, graceful head
Be with sea-flowers garlanded;
For all outward signs of glee
Well befit thee, Marion Lee !










THE CHILD'S LAMENT.


I LIKE it not-this noisy street
I never liked, nor can I now-
I love to feel the pleasant breeze
On the free hills, and see the trees,
With birds upon the bough!
Oh, I remember long ago,-
So long ago, 'tis like a dream-
My home was on a green hill-side,
By flowery meadows, still and wide,
'Mong trees and by a stream.
Three happy brothers I had then,
My merry playmates every day-
I've looked and looked through street and square,
But never chanced I, anywhere,
To see such boys as they.
G





THE CHILD'S LAMENT.


We all had gardens of our own-
Four little gardens in a row,-
And there we set our twining peas;
And rows of cress, and real trees,
And real flowers to grow.

My father I remember too,
And even now his face can see;
And the grey horse he used to ride,
And the old dog that at his side
Went barking joyfully !

He used to fly my brothers' kites,
And build them up a man of snow,
And sail their boats, and with them race;
And carry me from place to place,
Just as I liked to go.

I'm sure he was a pleasant man,
And people must have loved him well!-
Oh, I remember that sad day
When they bore him in a hearse away,
And tolled his funeral bell!





THE CHILD'S LAMENT.


Thy mother comes each night to kiss
Thee, in thy little quiet bed-
So came my mother years ago;
And I loved her-oh! I loved her so,
'Twas joy to hear her tread!


It must be many, many years
Since then, and yet I can recall
Her very tone-her look-her dress,
Her pleasant smile and gentleness,
That had kind words for all.


She told us tales, she sang us songs,
And in our pastimes took delight,
And joined us in our summer glee,
And sat with us beneath the tree;
Nor wearied of our company,
Whole days, from morn till night.


Alas I know that she is dead,
And in the cold, cold grave is hid;
G2





THE CHILD'S LAMENT.


I saw her in her coffin lie,
With the grim mourners standing by;
And silent people solemnly
Closed down the coffin lid.

My brothers were not there-ah me!
I know not where they went; some said
With a rich man beyond the sea
That they were dwelling pleasantly-
And some that they were dead.

I cannot think that it is so,
I never saw them pale and thin,
And the last time their voice I heard,
Merry were they as a summer-bird,
Singing its bower within.

I wish that I could see their faces,
Or know at least that they were near;
Ah! gladly would I cross the sea,
So that with them I might but be,
For now my days pass wearily,
And all are strangers here.












THE SAILOR'S WIFE.


A TALE OF THE SEA.


HEAVEN keep the wives of seamen,
And bless their children small,
For they have power to cheer us,
If sorrow should befall!

I'll tell you how the thoughts of them
Once saved a ship in need,
As if they'd been the seraphim
That had of us good heed.

A stout ship was the Halcyon,
As ever sailed the sea;
The crew that manned the Halcyon,
Were thirty hands and three.





THE SAILOR'S WIFE.


I was the good ship's purser,
The ocean was my joy-
The waves had been my playmates
When I was but a boy.


The master of the Halcyon
Was good as he was bold;
Let the name of William Morrison
Throughout the world be told !


We heaved the Halcyon's anchor
On the twenty-first of May,
And from our wives and children
With sorrow went away.


My wife was bonny Betsy,
Both trim and true was she;
We called the good ship after her,
When next we went to sea:
And how this glory chanced to her
I'll tell ye presently.





THE SAILOR'S WIFE.


With her I left two children,
More dear than mines of gold-
Another dark-haired Betsy,
And a boy scarce two years old.

Said I, My bonny Betsy,
These idle tears restrain;
The happy day will soon come round,
When we shall meet again!

"So, fare-ye-well, my jewels!"
Said I, in feigned glee,
For I feared the pain of parting
Would make a child of me.

We went on board the Halcyon,
On the twenty-first of May,
And with a fresh and prosperous gale
From England bore away.

We were bound unto the islands
In the South Pacific Sea;
And many a day, and many a week,
We sailed on prosperously.




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