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THE OLD MAN'S COMFORTS, And by him sported on the green His little grandchild Wilhelmine.

AND HOW HE GAINED THEM.

You are old, Father William, the young

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In the days of my youth, Father William replied,

I remember'd that youth could not last; I thought of the future, whatever I did, That I never might grieve for the past.

You are old, Father William, the young man cried,

And life must be hastening away; You are cheerful, and love to converse upon death!

Now tell me the reason, I pray.

I am cheerful, young man, Father William replied;

Let the cause thy attention engage; In the days of my youth I remember'd my

God!

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It was the English, Kaspar cried,
That put the French to rout;
But what they kill'd each other for,

I could not well make out.
But everybody said, quoth he,
That 'twas a famous victory.

VII.

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.

VIII.

With fire and sword the country round
Was wasted far and wide,
And many a childing mother then,
And new-born infant, died.

But things like that, you know, must be
At every famous victory.

IX.

They say it was a shocking sight,
After the field was won,
For many thousand bodies here

Lay rotting in the sun;

But things like that, you know, must be After a famous victory.

X.

Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won,
And our good Prince Eugene.—
Why, 'twas a very wicked thing!

Said little Wilhelmine.—
Nay-nay-my little girl, quoth he,
It was a famous victory.

XI.

And everybody praised the Duke
Who such a fight did win.-
But what good came of it at last?
Quoth little Peterkin.—
Why that I cannot tell, said he,
But 'twas a famous victory.

MERCIFUL INFLICTIONS.
From Thalaba.

REPINE not, O my son!

That Heaven hath chastened thee. Be

hold this vine,

I found it a wild tree, whose wanton strength

Hast swoln into irregular twigs
And bold excrescences,

And spent itself in leaves and little rings,
So in the flourish of its outwardness
Wasting the sap and strength
That should have given forth fruit;

But when I pruned the tree,

Then it grew temperate in its vain expense Of useless leaves, and knotted, as thou seest,

Into these full, clear clusters, to repay
The hand that wisely wounded it.

Repine not, O my son!

In wisdom and in mercy Heaven inflicts, Like a wise leech, its painful remedies.

THE VOYAGE OF THALAPA
AND THE DAMSEL.

THEN did the damsel speak again,
"Wilt thou go on with me?
The moon is bright, the sea is calm,
And I know well the ocean paths;
Wilt thou go on with me?-
Deliverer! yes! thou dost not fear!
Thou wilt go on with me!"
"Sail on, sail on!" quoth Thalaba,
"Sail on, in Allah's name!"

The moon is bright, the sea is calm,
The little boat rides rapidly

Across the ocean waves;
The line of moonlight on the deep
Still follows as they voyage on;
The winds are motionless;
The gentle waters gently part
In murmurs round the prow.

He looks above, he looks around,
The boundless heaven, the boundless sea.
The crescent moon, the little boat,
Nought else above, below.

The moon is sunk, a dusky grey
Spreads o'er the eastern sky,
The stars grow pale and paler ;-
Oh beautiful! the godlike sun

Is rising o'er the sea!
Without an oar, without a sail,
The little boat rides rapidly ;-
Is that a cloud that skirts the sea?
There is no cloud in heaven!
And nearer now, and darker now-
It is it is the land!
For yonder are the rocks that rise
Dark in the reddening morn,
For loud around their hollow base
The surges rage and roar.

The little boat rides rapidly,
And now with shorter toss it heaves
Upon the heavier swell;

And now so near, they see

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