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When rocked amid the shrouds, or on

The sunny deck reclined.
And in his spot of garden ground,

All ocean plants were met-
Salt lavender, that lacks perfume,

With scented mignonette ;
And blending with the rose's bloom,

Sea-thistles freaked with jet.
Models of cannoned ships of war,

Rigged out in gallant style;
Pictures of Camperdown's red fight,

And Nelson at the Nile,
Were round his cabin hung,-his hours,

When lonely to beguile.
And there were charts and soundings, made

By Anson, Cook, and Biigh ; Fractures of coral from the deep,

And storm-stones from the sky; Shells from the shores of gay Brazil ;

Stuffed birds, and fishes dry.
Old Simon had an orphan been,

No relative had he:
E'en from his childhood was he seen

A haunter of the quay;
So at the age of raw thirteen,

He took him to the sea.
Four years on board a merchantman

He sailed—a growing lad ;
And all the isles of Western Ind,

In endless summer clad,
He knew, from pastoral St. Lucie,-

To palmy Trinidad.?
But sterner life was in his thoughts,

When 'mid the sea-fight's jar,
Stooped Victory from the battered shrouds,

To crown a British tar ;-
'Twas then he went-a volunteer-

On board a man-of-war.
Through forty years of storm and shine,

He ploughed the changeful deep;
From where, beneath the tropic line,

The winged fishes leap,
To where frost rocks the Polar Seas,

To everlasting sleep. i Camperdown, a village of the Netherlands, 27 miles N. W. of Amsterdam, in the North Sea, celebrated for Admiral Duncan's victory over the Dutch fleet, 11th Oct., 1797.

2 Two islands in Windward group, West Indies.

I recollect the brave old man

Methinks upon my view.
He comes again—his varnished hat,

Striped shirt, and jacket blue ;
His bronzed and weather-beaten cheek,

Keen eye, and plaited queue.
Yon turfen bench the veteran loved,

Beneath the threshold tree,
For from that spot he could survey

The broad expanse of sea, -
That element, where he so long

Had been a rover free!

And lighted up his faded face,

When drifting in the gale,
He with his telescope could catch,

Far off, a coming sail :
It was a music to his ear,

To list the sea-mew's wail!
Oft would he tell, how, under Smith,

Upon the Egyptian strand,
Eager to beat the boastful French,

They joined the men on land,
And plied their deadly shots, intrenched

Behind their bags of sand.
And when he told, how through the Sound,

With Nelson' in his might,
They passed the Cronberg batteries,

To quell the Dane in fight,-
His voice with vigour filled again!

His veteran eye with light!
But chiefly of hot Trafalgar

The brave old man would speak ;
And when he showed his oaken stump,

A glow suffused his cheek,
While his eye filled-for wound on wound

Had left him worn and weak.

Ten years in vigorous old age,

Within that cot he dwelt,
Tranquil as falls the snow on snow

Life's lot to him was dealt;
But came infirmity at length,

And slowly o'er him stealt. i Lord Nelson, a celebrated English Admiral, born in 1758, entered the navy when 12 years of age, rapidly gained distinction, and was, in 1797, made Rear Admiral. He annihilated the fleet which had conveyed the French into Egypt, in the bay of Aboukir, 1799. He, as Vice-Admiral, conducted the feet against Copenhagen, 1801. He destroyed the united French and Spanish fleets at Cape Trafalgar, 21st Oct., 1805, but paid for the victory with his life.

We missed him on our seaward walk,

The children went no more
To listen to bis evening talk,

Beside the cottage door ;-
Grim palsy held him to the bed,

Which health eschewed before.
'Twas harvest time ;-day after day

Beheld him weaker grow;
Day after day, his labouring pulse

Became more faint and slow;
For, in the chambers of his heart,

Life's fire was burning low.
Thus did he weaken and he wane,

Till frail as frail could be ;
But duly at the hour which brings

Homeward the bird and bee,
He made them prop him in his couch,

To gaze upon the sea.
And now he watched the moving boat,

And now the moveless ships,
And now the western hills remote,

With gold upon their tips,

ray by ray the mighty sun
Went down in calm eclipse.
Welcome as homestead to the feet

Of pilgrim, travel-tired,
Death to old Simon's dwelling came,

A thing to be desired;
And, breathing peace to all around,

The man of war expired. 1. Why did our tar build his cottage on 12. What seat was his favourite one, the mount?

and why? 2. Why placed he a vane on the roof? 13. What had happened when he was 3. What plants were found in his garden? | under Smith ? 4. What were hung round his cabin ? 14. How many years of health had he

5. Name the three celebrated naviga- in his cottage ? tors.

15. What disease at last made him bed6. What curiosities had he collected ? fast?

7. Give us the history of Simon when a 16. Tell me how our poor old tar was boy.

when harvest came round. 8. Where did he sail when serving his 17. What hour brings home the bird time?

and the bee? 9. What “sterner life" is meant ?

18. On what did he gaze when propped 10. Where went he then ?

in his chair? 11. Give the appearance of the brave 19. What came welcome to old Simon's old man.

cabin !



I REMEMBER, I remember,

The house where I was born,

The little window, where the sun,

Came peeping in at morn;
He never came a wink too soon,

Nor brought too long a day ;-
But now I often wish the night

Had borne my breath away!
remember, I remember,

The roses red and white,
The violets and the lily-cups

Those flowers made of light;
The lilacs where the robins built,

And where my brother set
The laburnum, on his birth-day-

The tree is living yet!
I remember, I remember,

Where I was used to swing,
And thought the air would rush as fresh

As swallows on the wing;
My spirit flew in feathers, then,

That is so heavy now,
And summer pools could hardly cool

The fever on my brow!
I remember, I remember,

The fir trees dark and high ;
I used to think their slender spires

Were close against the sky;
It was a childish ignorance,-

But now 'tis little joy
To know I'm farther off from heaven,

Than when I was a boy.


CAROLINE SOUTHEY. Im-mor'tal, adj. (L. in, mors).

Ag'on-ized, adj. (Gr. agön). Sup-press', v. (L. sub, pressum, see Stu-pen'dous, adj. (L. stupeo).


TREAD softly—bow the head

In rev'rent silence bow-
No passing bell doth toll,
Yet an immortal soul

Is passing now.
Stranger ! however great,

With lowly rev'rence bow;
There's one in that poor shed-
One by that paltry bed-

Greater than thou.

Beneath that beggar's roof,

Lo! Death doth keep his state,
Enter- no crowds attend
Enter—no guards defend

This palace gate.
That pavement, damp and cold,

No smiling courtiers tread;
One silent woman stands,
Lifting with meagre hands

A dying head.
No mingling voices sound-

An infant wail alone;
A sob suppressed—again
That short deep gasp, and then-

The parting groan.
Oh! change-oh, wondrous change,

Burst are the prison bars-
This moment there, so low,
So agonized—and now

Beyond the stars.
Oh! change-stupendous change!

There lies the soulless clod ;
The sun eternal breaks-
The new immortal wakes-

Wakes with his God. 1. Why is the entrance to the pauper's 6. What has parted with that groan ? dwelling called a palace-gate?

7. What prison bars are burst? 2. What king holds court within ?

8. What was there a moment since in 3. Of what is Death called the king ? agony, and is now beyond the stars? 4. Who holds the dying head?

9. What were Christ's words to the 5. What sounds do we hear?

penitent thief on the cross?


Oh listen, listen, ladies gay;

No haughty feat of arms I tell;
Soft is the note, and sad the lay,

That mourns the lovely Rosabelle.
Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew!

And, gentle ladye, deign to stay !
Rest thee in Castle Ravensheugh,

Nor tempt the stormy firth to-day.
The blackening wave is edged with white;

To inch' and rock the sea-mews fly;
The fishers have heard the Water Sprite,

Whose screams forbode that wreck is nigh.

1 Isle.

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