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Eyes and Nose.

But soon, with haste and wonder out of breath,
Returned the stripling minister of death,

And to his master made this dread report:
"Why, sir, we ne'er can keep that patient under-
Zounds, such a maw I never came across!
The fellow must be dying, and no wonder,
For hang me if he hasn't eat a horse!"

"A horse!" the elder man of physic cried,
As if he meant his pupil to deride—
"How came so wild a notion in your
head ?"
"How! think not in my duty I was idle;
Like you, I took a peep beneath the bed,
And there I saw a Saddle and a Bridle!"

547

23.-EYES AND NOSE.

WILLIAM COWPER.

[See page 136.1

BETWEEN Nose and Eyes a strange contest arose,
The spectacles set them unhappily wrong;
The point in dispute was, as all the world knows,
To which the said spectacles ought to belong.

So the Tongue was the lawyer, and argued the cause
With a great deal of skill, and a wig full of learning:
While chief baron Ear sat to balance the laws,
So famed for his talent in nicely discerning.

"In behalf of the Nose, it will quickly appear,

And your lordship," said Tongue, "will undoubtedly find That the Nose has had spectacles always in wear,

Which amounts to possession, time out of mind."

Then holding the spectacles up to the court

"Your lordship observes they are made with a straddle As wide as the ridge of the nose is; in short,

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Designed to sit close to it, just like a saddle.

'Again, would your lordship a moment suppose
'Tis a case that has happened, and may be again—
That the visage or countenance had not a nose,
Pray who would, or who could, wear spectacles then ?

"On the whole it appears, and my argument shows,
With a reasoning the court will never condemn,
That the spectacles plainly were made for the Nose,
And the nose was as plainly intended for them."

Then shifting his side, as the lawyer knows how,
He pleaded again in behalf of the Eyes;
But what were his arguments few people know,
For the world did not think they were equally wise.

So his lordship decreed, with grave solemn tone,
Decisive and clear, without one if or but-
That whenever the Nose put his spectacles on,
By daylight or candle-light-Eyes should be shut!

24.-THE WELL OF ST. KEYNE.
ROBERT SOUTHEY.

[See page 110.]

A WELL there is in the west country,
And a clearer one never was seen;
There is not a wife in the west country
But has heard of the well of St. Keyne.

An oak and an elm-tree stand beside,
And behind doth an ash-tree grow,
And a willow from the bank above
Droops to the water below.

A traveller came to the well of St. Keyne,
Joyfully he drew nigh,

For from the cock-crow he had been travelling,

And there was not a cloud in the sky.

He drank of the water so cool and clear,
For thirsty and hot was he,

And he sat down upon the bank

Under the willow-tree.

There came a man from the house hard by

At the well to fill his pail;

On the well-side he rested it,

And he bade the stranger hail.

"Now, art thou a bachelor, stranger ?" quoth he,
"For an if thou hast a wife,

The happiest draught thou hast drank this day,
That ever thou didst in thy life.

"Or hath thy good woman, if one thou hast,
Ever here in Cornwall been?

For an if she have, I'll venture my life,

She has drank of the well of St. Keyne."

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The Fakenham Ghost.

I have left a good woman who never was here,"
The stranger he made reply,

"But that my draught should be the better for that,
I pray you answer me why ?"

"St. Keyne," quoth the Cornish-man, "many a time
Drank of this crystal well,

And before the angels summon'd her,
She laid on the water a spell.

"If the husband of this gifted well
Shall drink before his wife,
A happy man thenceforth is he,

For he shall be master for life.

"But if the wife should drink of it first,

God help the husband then!"

The stranger stooped to the well of St. Keyne,
And drank of the water again.

"You drank of the well I warrant betimes ?"

He to the Cornish-man said:

But the Cornish-man smiled as the stranger spake,
And sheepishly shook his head.

"I hasten'd as soon as the wedding was done,
And left my wife in the porch,

But i' faith she had been wiser than me,

For she took a bottle to church."

549

25.-THE FAKENHAM GHOST.

ROBERT BLOOMFIELD.

[Author of "The Farmer's Boy," and other rural poems. Originally a shoemaker. Born 1766; died 1823.]

THE lawns were dry in Euston park,
(Here truth inspires my tale),
The lonely footpath, still and dark,
Led over hill and dale.

Benighted was an ancient dame,

And fearful haste she made
To gain the vale of Fakenham,
And hail its willow shade.

Her footsteps knew no idle stops,
But followed faster still:
And echoed to the darksome copse
That whispered on the hill:

Where clamorous rooks, yet scarcely hushed,
Bespoke a peopled shade;

And many a wing the foliage brushed
And hovering circuits made.

The dappled herd of grazing deer,
That sought the shades by day,
Now started from her path with fear,
And gave the stranger way.

Darker it grew, and darker fears
Came o'er her troubled mind:

When now, a short quick step she hears
Come patting close behind.

She turned-it stopt-nought could she see
Upon the gloomy plain!

But, as she strove the Sprite to flee,
She heard the same again.

Now terror seized her quaking frame:
For, where the path was bare,
The trotting ghost kept on the same!
She muttered many a prayer.

Yet once again, amidst her fright,
She tried what sight could do;

When, through the cheating gloom of night,
A monster stood in view.

Regardless of whate'er she felt,

It followed down the plain !

She owned her sins, and down she knelt,
And said her prayers again.

Then on she sped, and hope grew strong,
The white park-gate in view:
Which pushing hard, so long it swung,
That ghost and all passed through.

Loud fell the gate against the post!
Her heart-strings like to crack:
For much she feared the grizzly ghost
Would leap upon her back.

Still on, pat, pat, the Goblin went,
As it had done before-

Her strength and resolution spent,
She fainted at the door.

Out came her husband, much surprised;
Out came her daughter dear:
Good-natured souls! all unadvised
Of what they had to fear.

Paudeen O'Rafferty's Say-Voyage.

The candle's gleam pierced through the night,
Some short space o'er the green:
And there the little trotting Sprite

Distinctly might be seen.

An ass's foal had lost its dam
Within the spacious park;
And, simple as the playful lamb,
Had followed in the dark.

No Goblin he; no imp of sin;
No crimes had e'er he known:
They took the shaggy stranger in,
And reared him as their own.

His little hoofs would rattle round
Upon the cottage floor;

The matron learned to love the sound
That frightened her before.

A favourite the ghost became,

And 'twas his fate to thrive ;

And long he lived, and spread his fame,
And kept the joke alive.

For many a laugh went through the vale,
And some conviction too :
Each thought some other Goblin tale
Perhaps was just as true.

551

26.-PAUDEEN O'RAFFERTY'S SAY-VOYAGE.

SURE now, ladies and gintlemen, if ye plase, I'll relate the great mistake I made when I came hare to Naples-stop! aisy, Paudeen, and don't decaive the ladies and gintlemen: for bedad, I didn't come at all; they brought me in a ship-a grate big ship, with two big sticks standing out of it. Masts they call thim, bad luck to it, and the day I saw it! If I had been an ignorant fellow, and didn't know joggraphy and the likes, I'd be safe enough at home now, so I would, in my own cellar, on the Coal-Quay in Dublin. But I must be making a man of myself, showing my learnin', me knowledge of similitude and the likes. You see, I wint over to England, on a bit of an agricultural speculation-hay-makin' and harvist-rapin'-and, the saison bein' good, I realized a fortune; so I did—a matter of thirty shillings or so.

So, says I to myself, says I, "Now I have got an indipindant competence, I'll go back to Ireland-I'll buy it out, and make meself imperor of it." So I axed one of the boys which was my nearest

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