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old man,


THE OLD MAN'S COMFORTS, And by him sported on the green

His little grandchild Wilhelmine.
You are old, Father William, the young

man cried, The few locks that are left you are She saw her brother Peterkin gray ;

Roll something large and round, You are hale, Father William, a hearty That he beside the rivulet,

In playing there, had found ; Now tell me the reason, I pray.

He came to ask what he had found,

That was so large, and smooth, and round In the days of my youth, Father William replied,

I remember'd that youth would fly fast, Old Kaspar took it from the boy,
And abused not my health and my vigour Who stood expectant by;
at first,

And then the old man shook his head, That I never might need them at last.

And with a natural sigh,

'Tis some poor fellow's skull, said he, You are old, Father William, the young Who fell in the great victory.

man cried, And pleasures with youth pass away, And yet you lament not the days that are

I find them in the garden, for gone, Now tell me the reason, I pray.

There's many here about,

And often when I go to plough,
In the days of my youth, Father William The ploughshare turns them out;

For many thousand men, said he,
I remember'd that youth could not last; Were slain in the great victory.
I thought of the future, whatever I did,
That I never might grieve for the past.

Now tell us what 'twas all about,
You are old, Father William, the young

Young Peterkin he cries, man cried,

And little Wilhelmine looks up And life must be hastening away ; With wonder-waiting eyes ; You are cheerful, and love to converse Now tell us all about the war, upon death!

And what they kill'd each other for, Now tell me the reason, I pray.

VI. I am cheerful, young man, Father William replied ;

It was the English, Kaspar cried,
Let the cause thy attention engage;

That put the French to rout;
In the days of my youth I remember'd my But what they kill'd each other for,

I could not well make out.
And He hath not forgotten my age

But everybody said, quoth he,
That 'twas a famous victory.




It was a summer evening,

Old Kaspar's work was done ; And he before his cottage door

Was sitting in the sun,

My father lived at Blenheim then,

Yon little stream hard by ;
They burnt his dwelling to the ground,

And he was forced to fly :
So with his wife and child he fled,
Nor had he where to rest his head.




Repine not, O my son ! With fire and sword the country round

In wisdom and in mercy Heaven inflicts, Was wasted far and wide,

Like a wise leech, its painful remedies. And many a childing mother then,

And new-born infant, died.
But things like that, you know, must be
At every famous victory,


They say it was a shocking sight,
After the field was won,

Then did the damsel speak again,
For many thousand bodies here

“Wilt thou go on with me? Lay rotting in the sun;

The moon is bright, the sea is calm, But things like that, you know, must be And I know well the ocean paths ; After a famous victory.

Wilt thou go on with me?

Deliverer! yes! thou dost not fear!

Thou wilt go on with me!”
Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won, “Sail on, sail on!" quoth Thalaba,
And our good Prince Eugene. -

“Sail on, in Allah's name !"
Why, 'twas a very wicked thing!
Said little Wilhelmine.

The moon is bright, the sea is calm,
Nay-nay-my little girl, quoth he, The little boat riaes rapidly
It was a famous victory.

Across the ocean waves ;
The line of moonlight on the deep

Still follows as they voyage on;
And everybody praised the Duke

The winds are motionless; Who such a fight did win.

The gentle waters gently part But what good came of it at last ?

In murmurs round the prow. Quoth little Peterkin.

He looks above, he looks around, Why that I cannot tell, said he,

The boundless heaven, the boundless sea. But”'twas a famous victory.

The crescent moon, the little boat,

Nought else above, below. MERCIFUL INFLICTIONS. The moon is sunk, a dusky grey From Thalaba.

Spreads o'er the eastern sky,

The stars grow pale and paler; REPINE not, O my son !

Oh beautifull the godlike sun That Heaven hath chastened thee. Be. Is rising o'er the sea! hold this vine,

Without an oar, without a sail, I found it a wild trec, whose wanton The little boat rides rapidly ;strength

Is that a cloud that skirts the sea? Hast swoln into irregular twigs

There is no cloud in heaven ! And bold excrescences,

And nearer now, and darker now
And spent itself in leaves and little rings, It is—it is the land!

So in the flourish of its outwardness For yonder are the rocks that rise
Wasting the sap and strength

Dark in the reddening morn,
That should have given forth fruit ; For loud around their hollow base
But when I pruned the tree,

The surges rage and roar.
Then it grew temperate in its vain expense
Of useless leaves, and knotted, as thou The little boat rides rapidly,

And now with shorter toss it heaves Into these full, clear clusters, to repay Upon the heavier swell;

The hand that wisely wounded it And now so near, they sec

The shelves and shadows of the cliff, Thine upturn's eyes glazed over,
And the low-lurking rocks,

Like harebells wet with dew;
D'er whose black summits, hidden half, Already veiled and hid
The shivering billows burst;

By the convulsed lid,
And nearer now they feel the breaker's Their pupils, darkly blue.

Then spake the damsel, “Yonder is our | Thy little mouth half open-

Thy soft lip quivering,
Beneath the cavern arch.

As if like summer-air,
Now is the ebb, and till the ocean-flow, Ruffling the rose-leaves, there,
We cannot over-ride the rocks.

Thy soul was fluttering.
Go thou, and on the shore
Perform thy last ablutions, and with prayer Mount up, immortal essence!
Strengthen thy heart.- I too have need to Young spirit, haste, depart!

And is this death?-Dread thing!

If such thy visiting,
She held the helm with steady hand How beautiful thou art!

Amid the stronger waves;
Through surge and surf she drove, Oh! I could gaze for ever
The adventurer leap'd to land.

Upon thy waxen face;
So passionless, so pure!

The little shrine was sure, (CAROLINE BOWLES-MRS. SOUTHEY.]

An angel's dwelling-place.

Thou weepest, childless Mother!
SLEEP, little baby, sleep!

Aye, weep-'twill ease thine heartje Not in thy cradle bed,

He was thy first-born son, Not on thy mother's breast

Thy first, thine only one, Henceforth shall be thy rest,

'Tis hard from him to part. But with the quiet dead !

'Tis hard to lay thy darling Yes! with the quiet dead,

Deep in the damp cold earth, Baby, thy rest shall be!

His empty crib to see, Oh! many a weary wight,

His silent nursery,
Weary of life and light,

Once gladsome with his mirth.
Would fain lie down with thee.
Flee, little tender nursling!

To meet again in slumber,

His small mouth's rosy kiss;
Flee to thy grassy nest;
There the first flowers shall blow;

Then, waken'd with a start,
The first pure flake of snow

By thine own throbbing heart,

His twining arms to miss !
Shall fall upon thy breast.
Peace! peace! the little bosom

To feel (half conscious why)
Labours with shortening breath :- A dull, heart-sinking weight,
Peace! peace! that tremulous sigh Till memory on the soul
Speaks his departure nigh!

Flashes the painful whole, Those are the damps of death.

That thou art desolate ! I've seen thee in thy beauty,

And then, to lie and weep, A thing all health and glee;

And think the live-long night But never then wert thou

(Feeding thine own distress So beautiful as now,

With accurate greediness) Baby, thou seem'st to me!

Of every past delight ;

Of all his winning ways,

His pretty playful smiles, His joy at sight of thee, His tricks, his mimicry,

And all his little wiles !

Oh! these are recollections

Round mothers' hearts that cling,-
That mingle with the tears
And smiles of after years,

With oft awakening.
But thou wilt then, fond Mother!

In after years look back, (Time brings such wondrous easing), With sadness not unpleasing,

E'en on this gloomy track. Thou'lt say, “My first-born blessing,

It almost broke my heart, When thou wert forced to go! And yet for thee, I know,

'Twas better to depart. "God took thee in his mercy,

A lamb, untask'd, untried He fought the fight for chee, He won the victory,

And thou art sanctified ! “I look around, and see

The evil ways of men; And oh! beloved child! I'm more than reconciled

To thy departure then. “The little arms that clasp'd me,

The innocent lips that press'dWould they have been as pure 'Till now, as when of yore

I lull’d thee on my breast ?
“Now, like a dew-drop shrined

Within a crystal stone,
Thou'rt safe in Heaven, my dove!
Safe with the Source of Love,

The Everlasting One!
“And when the hour arrives,

From flesh that sets me free,
Thy spirit may await,
The first at Heaven's gate,

To meet and welcome me!"

[CHARLES LAMB. 1775—1834.) THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES. I HAVE had playmates, I have had com

panions, In my days of childhood, in my joyful

school days, All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. I have been laughing, I have been carousing,

[cronies, Drinking late, sitting late, with my bosom All, all are gone, the old familiar faces I loved a love once, fairest among

women ; Closed are her doors on me, I must not

see herAll, all are gone, the old familiar faces. I have a friend, a kinder friend has no man ;

[ruptly ;Like an ingrate I left my friend ab. Left him, to muse on the old familiar

faces. Ghost-like I paced round the haunts of

my childhood ; Earth seem'd a desert I was bound to

traverse, Seeking to find the old familiar faces, Friend of my bosun, thou more than a

brother, Why wert not thou born in my father's

dwelling, So might we talk of the old familiar


How some they have died, and some they

have left me, And some are taken from me ; all are

departed; All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.


NIAGARA. THERE's nothing great or bright, thou

glorious Fals! Thou mayst not to the fancy's sense re


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