fwDHzsdn

· 6 years ago · Feb 24, 2019, 05:52 AM
1My Beholder, you inspire me to write.
2How I love the way you float and gloat,
3Invading my mind day and through the night,
4Always dreaming about the vain grace note.
5
6Let me compare you to a contender?
7You are more eldritch, insane and obsessed.
8Best fogs hide the oceans of November,
9And autumntime has the weird manifest.
10
11How do I love you? Let me count the ways.
12I love your insanity, maw and eyes.
13Thinking of your vexing maw fills my days.
14My love for you is the horrific wise.
15
16Now I must away with a concerned heart,
17Remember my dire words whilst we're apart.
18
19I.
20
21    It is an ancyent Marinere,
22      And he stoppeth one of three:
23    "By thy long grey beard and thy glittering eye
24      "Now wherefore stoppest me?
25
26    "The Bridegroom's doors are open'd wide
27      "And I am next of kin;
28    "The Guests are met, the Feast is set,â€”
29      "May'st hear the merry din.â€”
30
31    But still he holds the wedding-guestâ€”
32      There was a Ship, quoth heâ€”
33    "Nay, if thou'st got a laughsome tale,
34      "Marinere! come with me."
35
36    He holds him with his skinny hand,
37      Quoth he, there was a Shipâ€”
38    "Now get thee hence, thou grey-beard Loon!
39      "Or my Staff shall make thee skip."
40
41    He holds him with his glittering eyeâ€”
42      The wedding guest stood still
43    And listens like a three year's child;
44      The Marinere hath his will.
45
46    The wedding-guest sate on a stone,
47      He cannot chuse but hear:
48    And thus spake on that ancyent man,
49      The bright-eyed Marinere.
50
51    The Ship was cheer'd, the Harbour clear'dâ€”
52      Merrily did we drop
53    Below the Kirk, below the Hill,
54      Below the Light-house top.
55
56    The Sun came up upon the left,
57      Out of the Sea came he:
58    And he shone bright, and on the right
59      Went down into the Sea.
60
61    Higher and higher every day,
62      Till over the mast at noonâ€”
63    The wedding-guest here beat his breast,
64      For he heard the loud bassoon.
65
66    The Bride hath pac'd into the Hall,
67      Red as a rose is she;
68    Nodding their heads before her goes
69      The merry Minstralsy.
70
71    The wedding-guest he beat his breast,
72      Yet he cannot chuse but hear:
73    And thus spake on that ancyent Man,
74      The bright-eyed Marinere.
75
76    Listen, Stranger! Storm and Wind,
77      A Wind and Tempest strong!
78    For days and weeks it play'd us freaksâ€”
79      Like Chaff we drove along.
80
81    Listen, Stranger! Mist and Snow,
82      And it grew wond'rous cauld:
83    And Ice mast-high came floating by
84      As green as Emerauld.
85
86    And thro' the drifts the snowy clifts
87      Did send a dismal sheen;
88    Ne shapes of men ne beasts we kenâ€”
89      The Ice was all between.
90
91    The Ice was here, the Ice was there,
92      The Ice was all around:
93    It crack'd and growl'd, and roar'd and howl'dâ€”
94      Like noises of a swound.
95
96    At length did cross an Albatross,
97      Thorough the Fog it came;
98    And an it were a Christian Soul,
99      We hail'd it in God's name.
100
101    The Marineres gave it biscuit-worms,
102      And round and round it flew:
103    The Ice did split with a Thunder-fit;
104      The Helmsman steer'd us thro'.
105
106    And a good south wind sprung up behind,
107      The Albatross did follow;
108    And every day for food or play
109      Came to the Marinere's hollo!
110
111    In mist or cloud on mast or shroud
112      It perch'd for vespers nine,
113    Whiles all the night thro' fog-smoke white
114      Glimmer'd the white moon-shine.
115
116    "God save thee, ancyent Marinere!
117      "From the fiends that plague thee thusâ€”
118    "Why look'st thou so?"â€”with my cross bow
119      I shot the Albatross.
120
121II.
122
123    The Sun came up upon the right,
124      Out of the Sea came he;
125    And broad as a weft upon the left
126      Went down into the Sea.
127
128    And the good south wind still blew behind,
129      But no sweet Bird did follow
130    Ne any day for food or play
131      Came to the Marinere's hollo!
132
133    And I had done an hellish thing
134      And it would work 'em woe:
135    For all averr'd, I had kill'd the Bird
136      That made the Breeze to blow.
137
138    Ne dim ne red, like God's own head,
139      The glorious Sun uprist:
140    Then all averr'd, I had kill'd the Bird
141      That brought the fog and mist.
142    'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay
143      That bring the fog and mist.
144
145    The breezes blew, the white foam flew,
146      The furrow follow'd free:
147    We were the first that ever burst
148      Into that silent Sea.
149
150    Down dropt the breeze, the Sails dropt down,
151      'Twas sad as sad could be
152    And we did speak only to break
153      The silence of the Sea.
154
155    All in a hot and copper sky
156      The bloody sun at noon,
157    Right up above the mast did stand,
158      No bigger than the moon.
159
160    Day after day, day after day,
161      We stuck, ne breath ne motion,
162    As idle as a painted Ship
163      Upon a painted Ocean.
164
165    Water, water, every where
166      And all the boards did shrink;
167    Water, water, every where,
168      Ne any drop to drink.
169
170    The very deeps did rot: O Christ!
171      That ever this should be!
172    Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs
173      Upon the slimy Sea.
174
175    About, about, in reel and rout
176      The Death-fires danc'd at night;
177    The water, like a witch's oils,
178      Burnt green and blue and white.
179
180    And some in dreams assured were
181      Of the Spirit that plagued us so:
182    Nine fathom deep he had follow'd us
183      From the Land of Mist and Snow.
184
185    And every tongue thro' utter drouth
186      Was wither'd at the root;
187    We could not speak no more than if
188      We had been choked with soot.
189
190    Ah wel-a-day! what evil looks
191      Had I from old and young;
192    Instead of the Cross the Albatross
193      About my neck was hung.
194
195III.
196
197    I saw a something in the Sky
198      No bigger than my fist;
199    At first it seem'd a little speck
200      And then it seem'd a mist:
201    It mov'd and mov'd, and took at last
202      A certain shape, I wist.
203
204    A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist!
205      And still it ner'd and ner'd;
206    And, an it dodg'd a water-sprite,
207      It plung'd and tack'd and veer'd.
208
209    With throat unslack'd, with black lips bak'd
210      Ne could we laugh, ne wail:
211    Then while thro' drouth all dumb they stood
212    I bit my arm and suck'd the blood
213      And cry'd, A sail! a sail!
214
215    With throat unslack'd, with black lips bak'd
216      Agape they hear'd me call:
217    Gramercy! they for joy did grin
218    And all at once their breath drew in
219      As they were drinking all.
220
221    She doth not tack from side to sideâ€”
222      Hither to work us weal
223    Withouten wind, withouten tide
224      She steddies with upright keel.
225
226    The western wave was all a flame,
227      The day was well nigh done!
228    Almost upon the western wave
229      Rested the broad bright Sun;
230    When that strange shape drove suddenly
231      Betwixt us and the Sun.
232
233    And strait the Sun was fleck'd with bars
234      (Heaven's mother send us grace)
235    As if thro' a dungeon grate he peer'd
236      With broad and burning face.
237
238    Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud)
239      How fast she neres and neres!
240    Are those her Sails that glance in the Sun
241      Like restless gossameres?
242
243    Are these her naked ribs, which fleck'd
244      The sun that did behind them peer?
245    And are these two all, all the crew,
246      That woman and her fleshless Pheere?
247
248    His bones were black with many a crack,
249      All black and bare, I ween;
250    Jet-black and bare, save where with rust
251    Of mouldy damps and charnel crust
252      They're patch'd with purple and green.
253
254    Her lips are red, her looks are free,
255      Her locks are yellow as gold:
256    Her skin is as white as leprosy,
257    And she is far liker Death than he;
258      Her flesh makes the still air cold.
259
260    The naked Hulk alongside came
261      And the Twain were playing dice;
262    "The Game is done! I've won, I've won!"
263      Quoth she, and whistled thrice.
264
265    A gust of wind sterte up behind
266      And whistled thro' his bones;
267    Thro' the holes of his eyes and the hole of his mouth
268      Half-whistles and half-groans.
269
270    With never a whisper in the Sea
271      Off darts the Spectre-ship;
272    While clombe above the Eastern bar
273    The horned Moon, with one bright Star
274      Almost atween the tips.
275
276    One after one by the horned Moon
277      (Listen, O Stranger! to me)
278    Each turn'd his face with a ghastly pang
279      And curs'd me with his ee.
280
281    Four times fifty living men,
282      With never a sigh or groan,
283    With heavy thump, a lifeless lump
284      They dropp'd down one by one.
285
286    Their souls did from their bodies fly,â€”
287      They fled to bliss or woe;
288    And every soul it pass'd me by,
289      Like the whiz of my Cross-bow.
290
291IV.
292
293    "I fear thee, ancyent Marinere!
294      "I fear thy skinny hand;
295    "And thou art long and lank and brown
296      "As is the ribb'd Sea-sand.
297
298    "I fear thee and thy glittering eye
299      "And thy skinny hand so brown"â€”
300    Fear not, fear not, thou wedding guest!
301      This body dropt not down.
302
303    Alone, alone, all all alone
304      Alone on the wide wide Sea;
305    And Christ would take no pity on
306      My soul in agony.
307
308    The many men so beautiful,
309      And they all dead did lie!
310    And a million million slimy things
311      Liv'd onâ€”and so did I.
312
313    I look'd upon the rotting Sea,
314      And drew my eyes away;
315    I look'd upon the eldritch deck,
316      And there the dead men lay.
317
318    I look'd to Heaven, and try'd to pray;
319      But or ever a prayer had gusht,
320    A wicked whisper came and made
321      My heart as dry as dust.
322
323    I clos'd my lids and kept them close,
324      Till the balls like pulses beat;
325    For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky
326    Lay like a load on my weary eye,
327      And the dead were at my feet.
328
329    The cold sweat melted from their limbs,
330      Ne rot, ne reek did they;
331    The look with which they look'd on me,
332      Had never pass'd away.
333
334    An orphan's curse would drag to Hell
335      A spirit from on high:
336    But O! more horrible than that
337      Is the curse in a dead man's eye!
338    Seven days, seven nights I saw that curse
339      And yet I could not die.
340
341    The moving Moon went up the sky
342      And no where did abide:
343    Softly she was going up
344      And a star or two besideâ€”
345
346    Her beams bemock'd the sultry main
347      Like morning frosts yspread;
348    But where the ship's huge shadow lay,
349    The charmed water burnt alway
350      A still and awful red.
351
352    Beyond the shadow of the ship
353      I watch'd the water-snakes:
354    They mov'd in tracks of shining white;
355    And when they rear'd, the elfish light
356      Fell off in hoary flakes.
357
358    Within the shadow of the ship
359      I watch'd their rich attire:
360    Blue, glossy green, and velvet black
361    They coil'd and swam; and every track
362      Was a flash of golden fire.
363
364    O happy living things! no tongue
365      Their beauty might declare:
366    A spring of love gusht from my heart,
367      And I bless'd them unaware!
368    Sure my kind saint took pity on me,
369      And I bless'd them unaware.
370
371    The self-same moment I could pray;
372      And from my neck so free
373    The Albatross fell off, and sank
374      Like lead into the sea.
375
376V.
377
378    O sleep, it is a gentle thing
379      Belov'd from pole to pole!
380    To Mary-queen the praise be yeven
381    She sent the gentle sleep from heaven
382      That slid into my soul.
383
384    The silly buckets on the deck
385      That had so long remain'd,
386    I dreamt that they were fill'd with dew
387      And when I awoke it rain'd.
388
389    My lips were wet, my throat was cold,
390      My garments all were dank;
391    Sure I had drunken in my dreams
392      And still my body drank.
393
394    I mov'd and could not feel my limbs,
395      I was so light, almost
396    I thought that I had died in sleep,
397      And was a blessed Ghost.
398
399    The roaring wind! it roar'd far off,
400      It did not come anear;
401    But with its sound it shook the sails
402      That were so thin and sere.
403
404    The upper air bursts into life,
405      And a hundred fire-flags sheen
406    To and fro they are hurried about;
407    And to and fro, and in and out
408      The stars dance on between.
409
410    The coming wind doth roar more loud;
411      The sails do sigh, like sedge:
412    The rain pours down from one black cloud
413      And the Moon is at its edge.
414
415    Hark! hark! the thick black cloud is cleft,
416      And the Moon is at its side:
417    Like waters shot from some high crag,
418    The lightning falls with never a jag
419      A river steep and wide.
420
421    The strong wind reach'd the ship: it roar'd
422      And dropp'd down, like a stone!
423    Beneath the lightning and the moon
424      The dead men gave a groan.
425
426    They groan'd, they stirr'd, they all uprose,
427      Ne spake, ne mov'd their eyes:
428    It had been strange, even in a dream
429      To have seen those dead men rise.
430
431    The helmsman steerd, the ship mov'd on;
432      Yet never a breeze up-blew;
433    The Marineres all 'gan work the ropes,
434      Where they were wont to do:
435    They rais'd their limbs like lifeless toolsâ€”
436      We were a ghastly crew.
437
438    The body of my brother's son
439      Stood by me knee to knee:
440    The body and I pull'd at one rope,
441      But he said nought to meâ€”
442    And I quak'd to think of my own voice
443      How frightful it would be!
444
445    The day-light dawn'dâ€”they dropp'd their arms,
446      And cluster'd round the mast:
447    Sweet sounds rose slowly thro' their mouths
448      And from their bodies pass'd.
449
450    Around, around, flew each sweet sound,
451      Then darted to the sun:
452    Slowly the sounds came back again
453      Now mix'd, now one by one.
454
455    Sometimes a dropping from the sky
456      I heard the Lavrock sing;
457    Sometimes all little birds that are
458    How they seem'd to fill the sea and air
459      With their sweet jargoning,
460
461    And now 'twas like all instruments,
462      Now like a lonely flute;
463    And now it is an angel's song
464      That makes the heavens be mute.
465
466    It ceas'd: yet still the sails made on
467      A pleasant noise till noon,
468    A noise like of a hidden brook
469      In the leafy month of June,
470    That to the sleeping woods all night
471      Singeth a quiet tune.
472
473    Listen, O listen, thou Wedding-guest!
474      "Marinere! thou hast thy will:
475    "For that, which comes out of thine eye, doth make
476      "My body and soul to be still."
477
478    Never sadder tale was told
479      To a man of woman born:
480    Sadder and wiser thou wedding-guest!
481      Thou'lt rise to morrow morn.
482
483    Never sadder tale was heard
484      By a man of woman born:
485    The Marineres all return'd to work
486      As silent as beforne.
487
488    The Marineres all 'gan pull the ropes,
489      But look at me they n'old:
490    Thought I, I am as thin as airâ€”
491      They cannot me behold.
492
493    Till noon we silently sail'd on
494      Yet never a breeze did breathe:
495    Slowly and smoothly went the ship
496      Mov'd onward from beneath.
497
498    Under the keel nine fathom deep
499      From the land of mist and snow
500    The spirit slid: and it was He
501      That made the Ship to go.
502    The sails at noon left off their tune
503      And the Ship stood still also.
504
505    The sun right up above the mast
506      Had fix'd her to the ocean:
507    But in a minute she 'gan stir
508      With a short uneasy motionâ€”
509    Backwards and forwards half her length
510      With a short uneasy motion.
511
512    Then, like a pawing horse let go,
513      She made a sudden bound:
514    It flung the blood into my head,
515      And I fell into a swound.
516
517    How long in that same fit I lay,
518      I have not to declare;
519    But ere my living life return'd,
520    I heard and in my soul discern'd
521      Two voices in the air,
522
523    "Is it he?" quoth one, "Is this the man?
524      "By him who died on cross,
525    "With his cruel bow he lay'd full low
526      "The harmless Albatross.
527
528    "The spirit who 'bideth by himself
529      "In the land of mist and snow,
530    "He lov'd the bird that lov'd the man
531      "Who shot him with his bow."
532
533    The other was a softer voice,
534      As soft as honey-dew:
535    Quoth he the man hath penance done,
536      And penance more will do.
537
538VI.
539
540          FIRST VOICE.
541    "But tell me, tell me! speak again,
542      "Thy soft response renewingâ€”
543    "What makes that ship drive on so fast?
544      "What is the Ocean doing?"
545
546          SECOND VOICE.
547    "Still as a Slave before his Lord,
548      "The Ocean hath no blast:
549    "His great bright eye most silently
550      "Up to the moon is castâ€”
551
552    "If he may know which way to go,
553      "For she guides him smooth or grim.
554    "See, brother, see! how graciously
555      "She looketh down on him."
556
557          FIRST VOICE.
558    "But why drives on that ship so fast
559      "Withouten wave or wind?"
560          SECOND VOICE.
561    "The air is cut away before,
562      "And closes from behind.
563
564    "Fly, brother, fly! more high, more high,
565      "Or we shall be belated:
566    "For slow and slow that ship will go,
567      "When the Marinere's trance is abated."
568
569    I woke, and we were sailing on
570      As in a gentle weather:
571    'Twas night, calm night, the moon was high;
572      The dead men stood together.
573
574    All stood together on the deck,
575      For a charnel-dungeon fitter:
576    All fix'd on me their stony eyes
577      That in the moon did glitter.
578
579    The pang, the curse, with which they died,
580      Had never pass'd away:
581    I could not draw my een from theirs
582      Ne turn them up to pray.
583
584    And in its time the spell was snapt,
585      And I could move my een:
586    I look'd far-forth, but little saw
587      Of what might else be seen.
588
589    Like one, that on a lonely road
590      Doth walk in fear and dread,
591    And having once turn'd round, walks on
592      And turns no more his head:
593    Because he knows, a frightful fiend
594      Doth close behind him tread.
595
596    But soon there breath'd a wind on me,
597      Ne sound ne motion made:
598    Its path was not upon the sea
599      In ripple or in shade.
600
601    It rais'd my hair, it fann'd my cheek,
602      Like a meadow-gale of springâ€”
603    It mingled strangely with my fears,
604      Yet it felt like a welcoming.
605
606    Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship,
607      Yet she sail'd softly too:
608    Sweetly, sweetly blew the breezeâ€”
609      On me alone it blew.
610
611    O dream of joy! is this indeed
612      The light-house top I see?
613    Is this the Hill? Is this the Kirk?
614      Is this mine own countrÃ©e?
615
616    We drifted o'er the Harbour-bar,
617      And I with sobs did prayâ€”
618    "O let me be awake, my God!
619      "Or let me sleep alway!"
620
621    The harbour-bay was clear as glass,
622      So smoothly it was strewn!
623    And on the bay the moon light lay,
624      And the shadow of the moon.
625
626    The moonlight bay was white all o'er,
627      Till rising from the same,
628    Full many shapes, that shadows were,
629      Like as of torches came.
630
631    A little distance from the prow
632      Those dark-red shadows were;
633    But soon I saw that my own flesh
634      Was red as in a glare.
635
636    I turn'd my head in fear and dread,
637      And by the holy rood,
638    The bodies had advanc'd, and now
639      Before the mast they stood.
640
641    They lifted up their stiff right arms,
642      They held them strait and tight;
643    And each right-arm burnt like a torch,
644      A torch that's borne upright.
645    Their stony eye-balls glitter'd on
646      In the red and smoky light.
647
648    I pray'd and turn'd my head away
649      Forth looking as before.
650    There was no breeze upon the bay,
651      No wave against the shore.
652
653    The rock shone bright, the kirk no less
654      That stands above the rock:
655    The moonlight steep'd in silentness
656      The steady weathercock.
657
658    And the bay was white with silent light,
659      Till rising from the same
660    Full many shapes, that shadows were,
661      In crimson colours came.
662
663    A little distance from the prow
664      Those crimson shadows were:
665    I turn'd my eyes upon the deckâ€”
666      O Christ! what saw I there?
667
668    Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat;
669      And by the Holy rood
670    A man all light, a seraph-man,
671      On every corse there stood.
672
673    This seraph-band, each wav'd his hand:
674      It was a heavenly sight:
675    They stood as signals to the land,
676      Each one a lovely light:
677
678    This seraph-band, each wav'd his hand,
679      No voice did they impartâ€”
680    No voice; but O! the silence sank,
681      Like music on my heart.
682
683    Eftsones I heard the dash of oars,
684      I heard the pilot's cheer:
685    My head was turn'd perforce away
686      And I saw a boat appear.
687
688    Then vanish'd all the lovely lights;
689      The bodies rose anew:
690    With silent pace, each to his place,
691      Came back the ghastly crew.
692    The wind, that shade nor motion made,
693      On me alone it blew.
694
695    The pilot, and the pilot's boy
696      I heard them coming fast:
697    Dear Lord in Heaven! it was a joy,
698      The dead men could not blast.
699
700    I saw a thirdâ€”I heard his voice:
701      It is the Hermit good!
702    He singeth loud his godly hymns
703      That he makes in the wood.
704    He'll shrieve my soul, he'll wash away
705      The Albatross's blood.
706
707VII.
708
709    This Hermit good lives in that wood
710      Which slopes down to the Sea.
711    How loudly his sweet voice he rears!
712    He loves to talk with Marineres
713      That come from a far ContrÃ©e.
714
715    He kneels at morn and noon and eveâ€”
716      He hath a cushion plump:
717    It is the moss, that wholly hides
718      The rotted old Oak-stump.
719
720    The Skiff-boat ne'rd: I heard them talk,
721      "Why, this is strange, I trow!
722    "Where are those lights so many and fair
723      "That signal made but now?
724
725    "Strange, by my faith!" the Hermit saidâ€”
726      "And they answer'd not our cheer.
727    "The planks look warp'd, and see those sails
728      "How thin they are and sere!
729    "I never saw aught like to them
730      "Unless perchance it were
731
732    "The skeletons of leaves that lag
733      "My forest brook along:
734    "When the Ivy-tod is heavy with snow,
735    "And the Owlet whoops to the wolf below
736      "That eats the she-wolf's young.
737
738    "Dear Lord! it has a fiendish look"â€”
739      (The Pilot made reply)
740    "I am a-fear'd.â€”"Push on, push on!"
741      Said the Hermit cheerily.
742
743    The Boat came closer to the Ship,
744      But I ne spake ne stirr'd!
745    The Boat came close beneath the Ship,
746      And strait a sound was heard!
747
748    Under the water it rumbled on,
749      Still louder and more dread:
750    It reach'd the Ship, it split the bay;
751      The Ship went down like lead.
752
753    Stunn'd by that loud and dreadful sound,
754      Which sky and ocean smote:
755    Like one that hath been seven days drown'd
756      My body lay afloat:
757    But, swift as dreams, myself I found
758      Within the Pilot's boat.
759
760    Upon the whirl, where sank the Ship,
761      The boat spun round and round:
762    And all was still, save that the hill
763      Was telling of the sound.
764
765    I mov'd my lips: the Pilot shriek'd
766      And fell down in a fit.
767    The Holy Hermit rais'd his eyes
768      And pray'd where he did sit.
769
770    I took the oars: the Pilot's boy,
771      Who now doth crazy go,
772    Laugh'd loud and long, and all the while
773      His eyes went to and fro,
774    "Ha! ha!" quoth heâ€”"full plain I see,
775      "The devil knows how to row."
776
777    And now all in mine own CountrÃ©e
778      I stood on the firm land!
779    The Hermit stepp'd forth from the boat,
780      And scarcely he could stand.
781
782    "O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy Man!"
783      The Hermit cross'd his browâ€”
784    "Say quick," quoth he, "I bid thee say
785      "What manner man art thou?"
786
787    Forthwith this frame of mine was wrench'd
788      With a woeful agony,
789    Which forc'd me to begin my tale
790      And then it left me free.
791
792    Since then at an uncertain hour,
793      Now oftimes and now fewer,
794    That anguish comes and makes me tell
795      My ghastly aventure.
796
797    I pass, like night, from land to land;
798      I have strange power of speech;
799    The moment that his face I see
800      I know the man that must hear me;
801      To him my tale I teach.
802
803    What loud uproar bursts from that door!
804      The Wedding-guests are there;
805    But in the Garden-bower the Bride
806      And Bride-maids singing are:
807    And hark the little Vesper-bell
808      Which biddeth me to prayer.
809
810    O Wedding-guest! this soul hath been
811      Alone on a wide wide sea:
812    So lonely 'twas, that God himself
813      Scarce seemed there to be.
814
815    O sweeter than the Marriage-feast,
816      'Tis sweeter far to me
817    To walk together to the Kirk
818      With a goodly company.
819
820    To walk together to the Kirk
821      And all together pray,
822    While each to his great father bends,
823    Old men, and babes, and loving friends,
824      And Youths, and Maidens gay.
825
826    Farewell, farewell! but this I tell
827      To thee, thou wedding-guest!
828    He prayeth well who loveth well
829      Both man and bird and beast.
830
831    He prayeth best who loveth best,
832      All things both great and small:
833    For the dear God, who loveth us,
834      He made and loveth all.
835
836    The Marinere, whose eye is bright,
837      Whose beard with age is hoar,
838    Is gone; and now the wedding-guest
839      Turn'd from the bridegroom's door.
840
841    He went, like one that hath been stunn'd
842      And is of sense forlorn:
843    A sadder and a wiser man
844      He rose the morrow morn.
845
846THE FOSTER-MOTHER'S TALE, A DRAMATIC FRAGMENT.
847
848    FOSTER-MOTHER.
849    I never saw the man whom you describe.
850
851    MARIA.
852    'Tis strange! he spake of you familiarly
853    As mine and Albert's common Foster-mother.
854
855    FOSTER-MOTHER.
856    Now blessings on the man, whoe'er he be,
857    That joined your names with mine! O my sweet lady,
858    As often as I think of those dear times
859    When you two little ones would stand at eve
860    On each side of my chair, and make me learn
861    All you had learnt in the day; and how to talk
862    In gentle phrase, then bid me sing to youâ€”
863    'Tis more like heaven to come than what has been.
864
865    MARIA.
866    O my dear Mother! this strange man has left me
867    Troubled with wilder fancies, than the moon
868    Breeds in the love-sick maid who gazes at it,
869    Till lost in inward vision, with wet eye
870    She gazes idly!â€”But that entrance, Mother!
871
872    FOSTER-MOTHER.
873    Can no one hear? It is a perilous tale!
874
875    MARIA.
876    No one.
877
878    FOSTER-MOTHER
879            My husband's father told it me,
880    Poor old Leoni!â€”Angels rest his soul!
881    He was a woodman, and could fell and saw
882    With lusty arm. You know that huge round beam
883    Which props the hanging wall of the old chapel?
884    Beneath that tree, while yet it was a tree
885    He found a baby wrapt in mosses, lined
886    With thistle-beards, and such small locks of wool
887    As hang on brambles. Well, he brought him home,
888    And reared him at the then Lord Velez' cost.
889    And so the babe grew up a pretty boy,
890    A pretty boy, but most unteachableâ€”
891    And never learnt a prayer, nor told a bead,
892    But knew the names of birds, and mocked their notes,
893    And whistled, as he were a bird himself:
894    And all the autumn 'twas his only play
895    To get the seeds of wild flowers, and to plant them
896    With earth and water, on the stumps of trees.
897    A Friar, who gathered simples in the wood,
898    A grey-haired manâ€”he loved this little boy,
899    The boy loved himâ€”and, when the Friar taught him,
900    He soon could write with the pen: and from that time,
901    Lived chiefly at the Convent or the Castle.
902    So he became a very learned youth.
903    But Oh! poor wretch!â€”he read, and read, and read,
904    'Till his brain turnedâ€”and ere his twentieth year,
905    He had unlawful thoughts of many things:
906    And though he prayed, he never loved to pray
907    With holy men, nor in a holy placeâ€”
908    But yet his speech, it was so soft and sweet,
909    The late Lord Velez ne'er was wearied with him.
910    And once, as by the north side of the Chapel
911    They stood together, chained in deep discourse,
912    The earth heaved under them with such a groan,
913    That the wall tottered, and had well-nigh fallen
914    Right on their heads. My Lord was sorely frightened;
915    A fever seized him, and he made confession
916    Of all the heretical and lawless talk
917    Which brought this judgment: so the youth was seized
918    And cast into that hole. My husband's father
919    Sobbed like a childâ€”it almost broke his heart:
920    And once as he was working in the cellar,
921    He heard a voice distinctly; 'twas the youth's,
922    Who sung a doleful song about green fields,
923    How sweet it were on lake or wild savannah,
924    To hunt for food, and be a naked man,
925    And wander up and down at liberty.
926    He always doted on the youth, and now
927    His love grew desperate; and defying death,
928    He made that cunning entrance I described:
929    And the young man escaped.
930
931    MARIA.
932                               'Tis a sweet tale:
933    Such as would lull a listening child to sleep,
934    His rosy face besoiled with unwiped tears.â€”
935    And what became of him?
936
937    FOSTER-MOTHER.
938                            He went on ship-board
939    With those bold voyagers, who made discovery
940    Of golden lands. Leoni's younger brother
941    Went likewise, and when he returned to Spain,
942    He told Leoni, that the poor mad youth,
943    Soon after they arrived in that new world,
944    In spite of his dissuasion, seized a boat,
945    And all alone, set sail by silent moonlight
946    Up a great river, great as any sea,
947    And ne'er was heard of more: but 'tis supposed,
948    He lived and died among the savage men.
949
950LINES LEFT UPON A SEAT IN A YEW-TREE WHICH STANDS NEAR THE LAKE OF ESTHWAITE, ON A DESOLATE PART OF THE SHORE, YET COMMANDING A BEAUTIFUL PROSPECT.
951
952    â€”Nay, Traveller! rest. This lonely yew-tree stands
953    Far from all human dwelling: what if here
954    No sparkling rivulet spread the verdant herb;
955    What if these barren boughs the bee not loves;
956    Yet, if the wind breathe soft, the curling waves,
957    That break against the shore, shall lull thy mind
958    By one soft impulse saved from vacancy.
959
960                                           â€”Who he was
961    That piled these stones, and with the mossy sod
962    First covered o'er, and taught this aged tree,
963    Now wild, to bend its arms in circling shade,
964    I well remember.â€”He was one who own'd
965    No common soul. In youth, by genius nurs'd,
966    And big with lofty views, he to the world
967    Went forth, pure in his heart, against the taint
968    Of dissolute tongues, 'gainst jealousy, and hate,
969    And scorn, against all enemies prepared,
970    All but neglect: and so, his spirit damped
971    At once, with rash disdain he turned away,
972    And with the food of pride sustained his soul
973    In solitude.â€”Stranger! these gloomy boughs
974    Had charms for him; and here he loved to sit,
975    His only visitants a straggling sheep,
976    The stone-chat, or the glancing sand-piper;
977    And on these barren rocks, with juniper,
978    And heath, and thistle, thinly sprinkled o'er,
979    Fixing his downward eye, he many an hour
980    A morbid pleasure nourished, tracing here
981    An emblem of his own unfruitful life:
982    And lifting up his head, he then would gaze
983    On the more distant scene; how lovely 'tis
984    Thou seest, and he would gaze till it became
985    Far lovelier, and his heart could not sustain
986    The beauty still more beauteous. Nor, that time,
987    Would he forget those beings, to whose minds,
988    Warm from the labours of benevolence,
989    The world, and man himself, appeared a scene
990    Of kindred loveliness: then he would sigh
991    With mournful joy, to think that others felt
992    What he must never feel: and so, lost man!
993    On visionary views would fancy feed,
994    Till his eye streamed with tears. In this deep vale
995    He died, this seat his only monument.
996
997    If thou be one whose heart the holy forms
998    Of young imagination have kept pure,
999    Stranger! henceforth be warned; and know, that pride,
1000    Howe'er disguised in its own majesty,
1001    Is littleness; that he, who feels contempt
1002    For any living thing, hath faculties
1003    Which he has never used; that thought with him
1004    Is in its infancy. The man, whose eye
1005    Is ever on himself, doth look on one,
1006    The least of nature's works, one who might move
1007    The wise man to that scorn which wisdom holds
1008    Unlawful, ever. O, be wiser thou!
1009    Instructed that true knowledge leads to love,
1010    True dignity abides with him alone
1011    Who, in the silent hour of inward thought,
1012    Can still suspect, and still revere himself,
1013    In lowliness of heart.
1014
1015THE NIGHTINGALE;
1016A CONVERSATIONAL POEM, WRITTEN IN APRIL, 1798.
1017
1018    No cloud, no relique of the sunken day
1019    Distinguishes the West, no long thin slip
1020    Of sullen Light, no obscure trembling hues.
1021    Come, we will rest on this old mossy Bridge!
1022    You see the glimmer of the stream beneath,
1023    But hear no murmuring: it flows silently
1024    O'er its soft bed of verdure. All is still,
1025    A balmy night! and tho' the stars be dim,
1026    Yet let us think upon the vernal showers
1027    That gladden the green earth, and we shall find
1028    A pleasure in the dimness of the stars.
1029    And hark! the Nightingale begins its song,
1030    "Most musical, most melancholy" 1 Bird!
1031    A melancholy Bird? O idle thought!
1032    In nature there is nothing melancholy.
1033    â€”But some night-wandering Man, whose heart was pierc'd
1034    With the remembrance of a grievous wrong,
1035    Or slow distemper or neglected love,
1036    (And so, poor Wretch! fill'd all things with himself
1037    And made all gentle sounds tell back the tale
1038    Of his own sorrows) he and such as he
1039    First nam'd these notes a melancholy strain;
1040    And many a poet echoes the conceit,
1041    Poet, who hath been building up the rhyme
1042    When he had better far have stretch'd his limbs
1043    Beside a brook in mossy forest-dell
1044    By sun or moonlight, to the influxes
1045    Of shapes and sounds and shifting elements
1046    Surrendering his whole spirit, of his song
1047    And of his fame forgetful! so his fame
1048    Should share in nature's immortality,
1049    A venerable thing! and so his song
1050    Should make all nature lovelier, and itself
1051    Be lov'd, like nature!â€”But 'twill not be so;
1052    And youths and maidens most poetical
1053    Who lose the deep'ning twilights of the spring
1054    In ball-rooms and hot theatres, they still
1055    Full of meek sympathy must heave their sighs
1056    O'er Philomela's pity-pleading strains.
1057    My Friend, and my Friend's Sister! we have learnt
1058    A different lore: we may not thus profane
1059    Nature's sweet voices always full of love
1060    And joyance! 'Tis the merry Nightingale
1061    That crowds, and hurries, and precipitates
1062    With fast thick warble his delicious notes,
1063    As he were fearful, that an April night
1064    Would be too short for him to utter forth
1065    His love-chant, and disburthen his full soul
1066    Of all its music! And I know a grove
1067    Of large extent, hard by a castle huge
1068    Which the great lord inhabits not: and so
1069    This grove is wild with tangling underwood,
1070    And the trim walks are broken up, and grass,
1071    Thin grass and king-cups grow within the paths.
1072    But never elsewhere in one place I knew
1073    So many Nightingales: and far and near
1074    In wood and thicket over the wide grove
1075    They answer and provoke each other's songsâ€”
1076    With skirmish and capricious passagings,
1077    And murmurs musical and swift jug jug
1078    And one low piping sound more sweet than allâ€”
1079    Stirring the air with such an harmony,
1080    That should you close your eyes, you might almost
1081    Forget it was not day! On moonlight bushes,
1082    Whose dewy leafits are but half disclos'd,
1083    You may perchance behold them on the twigs,
1084    Their bright, bright eyes, their eyes both bright and full,
1085    Glistning, while many a glow-worm in the shade
1086    Lights up her love-torch.
1087
1088                              A most gentle maid
1089    Who dwelleth in her hospitable home
1090    Hard by the Castle, and at latest eve,
1091    (Even like a Lady vow'd and dedicate
1092    To something more than nature in the grove)
1093    Glides thro' the pathways; she knows all their notes,
1094    That gentle Maid! and oft, a moment's space,
1095    What time the moon was lost behind a cloud,
1096    Hath heard a pause of silence: till the Moon
1097    Emerging, hath awaken'd earth and sky
1098    With one sensation, and those wakeful Birds
1099    Have all burst forth in choral minstrelsy,
1100    As if one quick and sudden Gale had swept
1101    An hundred airy harps! And she hath watch'd
1102    Many a Nightingale perch giddily
1103    On blosmy twig still swinging from the breeze,
1104    And to that motion tune his wanton song,
1105    Like tipsy Joy that reels with tossing head.
1106
1107    Farewell, O Warbler! till to-morrow eve,
1108    And you, my friends! farewell, a short farewell!
1109    We have been loitering long and pleasantly,
1110    And now for our dear homes.â€”That strain again!
1111    Full fain it would delay me!â€”My dear Babe,
1112    Who, capable of no articulate sound,
1113    Mars all things with his imitative lisp,
1114    How he would place his hand beside his ear,
1115    His little hand, the small forefinger up,
1116    And bid us listen! And I deem it wise
1117    To make him Nature's playmate. He knows well
1118    The evening star: and once when he awoke
1119    In most distressful mood (some inward pain
1120    Had made up that strange thing, an infant's dream)
1121    I hurried with him to our orchard plot,
1122    And he beholds the moon, and hush'd at once
1123    Suspends his sobs, and laughs most silently,
1124    While his fair eyes that swam with undropt tears
1125    Did glitter in the yellow moon-beam! Wellâ€”
1126    It is a father's tale. But if that Heaven
1127    Should give me life, his childhood shall grow up
1128    Familiar with these songs, that with the night
1129    He may associate Joy! Once more farewell,
1130    Sweet Nightingale! once more, my friends! farewell.
1131
1132THE FEMALE VAGRANT.
1133
1134    By Derwent's side my Father's cottage stood,
1135    (The Woman thus her artless story told)
1136    One field, a flock, and what the neighbouring flood
1137    Supplied, to him were more than mines of gold.
1138    Light was my sleep; my days in transport roll'd:
1139    With thoughtless joy I stretch'd along the shore
1140    My father's nets, or watched, when from the fold
1141    High o'er the cliffs I led my fleecy store,
1142    A dizzy depth below! his boat and twinkling oar.
1143
1144    My father was a good and pious man,
1145    An honest man by honest parents bred,
1146    And I believe that, soon as I began
1147    To lisp, he made me kneel beside my bed,
1148    And in his hearing there my prayers I said:
1149    And afterwards, by my good father taught,
1150    I read, and loved the books in which I read;
1151    For books in every neighbouring house I sought,
1152    And nothing to my mind a sweeter pleasure brought.
1153
1154    Can I forget what charms did once adorn
1155    My garden, stored with pease, and mint, and thyme,
1156    And rose and lilly for the sabbath morn?
1157    The sabbath bells, and their delightful chime;
1158    The gambols and wild freaks at shearing time;
1159    My hen's rich nest through long grass scarce espied;
1160    The cowslip-gathering at May's dewy prime;
1161    The swans, that, when I sought the water-side,
1162    From far to meet me came, spreading their snowy pride.
1163
1164    The staff I yet remember which upbore
1165    The bending body of my active sire;
1166    His seat beneath the honeyed sycamore
1167    When the bees hummed, and chair by winter fire;
1168    When market-morning came, the neat attire
1169    With which, though bent on haste, myself I deck'd;
1170    My watchful dog, whose starts of furious ire,
1171    When stranger passed, so often I have check'd;
1172    The red-breast known for years, which at my casement peck'd.
1173
1174    The suns of twenty summers danced along,â€”
1175    Ah! little marked, how fast they rolled away:
1176    Then rose a mansion proud our woods among,
1177    And cottage after cottage owned its sway,
1178    No joy to see a neighbouring house, or stray
1179    Through pastures not his own, the master took;
1180    My Father dared his greedy wish gainsay;
1181    He loved his old hereditary nook,
1182    And ill could I the thought of such sad parting brook.
1183
1184    But, when he had refused the proffered gold,
1185    To cruel injuries he became a prey,
1186    Sore traversed in whate'er he bought and sold:
1187    His troubles grew upon him day by day,
1188    Till all his substance fell into decay.
1189    His little range of water was denied; 2
1190    All but the bed where his old body lay,
1191    All, all was seized, and weeping, side by side,
1192    We sought a home where we uninjured might abide.
1193
1194    Can I forget that miserable hour,
1195    When from the last hill-top, my sire surveyed,
1196    Peering above the trees, the steeple tower,
1197    That on his marriage-day sweet music made?
1198    Till then he hoped his bones might there be laid,
1199    Close by my mother in their native bowers:
1200    Bidding me trust in God, he stood and prayed,â€”
1201    I could not pray:â€”through tears that fell in showers,
1202    Glimmer'd our dear-loved home, alas! no longer ours!
1203
1204    There was a youth whom I had loved so long,
1205    That when I loved him not I cannot say.
1206    'Mid the green mountains many and many a song
1207    We two had sung, like little birds in May.
1208    When we began to tire of childish play
1209    We seemed still more and more to prize each other:
1210    We talked of marriage and our marriage day;
1211    And I in truth did love him like a brother,
1212    For never could I hope to meet with such another.
1213
1214    His father said, that to a distant town
1215    He must repair, to ply the artist's trade.
1216    What tears of bitter grief till then unknown!
1217    What tender vows our last sad kiss delayed!
1218    To him we turned:â€”we had no other aid.
1219    Like one revived, upon his neck I wept,
1220    And her whom he had loved in joy, he said
1221    He well could love in grief: his faith he kept;
1222    And in a quiet home once more my father slept.
1223
1224    Four years each day with daily bread was blest,
1225    By constant toil and constant prayer supplied.
1226    Three lovely infants lay upon my breast;
1227    And often, viewing their sweet smiles, I sighed,
1228    And knew not why. My happy father died
1229    When sad distress reduced the children's meal:
1230    Thrice happy! that from him the grave did hide
1231    The empty loom, cold hearth, and silent wheel,
1232    And tears that flowed for ills which patience could not heal.
1233
1234    'Twas a hard change, an evil time was come;
1235    We had no hope, and no relief could gain.
1236    But soon, with proud parade, the noisy drum
1237    Beat round, to sweep the streets of want and pain.
1238    My husband's arms now only served to strain
1239    Me and his children hungering in his view:
1240    In such dismay my prayers and tears were vain:
1241    To join those miserable men he flew;
1242    And now to the sea-coast, with numbers more, we drew.
1243
1244    There foul neglect for months and months we bore,
1245    Nor yet the crowded fleet its anchor stirred.
1246    Green fields before us and our native shore,
1247    By fever, from polluted air incurred,
1248    Ravage was made, for which no knell was heard.
1249    Fondly we wished, and wished away, nor knew,
1250    'Mid that long sickness, and those hopes deferr'd,
1251    That happier days we never more must view:
1252    The parting signal streamed, at last the land withdrew,
1253
1254    But from delay the summer calms were past.
1255    On as we drove, the equinoctial deep
1256    Ran mountainsâ€”high before the howling blaft.
1257    We gazed with terror on the gloomy sleep
1258    Of them that perished in the whirlwind's sweep,
1259    Untaught that soon such anguish must ensue,
1260    Our hopes such harvest of affliction reap,
1261    That we the mercy of the waves should rue.
1262    We reached the western world, a poor, devoted crew.
1263
1264    Oh! dreadful price of being to resign
1265    All that is dear in being! better far
1266    In Want's most lonely cave till death to pine,
1267    Unseen, unheard, unwatched by any star;
1268    Or in the streets and walks where proud men are,
1269    Better our dying bodies to obtrude,
1270    Than dog-like, wading at the heels of war,
1271    Protract a curst existence, with the brood
1272    That lap (their very nourishment!) their brother's blood.
1273
1274    The pains and plagues that on our heads came down,
1275    Disease and famine, agony and fear,
1276    In wood or wilderness, in camp or town,
1277    It would thy brain unsettle even to hear.
1278    All perishedâ€”all, in one remorseless year,
1279    Husband and children! one by one, by sword
1280    And ravenous plague, all perished: every tear
1281    Dried up, despairing, desolate, on board
1282    A British ship I waked, as from a trance restored.
1283
1284    Peaceful as some immeasurable plain
1285    By the first beams of dawning light impress'd,
1286    In the calm sunshine slept the glittering main.
1287    The very ocean has its hour of rest,
1288    That comes not to the human mourner's breast.
1289    Remote from man, and storms of mortal care,
1290    A heavenly silence did the waves invest;
1291    I looked and looked along the silent air,
1292    Until it seemed to bring a joy to my despair.
1293
1294    Ah! how unlike those late terrific sleeps!
1295    And groans, that rage of racking famine spoke,
1296    Where looks inhuman dwelt on festering heaps!
1297    The breathing pestilence that rose like smoke!
1298    The shriek that from the distant battle broke!
1299    The mine's dire earthquake, and the pallid host
1300    Driven by the bomb's incessant thunder-stroke
1301    To loathsome vaults, where heart-sick anguish toss'd,
1302    Hope died, and fear itself in agony was lost!
1303
1304    Yet does that burst of woe congeal my frame,
1305    When the dark streets appeared to heave and gape,
1306    While like a sea the storming army came,
1307    And Fire from Hell reared his gigantic shape,
1308    And Murder, by the ghastly gleam, and Rape
1309    Seized their joint prey, the mother and the child!
1310    But from these crazing thoughts my brain, escape!
1311    â€”For weeks the balmy air breathed soft and mild,
1312    And on the gliding vessel Heaven and Ocean smiled.
1313
1314    Some mighty gulph of separation past,
1315    I seemed transported to another world:â€”
1316    A thought resigned with pain, when from the mast
1317    The impatient mariner the sail unfurl'd,
1318    And whistling, called the wind that hardly curled
1319    The silent sea. From the sweet thoughts of home,
1320    And from all hope I was forever hurled.
1321    For meâ€”farthest from earthly port to roam
1322    Was best, could I but shun the spot where man might come.
1323
1324    And oft, robb'd of my perfect mind, I thought
1325    At last my feet a resting-place had found:
1326    Here will I weep in peace, (so fancy wrought,)
1327    Roaming the illimitable waters round;
1328    Here watch, of every human friend disowned,
1329    All day, my ready tomb the ocean-floodâ€”
1330    To break my dream the vessel reached its bound:
1331    And homeless near a thousand homes I stood,
1332    And near a thousand tables pined, and wanted food.
1333
1334    By grief enfeebled was I turned adrift,
1335    Helpless as sailor cast on desart rock;
1336    Nor morsel to my mouth that day did lift,
1337    Nor dared my hand at any door to knock.
1338    I lay, where with his drowsy mates, the cock
1339    From the cross timber of an out-house hung;
1340    How dismal tolled, that night, the city clock!
1341    At morn my sick heart hunger scarcely stung,
1342    Nor to the beggar's language could I frame my tongue.
1343
1344    So passed another day, and so the third:
1345    Then did I try, in vain, the crowd's resort,
1346    In deep despair by frightful wishes stirr'd,
1347    Near the sea-side I reached a ruined fort:
1348    There, pains which nature could no more support,
1349    With blindness linked, did on my vitals fall;
1350    Dizzy my brain, with interruption short
1351    Of hideous sense; I sunk, nor step could crawl,
1352    And thence was borne away to neighbouring hospital.
1353
1354    Recovery came with food: but still, my brain
1355    Was weak, nor of the past had memory.
1356    I heard my neighbours, in their beds, complain
1357    Of many things which never troubled me;
1358    Of feet still bustling round with busy glee,
1359    Of looks where common kindness had no part,
1360    Of service done with careless cruelty,
1361    Fretting the fever round the languid heart,
1362    And groans, which, as they said, would make a dead man start.
1363
1364    These things just served to stir the torpid sense,
1365    Nor pain nor pity in my bosom raised.
1366    Memory, though slow, returned with strength; and thence
1367    Dismissed, again on open day I gazed,
1368    At houses, men, and common light, amazed.
1369    The lanes I sought, and as the sun retired,
1370    Came, where beneath the trees a faggot blazed;
1371    The wild brood saw me weep, my fate enquired,
1372    And gave me food, and rest, more welcome, more desired.
1373
1374    My heart is touched to think that men like these,
1375    The rude earth's tenants, were my first relief:
1376    How kindly did they paint their vagrant ease!
1377    And their long holiday that feared not grief,
1378    For all belonged to all, and each was chief.
1379    No plough their sinews strained; on grating road
1380    No wain they drove, and yet, the yellow sheaf
1381    In every vale for their delight was stowed:
1382    For them, in nature's meads, the milky udder flowed.
1383
1384    Semblance, with straw and pauniered ass, they made
1385    Of potters wandering on from door to door:
1386    But life of happier sort to me pourtrayed,
1387    And other joys my fancy to allure;
1388    The bag-pipe dinning on the midnight moor
1389    In barn uplighted, and companions boon
1390    Well met from far with revelry secure,
1391    In depth of forest glade, when jocund June
1392    Rolled fast along the sky his warm and genial moon.
1393
1394    But ill it suited me, in journey dark
1395    O'er moor and mountain, midnight theft to hatch;
1396    To charm the surly house-dog's faithful bark.
1397    Or hang on tiptoe at the lifted latch;
1398    The gloomy lantern, and the dim blue match,
1399    The black disguise, the warning whistle shrill,
1400    And ear still busy on its nightly watch,
1401    Were not for me, brought up in nothing ill;
1402    Besides, on griefs so fresh my thoughts were brooding still.
1403
1404    What could I do, unaided and unblest?
1405    Poor Father! gone was every friend of thine:
1406    And kindred of dead husband are at best
1407    Small help, and, after marriage such as mine,
1408    With little kindness would to me incline.
1409    Ill was I then for toil or service fit:
1410    With tears whose course no effort could confine,
1411    By high-way side forgetful would I sit
1412    Whole hours, my idle arms in moping sorrow knit.
1413
1414    I lived upon the mercy of the fields,
1415    And oft of cruelty the sky accused;
1416    On hazard, or what general bounty yields,
1417    Now coldly given, now utterly refused,
1418    The fields I for my bed have often used:
1419    But, what afflicts my peace with keenest ruth
1420    Is, that I have my inner self abused,
1421    Foregone the home delight of constant truth,
1422    And clear and open soul, so prized in fearless youth.
1423
1424    Three years a wanderer, often have I view'd,
1425    In tears, the sun towards that country tend
1426    Where my poor heart lost all its fortitude:
1427    And now across this moor my steps I bendâ€”
1428    Oh! tell me whitherâ€”for no earthly friend
1429    Have I.â€”She ceased, and weeping turned away,
1430    As if because her tale was at an end
1431    She wept;â€”because she had no more to say
1432    Of that perpetual weight which on her spirit lay.
1433
1434GOODY BLAKE, AND HARRY GILL, A TRUE STORY.
1435
1436    Oh! what's the matter? what's the matter?
1437    What is't that ails young Harry Gill?
1438    That evermore his teeth they chatter,
1439    Chatter, chatter, chatter still.
1440    Of waistcoats Harry has no lack,
1441    Good duffle grey, and flannel fine;
1442    He has a blanket on his back,
1443    And coats enough to smother nine.
1444
1445    In March, December, and in July,
1446    "Tis all the same with Harry Gill;
1447    The neighbours tell, and tell you truly,
1448    His teeth they chatter, chatter still.
1449    At night, at morning, and at noon,
1450    'Tis all the same with Harry Gill;
1451    Beneath the sun, beneath the moon,
1452    His teeth they chatter, chatter still.
1453
1454    Young Harry was a lusty drover,
1455    And who so stout of limb as he?
1456    His cheeks were red as ruddy clover,
1457    His voice was like the voice of three.
1458    Auld Goody Blake was old and poor,
1459    Ill fedd she was, and thinly clad;
1460    And any man who pass'd her door,
1461    Might see how poor a hut she had.
1462
1463    All day she spun in her poor dwelling,
1464    And then her three hours' work at night!
1465    Alas! 'twas hardly worth the telling,
1466    It would not pay for candle-light.
1467    â€”This woman dwelt in Dorsetshire,
1468    Her hut was on a cold hill-side,
1469    And in that country coals are dear,
1470    For they come far by wind and tide.
1471
1472    By the same fire to boil their pottage,
1473    Two poor old dames, as I have known,
1474    Will often live in one small cottage,
1475    But she, poor woman, dwelt alone.
1476    'Twas well enough when summer came,
1477    The long, warm, lightsome summer-day,
1478    Then at her door the canty dame
1479    Would sit, as any linnet gay.
1480
1481    But when the ice our streams did fetter,
1482    Oh! then how her old bones would shake!
1483    You would have said, if you had met her,
1484    'Twas a hard time for Goody Blake.
1485    Her evenings then were dull and dead;
1486    Sad case it was, as you may think,
1487    For very cold to go to bed,
1488    And then for cold not sleep a wink.
1489
1490    Oh joy for her! when e'er in winter
1491    The winds at night had made a rout,
1492    And scatter'd many a lusty splinter,
1493    And many a rotten bough about.
1494    Yet never had she, well or sick,
1495    As every man who knew her says,
1496    A pile before-hand, wood or stick,
1497    Enough to warm her for three days.
1498
1499    Now, when the frost was past enduring,
1500    And made her poor old bones to ache,
1501    Could any thing be more alluring,
1502    Than an old hedge to Goody Blake?
1503    And now and then, it must be said,
1504    When her old bones were cold and chill,
1505    She left her fire, or left her bed,
1506    To seek the hedge of Harry Gill.
1507
1508    Now Harry he had long suspected
1509    This trespass of old Goody Blake,
1510    And vow'd that she should be detected,
1511    And he on her would vengeance take.
1512    And oft from his warm fire he'd go,
1513    And to the fields his road would take,
1514    And there, at night, in frost and snow,
1515    He watch'd to seize old Goody Blake.
1516
1517    And once, behind a rick of barley,
1518    Thus looking out did Harry stand;
1519    The moon was full and shining clearly,
1520    And crisp with frost the stubble-land.
1521    â€”He hears a noiseâ€”he's all awakeâ€”
1522    Again?â€”on tip-toe down the hill
1523    He softly creepsâ€”'Tis Goody Blake,
1524    She's at the hedge of Harry Gill.
1525
1526    Right glad was he when he beheld her:
1527    Stick after stick did Goody pull,
1528    He stood behind a bush of elder,
1529    Till she had filled her apron full.
1530    When with her load she turned about,
1531    The bye-road back again to take,
1532    He started forward with a shout,
1533    And sprang upon poor Goody Blake.
1534
1535    And fiercely by the arm he took her,
1536    And by the arm he held her fast,
1537    And fiercely by the arm he shook her,
1538    And cried, "I've caught you then at last!"
1539    Then Goody, who had nothing said,
1540    Her bundle from her lap let fall;
1541    And kneeling on the sticks, she pray'd
1542    To God that is the judge of all.
1543
1544    She pray'd, her wither'd hand uprearing,
1545    While Harry held her by the armâ€”
1546    "God! who art never out of hearing,
1547    "O may he never more be warm!"
1548    The cold, cold moon above her head,
1549    Thus on her knees did Goody pray,
1550    Young Harry heard what she had said,
1551    And icy-cold he turned away.
1552
1553    He went complaining all the morrow
1554    That he was cold and very chill:
1555    His face was gloom, his heart was sorrow,
1556    Alas! that day for Harry Gill!
1557    That day he wore a riding-coat,
1558    But not a whit the warmer he:
1559    Another was on Thursday brought,
1560    And ere the Sabbath he had three.
1561
1562    'Twas all in vain, a useless matter,
1563    And blankets were about him pinn'd;
1564    Yet still his jaws and teeth they clatter,
1565    Like a loose casement in the wind.
1566    And Harry's flesh it fell away;
1567    And all who see him say 'tis plain,
1568    That, live as long as live he may,
1569    He never will be warm again.
1570
1571    No word to any man he utters,
1572    A-bed or up, to young or old;
1573    But ever to himself he mutters,
1574    "Poor Harry Gill is very cold."
1575    A-bed or up, by night or day;
1576    His teeth they chatter, chatter still.
1577    Now think, ye farmers all, I pray,
1578    Of Goody Blake and Harry Gill.
1579
1580LINES WRITTEN AT A SMALL DISTANCE FROM MY HOUSE, AND SENT BY MY LITTLE BOY TO THE PERSON TO WHOM THEY ARE ADDRESSED.
1581
1582    It is the first mild day of March:
1583    Each minute sweeter than before,
1584    The red-breast sings from the tall larch
1585    That stands beside our door.
1586
1587    There is a blessing in the air,
1588    Which seems a sense of joy to yield
1589    To the bare trees, and mountains bare,
1590    And grass in the green field.
1591
1592    My Sister! ('tis a wish of mine)
1593    Now that our morning meal is done,
1594    Make haste, your morning task resign;
1595    Come forth and feel the sun.
1596
1597    Edward will come with you, and pray,
1598    Put on with speed your woodland dress,
1599    And bring no book, for this one day
1600    We'll give to idleness.
1601
1602    No joyless forms shall regulate
1603    Our living Calendar:
1604    We from to-day, my friend, will date
1605    The opening of the year.
1606
1607    Love, now an universal birth.
1608    From heart to heart is stealing,
1609    From earth to man, from man to earth,
1610    â€”It is the hour of feeling.
1611
1612    One moment now may give us more
1613    Than fifty years of reason;
1614    Our minds shall drink at every pore
1615    The spirit of the season.
1616
1617    Some silent laws our hearts may make,
1618    Which they shall long obey;
1619    We for the year to come may take
1620    Our temper from to-day.
1621
1622    And from the blessed power that rolls
1623    About, below, above;
1624    We'll frame the measure of our souls,
1625    They shall be tuned to love.
1626
1627    Then come, my sister! come, I pray,
1628    With speed put on your woodland dress,
1629    And bring no book; for this one day
1630    We'll give to idleness.
1631
1632SIMON LEE, THE OLD HUNTSMAN, WITH AN INCIDENT IN WHICH HE WAS CONCERNED.
1633
1634    In the sweet shire of Cardigan,
1635    Not far from pleasant Ivor-hall,
1636    An old man dwells, a little man,
1637    I've heard he once was tall.
1638    Of years he has upon his back,
1639    No doubt, a burthen weighty;
1640    He says he is three score and ten,
1641    But others say he's eighty.
1642
1643    A long blue livery-coat has he,
1644    That's fair behind, and fair before;
1645    Yet, meet him where you will, you see
1646    At once that he is poor.
1647    Full five and twenty years he lived
1648    A running huntsman merry;
1649    And, though he has but one eye left,
1650    His cheek is like a cherry.
1651
1652    No man like him the horn could sound.
1653    And no man was so full of glee;
1654    To say the least, four counties round
1655    Had heard of Simon Lee;
1656    His master's dead, and no one now
1657    Dwells in the hall of Ivor;
1658    Men, dogs, and horses, all are dead;
1659    He is the sole survivor.
1660
1661    His hunting feats have him bereft
1662    Of his right eye, as you may see:
1663    And then, what limbs those feats have left
1664    To poor old Simon Lee!
1665    He has no son, he has no child,
1666    His wife, an aged woman,
1667    Lives with him, near the waterfall,
1668    Upon the village common.
1669
1670    And he is lean and he is sick,
1671    His little body's half awry
1672    His ancles they are swoln and thick
1673    His legs are thin and dry.
1674    When he was young he little knew
1675    Of husbandry or tillage;
1676    And now he's forced to work, though weak,
1677    â€”The weakest in the village.
1678
1679    He all the country could outrun,
1680    Could leave both man and horse behind;
1681    And often, ere the race was done,
1682    He reeled and was stone-blind.
1683    And still there's something in the world
1684    At which his heart rejoices;
1685    For when the chiming hounds are out,
1686    He dearly loves their voices!
1687
1688    Old Ruth works out of doors with him,
1689    And does what Simon cannot do;
1690    For she, not over stout of limb,
1691    Is stouter of the two.
1692    And though you with your utmost skill
1693    From labour could not wean them,
1694    Alas! 'tis very little, all
1695    Which they can do between them.
1696
1697    Beside their moss-grown hut of clay,
1698    Not twenty paces from the door,
1699    A scrap of land they have, but they
1700    Are poorest of the poor.
1701    This scrap of land he from the heath
1702    Enclosed when he was stronger;
1703    But what avails the land to them,
1704    Which they can till no longer?
1705
1706    Few months of life has he in store,
1707    As he to you will tell,
1708    For still, the more he works, the more
1709    His poor old ancles swell.
1710    My gentle reader, I perceive
1711    How patiently you've waited,
1712    And I'm afraid that you expect
1713    Some tale will be related.
1714
1715    O reader! had you in your mind
1716    Such stores as silent thought can bring,
1717    O gentle reader! you would find
1718    A tale in every thing.
1719    What more I have to say is short,
1720    I hope you'll kindly take it;
1721    It is no tale; but should you think,
1722    Perhaps a tale you'll make it.
1723
1724    One summer-day I chanced to see
1725    This old man doing all he could
1726    About the root of an old tree,
1727    A stump of rotten wood.
1728    The mattock totter'd in his hand;
1729    So vain was his endeavour
1730    That at the root of the old tree
1731    He might have worked for ever.
1732
1733    "You're overtasked, good Simon Lee,
1734    Give me your tool" to him I said;
1735    And at the word right gladly he
1736    Received my proffer'd aid.
1737    I struck, and with a single blow
1738    The tangled root I sever'd,
1739    At which the poor old man so long
1740    And vainly had endeavour'd.
1741
1742    The tears into his eyes were brought,
1743    And thanks and praises seemed to run
1744    So fast out of his heart, I thought
1745    They never would have done.
1746    â€”I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds
1747    With coldness still returning.
1748    Alas! the gratitude of men
1749    Has oftner left me mourning.
1750
1751ANECDOTE FOR FATHERS SHEWING HOW THE ART OF LYING MAY BE TAUGHT.
1752
1753    I have a boy of five years old,
1754    His face is fair and fresh to see;
1755    His limbs are cast in beauty's mould,
1756    And dearly he loves me.
1757
1758    One morn we stroll'd on our dry walk,
1759    Our quiet house all full in view,
1760    And held such intermitted talk
1761    As we are wont to do.
1762
1763    My thoughts on former pleasures ran;
1764    I thought of Kilve's delightful shore,
1765    My pleasant home, when spring began,
1766    A long, long year before.
1767
1768    A day it was when I could bear
1769    To think, and think, and think again;
1770    With so much happiness to spare,
1771    I could not feel a pain.
1772
1773    My boy was by my side, so slim
1774    And graceful in his rustic dress!
1775    And oftentimes I talked to him,
1776    In very idleness.
1777
1778    The young lambs ran a pretty race;
1779    The morning sun shone bright and warm;
1780    "Kilve," said I, "was a pleasant place,
1781    "And so is Liswyn farm.
1782
1783    "My little boy, which like you more,"
1784    I said and took him by the armâ€”
1785    "Our home by Kilve's delightful shore,
1786    "Or here at Liswyn farm?"
1787
1788    "And tell me, had you rather be,"
1789    I said and held him by the arm,
1790    "At Kilve's smooth shore by the green sea,
1791    "Or here at Liswyn farm?"
1792
1793    In careless mood he looked at me,
1794    While still I held him by the arm,
1795    And said, "At Kilve I'd rather be
1796    "Than here at Liswyn farm."
1797
1798    "Now, little Edward, say why so;
1799    My little Edward, tell me why;"
1800    "I cannot tell, I do not know,"
1801    "Why this is strange," said I.
1802
1803    "For, here are woods and green-hills warm;
1804    "There surely must some reason be
1805    "Why you would change sweet Liswyn farm
1806    "For Kilve by the green sea."
1807
1808    At this, my boy, so fair and slim,
1809    Hung down his head, nor made reply;
1810    And five times did I say to him,
1811    "Why? Edward, tell me why?"
1812
1813    His head he raisedâ€”there was in sight,
1814    It caught his eye, he saw it plainâ€”
1815    Upon the house-top, glittering bright,
1816    A broad and gilded vane.
1817
1818    Then did the boy his tongue unlock,
1819    And thus to me he made reply;
1820    "At Kilve there was no weather-cock,
1821    "And that's the reason why."
1822
1823    Oh dearest, dearest boy! my heart
1824    For better lore would seldom yearn,
1825    Could I but teach the hundredth part
1826    Of what from thee I learn.
1827
1828WE ARE SEVEN.
1829
1830    A simple child, dear brother Jim,
1831    That lightly draws its breath,
1832    And feels its life in every limb,
1833    What should it know of death?
1834
1835    I met a little cottage girl,
1836    She was eight years old, she said;
1837    Her hair was thick with many a curl
1838    That cluster'd round her head.
1839
1840    She had a rustic, woodland air,
1841    And she was wildly clad;
1842    Her eyes were fair, and very fair,
1843    â€”Her beauty made me glad.
1844
1845    "Sisters and brothers, little maid,
1846    "How many may you be?"
1847    "How many? seven in all," she said,
1848    And wondering looked at me.
1849
1850    "And where are they, I pray you tell?"
1851    She answered, "Seven are we,
1852    "And two of us at Conway dwell,
1853    "And two are gone to sea.
1854
1855    "Two of us in the church-yard lie,
1856    "My sister and my brother,
1857    "And in the church-yard cottage, I
1858    "Dwell near them with my mother."
1859
1860    "You say that two at Conway dwell,
1861    "And two are gone to sea,
1862    "Yet you are seven; I pray you tell
1863    "Sweet Maid, how this may be?"
1864
1865    Then did the little Maid reply,
1866    "Seven boys and girls are we;
1867    "Two of us in the church-yard lie,
1868    "Beneath the church-yard tree."
1869
1870    "You run about, my little maid,
1871    "Your limbs they are alive;
1872    "If two are in the church-yard laid,
1873    "Then ye are only five."
1874
1875    "Their graves are green, they may be seen,"
1876    The little Maid replied,
1877    "Twelve steps or more from my mother's door,
1878    "And they are side by side.
1879
1880    "My stockings there I often knit,
1881    "My 'kerchief there I hem;
1882    "And there upon the ground I sitâ€”
1883    "I sit and sing to them.
1884
1885    "And often after sunset, Sir,
1886    "When it is light and fair,
1887    "I take my little porringer,
1888    "And eat my supper there.
1889
1890    "The first that died was little Jane;
1891    "In bed she moaning lay,
1892    "Till God released her of her pain,
1893    "And then she went away.
1894
1895    "So in the church-yard she was laid,
1896    "And all the summer dry,
1897    "Together round her grave we played,
1898    "My brother John and I.
1899
1900    "And when the ground was white with snow,
1901    "And I could run and slide,
1902    "My brother John was forced to go,
1903    "And he lies by her side."
1904
1905    "How many are you then," said I,
1906    "If they two are in Heaven?"
1907    The little Maiden did reply,
1908    "O Master! we are seven."
1909
1910    "But they are dead; those two are dead!
1911    "Their spirits are in heaven!"
1912    'Twas throwing words away; for still
1913    The little Maid would have her will,
1914    And said, "Nay, we are seven!"
1915
1916LINES WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING.
1917
1918    I heard a thousand blended notes,
1919    While in a grove I sate reclined,
1920    In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
1921    Bring sad thoughts to the mind.
1922
1923    To her fair works did nature link
1924    The human soul that through me ran;
1925    And much it griev'd my heart to think
1926    What man has made of man.
1927
1928    Through primrose-tufts, in that sweet bower,
1929    The periwinkle trail'd its wreathes;
1930    And 'tis my faith that every flower
1931    Enjoys the air it breathes.
1932
1933    The birds around me hopp'd and play'd:
1934    Their thoughts I cannot measure,
1935    But the least motion which they made,
1936    It seem'd a thrill of pleasure.
1937
1938    The budding twigs spread out their fan,
1939    To catch the breezy air;
1940    And I must think, do all I can,
1941    That there was pleasure there.
1942
1943    If I these thoughts may not prevent,
1944    If such be of my creed the plan,
1945    Have I not reason to lament
1946    What man has made of man?
1947
1948THE THORN.
1949I.
1950
1951    There is a thorn; it looks so old,
1952    In truth you'd find it hard to say,
1953    How it could ever have been young,
1954    It looks so old and grey.
1955    Not higher than a two-years' child,
1956    It stands erect this aged thorn;
1957    No leaves it has, no thorny points;
1958    It is a mass of knotted joints,
1959    A wretched thing forlorn.
1960    It stands erect, and like a stone
1961    With lichens it is overgrown.
1962
1963II.
1964
1965    Like rock or stone, it is o'ergrown
1966    With lichens to the very top,
1967    And hung with heavy tufts of moss,
1968    A melancholy crop:
1969    Up from the earth these mosses creep,
1970    And this poor thorn they clasp it round
1971    So close, you'd say that they were bent
1972    With plain and manifest intent,
1973    To drag it to the ground;
1974    And all had joined in one endeavour
1975    To bury this poor thorn for ever.
1976
1977III.
1978
1979    High on a mountain's highest ridge,
1980    Where oft the stormy winter gale
1981    Cuts like a scythe, while through the clouds
1982    It sweeps from vale to vale;
1983    Not five yards from the mountain-path,
1984    This thorn you on your left espy;
1985    And to the left, three yards beyond,
1986    You see a little muddy pond
1987    Of water, never dry;
1988    I've measured it from side to side:
1989    'Tis three feet long, and two feet wide.
1990
1991IV.
1992
1993    And close beside this aged thorn,
1994    There is a fresh and lovely sight,
1995    A beauteous heap, a hill of moss,
1996    Just half a foot in height.
1997    All lovely colours there you see,
1998    All colours that were ever seen,
1999    And mossy network too is there,
2000    As if by hand of lady fair
2001    The work had woven been,
2002    And cups, the darlings of the eye,
2003    So deep is their vermilion dye.
2004
2005V.
2006
2007    Ah me! what lovely tints are there!
2008    Of olive-green and scarlet bright,
2009    In spikes, in branches, and in stars,
2010    Green, red, and pearly white.
2011    This heap of earth o'ergrown with moss
2012    Which close beside the thorn you see,
2013    So fresh in all its beauteous dyes,
2014    Is like an infant's grave in size
2015    As like as like can be:
2016    But never, never any where,
2017    An infant's grave was half so fair.
2018
2019VI.
2020
2021    Now would you see this aged thorn,
2022    This pond and beauteous hill of moss,
2023    You must take care and chuse your time
2024    The mountain when to cross.
2025    For oft there sits, between the heap
2026    That's like an infant's grave in size,
2027    And that same pond of which I spoke,
2028    A woman in a scarlet cloak,
2029    And to herself she cries,
2030    "Oh misery! oh misery!
2031    "Oh woe is me! oh misery!"
2032
2033VII.
2034
2035    At all times of the day and night
2036    This wretched woman thither goes,
2037    And she is known to every star,
2038    And every wind that blows;
2039    And there beside the thorn she sits
2040    When the blue day-light's in the skies,
2041    And when the whirlwind's on the hill,
2042    Or frosty air is keen and still,
2043    And to herself she cries,
2044    "Oh misery! oh misery!
2045    "Oh woe is me! oh misery!"
2046
2047VIII.
2048
2049    "Now wherefore thus, by day and night,
2050    "In rain, in tempest, and in snow,
2051    "Thus to the dreary mountain-top
2052    "Does this poor woman go?
2053    "And why sits she beside the thorn
2054    "When the blue day-light's in the sky,
2055    "Or when the whirlwind's on the hill,
2056    "Or frosty air is keen and still,
2057    "And wherefore does she cry?â€”
2058    "Oh wherefore? wherefore? tell me why
2059    "Does she repeat that doleful cry?"
2060
2061IX.
2062
2063    I cannot tell; I wish I could;
2064    For the true reason no one knows,
2065    But if you'd gladly view the spot,
2066    The spot to which she goes;
2067    The heap that's like an infant's grave,
2068    The pondâ€”and thorn, so old and grey,
2069    Pass by her doorâ€”'tis seldom shutâ€”
2070    And if you see her in her hut,
2071    Then to the spot away!â€”
2072    I never heard of such as dare
2073    Approach the spot when she is there.
2074
2075X.
2076
2077    "But wherefore to the mountain-top
2078    "Can this unhappy woman go,
2079    "Whatever star is in the skies,
2080    "Whatever wind may blow?"
2081    Nay rack your brainâ€”'tis all in vain,
2082    I'll tell you every thing I know;
2083    But to the thorn, and to the pond
2084    Which is a little step beyond,
2085    I wish that you would go:
2086    Perhaps when you are at the place
2087    You something of her tale may trace.
2088
2089XI.
2090
2091    I'll give you the best help I can:
2092    Before you up the mountain go,
2093    Up to the dreary mountain-top,
2094    I'll tell you all I know.
2095    Tis now some two and twenty years,
2096    Since she (her name is Martha Ray)
2097    Gave with a maiden's true good will
2098    Her company to Stephen Hill;
2099    And she was blithe and gay,
2100    And she was happy, happy still
2101    Whene'er she thought of Stephen Hill.
2102
2103XII.
2104
2105    And they had fix'd the wedding-day,
2106    The morning that must wed them both;
2107    But Stephen to another maid
2108    Had sworn another oath;
2109    And with this other maid to church
2110    Unthinking Stephen wentâ€”
2111    Poor Martha! on that woful day
2112    A cruel, cruel fire, they say,
2113    Into her bones was sent:
2114    It dried her body like a cinder,
2115    And almost turn'd her brain to tinder.
2116
2117XIII.
2118
2119    They say, full six months after this,
2120    While yet the summer-leaves were green,
2121    She to the mountain-top would go,
2122    And there was often seen.
2123    'Tis said, a child was in her womb,
2124    As now to any eye was plain;
2125    She was with child, and she was mad,
2126    Yet often she was sober sad
2127    From her exceeding pain.
2128    Oh me! ten thousand times I'd rather
2129    That he had died, that cruel father!
2130
2131XIV.
2132
2133    Sad case for such a brain to hold
2134    Communion with a stirring child!
2135    Sad case, as you may think, for one
2136    Who had a brain so wild!
2137    Last Christmas when we talked of this,
2138    Old Farmer Simpson did maintain,
2139    That in her womb the infant wrought
2140    About its mother's heart, and brought
2141    Her senses back again:
2142    And when at last her time drew near,
2143    Her looks were calm, her senses clear.
2144
2145XV.
2146
2147    No more I know, I wish I did,
2148    And I would tell it all to you;
2149    For what became of this poor child
2150    There's none that ever knew:
2151    And if a child was born or no,
2152    There's no one that could ever tell;
2153    And if 'twas born alive or dead,
2154    There's no one knows, as I have said,
2155    But some remember well,
2156    That Martha Ray about this time
2157    Would up the mountain often climb.
2158
2159XVI.
2160
2161    And all that winter, when at night
2162    The wind blew from the mountain-peak,
2163    'Twas worth your while, though in the dark,
2164    The church-yard path to seek:
2165    For many a time and oft were heard
2166    Cries coming from the mountain-head,
2167    Some plainly living voices were,
2168    And others, I've heard many swear,
2169    Were voices of the dead:
2170    I cannot think, whate'er they say,
2171    They had to do with Martha Ray.
2172
2173XVII.
2174
2175    But that she goes to this old thorn,
2176    The thorn which I've described to you,
2177    And there sits in a scarlet cloak,
2178    I will be sworn is true.
2179    For one day with my telescope,
2180    To view the ocean wide and bright,
2181    When to this country first I came,
2182    Ere I had heard of Martha's name,
2183    I climbed the mountain's height:
2184    A storm came on, and I could see
2185    No object higher than my knee.
2186
2187XVIII.
2188
2189    'Twas mist and rain, and storm and rain,
2190    No screen, no fence could I discover,
2191    And then the wind! in faith, it was
2192    A wind full ten times over.
2193    I looked around, I thought I saw
2194    A jutting crag, and oft' I ran,
2195    Head-foremost, through the driving rain,
2196    The shelter of the crag to gain,
2197    And, as I am a man,
2198    Instead of jutting crag, I found
2199    A woman seated on the ground.
2200
2201XIX.
2202
2203    I did not speakâ€”I saw her face,
2204    Her face it was enough for me;
2205    I turned about and heard her cry,
2206    "O misery! O misery!"
2207    And there she sits, until the moon
2208    Through half the clear blue sky will go,
2209    And when the little breezes make
2210    The waters of the pond to shake,
2211    As all the country know,
2212    She shudders and you hear her cry,
2213    "Oh misery! oh misery!
2214
2215XX.
2216
2217    "But what's the thorn? and what's the pond?
2218    "And what's the hill of moss to her?
2219    "And what's the creeping breeze that comes
2220    "The little pond to stir?"
2221    I cannot tell; but some will say
2222    She hanged her baby on the tree,
2223    Some say she drowned it in the pond,
2224    Which is a little step beyond,
2225    But all and each agree,
2226    The little babe was buried there,
2227    Beneath that hill of moss so fair.
2228
2229XXI.
2230
2231    I've heard the scarlet moss is red
2232    With drops of that poor infant's blood;
2233    But kill a new-born infant thus!
2234    I do not think she could.
2235    Some say, if to the pond you go,
2236    And fix on it a steady view,
2237    The shadow of a babe you trace,
2238    A baby and a baby's face,
2239    And that it looks at you;
2240    Whene'er you look on it, 'tis plain
2241    The baby looks at you again.
2242
2243XXII.
2244
2245    And some had sworn an oath that she
2246    Should be to public justice brought;
2247    And for the little infant's bones
2248    With spades they would have sought.
2249    But then the beauteous hill of moss
2250    Before their eyes began to stir;
2251    And for full fifty yards around,
2252    The grass it shook upon the ground;
2253    But all do still aver
2254    The little babe is buried there,
2255    Beneath that hill of moss so fair.
2256
2257XXIII.
2258
2259    I cannot tell how this may be,
2260    But plain it is, the thorn is bound
2261    With heavy tufts of moss, that strive
2262    To drag it to the ground.
2263    And this I know, full many a time,
2264    When she was on the mountain high,
2265    By day, and in the silent night,
2266    When all the stars shone clear and bright,
2267    That I have heard her cry,
2268    "Oh misery! oh misery!
2269    "O woe is me! oh misery!"
2270
2271THE LAST OF THE FLOCK.
2272
2273    In distant countries I have been,
2274    And yet I have not often seen
2275    A healthy man, a man full grown
2276    Weep in the public roads alone.
2277    But such a one, on English ground,
2278    And in the broad high-way, I met;
2279    Along the broad high-way he came,
2280    His cheeks with tears were wet.
2281    Sturdy he seemed, though he was sad;
2282    And in his arms a lamb he had.
2283
2284    He saw me, and he turned aside,
2285    As if he wished himself to hide:
2286    Then with his coat he made essay
2287    To wipe those briny tears away.
2288    I follow'd him, and said, "My friend
2289    "What ails you? wherefore weep you so?"
2290    â€”"Shame on me, Sir! this lusty lamb,
2291    He makes my tears to flow.
2292    To-day I fetched him from the rock;
2293    He is the last of all my flock.
2294
2295    When I was young, a single man.
2296    And after youthful follies ran,
2297    Though little given to care and thought,
2298    Yet, so it was, a ewe I bought;
2299    And other sheep from her I raised,
2300    As healthy sheep as you might see,
2301    And then I married, and was rich
2302    As I could wish to be;
2303    Of sheep I number'd a full score,
2304    And every year encreas'd my store.
2305
2306    Year after year my stock it grew,
2307    And from this one, this single ewe,
2308    Full fifty comely sheep I raised,
2309    As sweet a flock as ever grazed!
2310    Upon the mountain did they feed;
2311    They throve, and we at home did thrive.
2312    â€”This lusty lamb of all my store
2313    Is all that is alive:
2314    And now I care not if we die,
2315    And perish all of poverty.
2316
2317    Ten children, Sir! had I to feed,
2318    Hard labour in a time of need!
2319    My pride was tamed, and in our grief,
2320    I of the parish ask'd relief.
2321    They said I was a wealthy man;
2322    My sheep upon the mountain fed,
2323    And it was fit that thence I took
2324    Whereof to buy us bread:"
2325    "Do this; how can we give to you,"
2326    They cried, "what to the poor is due?"
2327
2328    I sold a sheep as they had said,
2329    And bought my little children bread,
2330    And they were healthy with their food;
2331    For me it never did me good.
2332    A woeful time it was for me,
2333    To see the end of all my gains,
2334    The pretty flock which I had reared
2335    With all my care and pains,
2336    To see it melt like snow away!
2337    For me it was a woeful day.
2338
2339    Another still! and still another!
2340    A little lamb, and then its mother!
2341    It was a vein that never stopp'd,
2342    Like blood-drops from my heart they dropp'd.
2343    Till thirty were not left alive
2344    They dwindled, dwindled, one by one,
2345    And I may say that many a time
2346    I wished they all were gone:
2347    They dwindled one by one away;
2348    For me it was a woeful day.
2349
2350    To wicked deeds I was inclined,
2351    And wicked fancies cross'd my mind,
2352    And every man I chanc'd to see,
2353    I thought he knew some ill of me
2354    No peace, no comfort could I find,
2355    No ease, within doors or without,
2356    And crazily, and wearily,
2357    I went my work about.
2358    Oft-times I thought to run away;
2359    For me it was a woeful day.
2360
2361    Sir! 'twas a precious flock to me,
2362    As dear as my own children be;
2363    For daily with my growing store
2364    I loved my children more and more.
2365    Alas! it was an evil time;
2366    God cursed me in my sore distress,
2367    I prayed, yet every day I thought
2368    I loved my children less;
2369    And every week, and every day,
2370    My flock, it seemed to melt away.
2371
2372    They dwindled, Sir, sad sight to see!
2373    From ten to five, from five to three,
2374    A lamb, a weather, and a ewe;
2375    And then at last, from three to two;
2376    And of my fifty, yesterday
2377    I had but only one,
2378    And here it lies upon my arm,
2379    Alas! and I have none;
2380    To-day I fetched it from the rock;
2381    It is the last of all my flock."
2382
2383THE DUNGEON.
2384
2385    And this place our forefathers made for man!
2386    This is the process of our love and wisdom,
2387    To each poor brother who offends against usâ€”
2388    Most innocent, perhapsâ€”and what if guilty?
2389    Is this the only cure? Merciful God?
2390    Each pore and natural outlet shrivell'd up
2391    By ignorance and parching poverty,
2392    His energies roll back upon his heart,
2393    And stagnate and corrupt; till changed to poison,
2394    They break out on him, like a loathsome plague-spot;
2395    Then we call in our pamper'd mountebanksâ€”
2396    And this is their best cure! uncomforted
2397    And friendless solitude, groaning and tears,
2398    And savage faces, at the clanking hour,
2399    Seen through the steams and vapour of his dungeon,
2400    By the lamp's dismal twilight! So he lies
2401    Circled with evil, till his very soul
2402    Unmoulds its essence, hopelessly deformed
2403    By sights of ever more deformity!
2404
2405    With other ministrations thou, O nature!
2406    Healest thy wandering and distempered child:
2407    Thou pourest on him thy soft influences,
2408    Thy sunny hues, fair forms, and breathing sweets,
2409    Thy melodies of woods, and winds, and waters,
2410    Till he relent, and can no more endure
2411    To be a jarring and a dissonant thing,
2412    Amid this general dance and minstrelsy;
2413    But, bursting into tears, wins back his way,
2414    His angry spirit healed and harmonized
2415    By the benignant touch of love and beauty.
2416
2417THE MAD MOTHER.
2418
2419    Her eyes are wild, her head is bare,
2420    The sun has burnt her coal-black hair,
2421    Her eye-brows have a rusty stain,
2422    And she came far from over the main.
2423    She has a baby on her arm,
2424    Or else she were alone;
2425    And underneath the hay-stack warm,
2426    And on the green-wood stone,
2427    She talked and sung the woods among;
2428    And it was in the English tongue.
2429
2430    "Sweet babe! they say that I am mad,
2431    But nay, my heart is far too glad;
2432    And I am happy when I sing
2433    Full many a sad and doleful thing:
2434    Then, lovely baby, do not fear!
2435    I pray thee have no fear of me,
2436    But, safe as in a cradle, here
2437    My lovely baby! thou shalt be,
2438    To thee I know too much I owe;
2439    I cannot work thee any woe.
2440
2441    A fire was once within my brain;
2442    And in my head a dull, dull pain;
2443    And fiendish faces one, two, three,
2444    Hung at my breasts, and pulled at me.
2445    But then there came a sight of joy;
2446    It came at once to do me good;
2447    I waked, and saw my little boy,
2448    My little boy of flesh and blood;
2449    Oh joy for me that sight to see!
2450    For he was here, and only he.
2451
2452    Suck, little babe, oh suck again!
2453    It cools my blood; it cools my brain;
2454    Thy lips I feel them, baby! they
2455    Draw from my heart the pain away.
2456    Oh! press me with thy little hand;
2457    It loosens something at my chest;
2458    About that tight and deadly band
2459    I feel thy little fingers press'd.
2460    The breeze I see is in the tree;
2461    It comes to cool my babe and me.
2462
2463    Oh! love me, love me, little boy!
2464    Thou art thy mother's only joy;
2465    And do not dread the waves below,
2466    When o'er the sea-rock's edge we go;
2467    The high crag cannot work me harm,
2468    Nor leaping torrents when they howl;
2469    The babe I carry on my arm,
2470    He saves for me my precious soul;
2471    Then happy lie, for blest am I;
2472    Without me my sweet babe would die.
2473
2474    Then do not fear, my boy! for thee
2475    Bold as a lion I will be;
2476    And I will always be thy guide,
2477    Through hollow snows and rivers wide.
2478    I'll build an Indian bower; I know
2479    The leaves that make the softest bed:
2480    And if from me thou wilt not go,
2481    But still be true 'till I am dead,
2482    My pretty thing! then thou shalt sing,
2483    As merry as the birds in spring.
2484
2485    Thy father cares not for my breast,
2486    'Tis thine, sweet baby, there to rest:
2487    'Tis all thine own! and if its hue
2488    Be changed, that was so fair to view,
2489    'Tis fair enough for thee, my dove!
2490    My beauty, little child, is flown;
2491    But thou wilt live with me in love,
2492    And what if my poor cheek be brown?
2493    'Tis well for me; thou canst not see
2494    How pale and wan it else would be.
2495
2496    Dread not their taunts, my little life!
2497    I am thy father's wedded wife;
2498    And underneath the spreading tree
2499    We two will live in honesty.
2500    If his sweet boy he could forsake,
2501    With me he never would have stay'd:
2502    From him no harm my babe can take,
2503    But he, poor man! is wretched made,
2504    And every day we two will pray
2505    For him that's gone and far away.
2506
2507    I'll teach my boy the sweetest things;
2508    I'll teach him how the owlet sings.
2509    My little babe! thy lips are still,
2510    And thou hast almost suck'd thy fill.
2511    â€”Where art thou gone my own dear child?
2512    What wicked looks are those I see?
2513    Alas! alas! that look so wild,
2514    It never, never came from me:
2515    If thou art mad, my pretty lad,
2516    Then I must be for ever sad.
2517
2518    Oh! smile on me, my little lamb!
2519    For I thy own dear mother am.
2520    My love for thee has well been tried:
2521    I've sought thy father far and wide.
2522    I know the poisons of the shade,
2523    I know the earth-nuts fit for food;
2524    Then, pretty dear, be not afraid;
2525    We'll find thy father in the wood.
2526    Now laugh and be gay, to the woods away!
2527    And there, my babe; we'll live for aye.
2528
2529THE IDIOT BOY.
2530
2531    Tis eight o'clock,â€”a clear March night,
2532    The moon is upâ€”the sky is blue,
2533    The owlet in the moonlight air,
2534    He shouts from nobody knows where;
2535    He lengthens out his lonely shout,
2536    Halloo! halloo! a long halloo!
2537
2538    â€”Why bustle thus about your door,
2539    What means this bustle, Betty Foy?
2540    Why are you in this mighty fret?
2541    And why on horseback have you set
2542    Him whom you love, your idiot boy?
2543
2544    Beneath the moon that shines so bright,
2545    Till she is tired, let Betty Foy
2546    With girt and stirrup fiddle-faddle;
2547    But wherefore set upon a saddle
2548    Him whom she loves, her idiot boy?
2549
2550    There's scarce a soul that's out of bed;
2551    Good Betty! put him down again;
2552    His lips with joy they burr at you,
2553    But, Betty! what has he to do
2554    With stirrup, saddle, or with rein?
2555
2556    The world will say 'tis very idle,
2557    Bethink you of the time of night;
2558    There's not a mother, no not one,
2559    But when she hears what you have done,
2560    Oh! Betty she'll be in a fright.
2561
2562    But Betty's bent on her intent,
2563    For her good neighbour, Susan Gale,
2564    Old Susan, she who dwells alone,
2565    Is sick, and makes a piteous moan,
2566    As if her very life would fail.
2567
2568    There's not a house within a mile.
2569    No hand to help them in distress:
2570    Old Susan lies a bed in pain,
2571    And sorely puzzled are the twain,
2572    For what she ails they cannot guess.
2573
2574    And Betty's husband's at the wood,
2575    Where by the week he doth abide,
2576    A woodman in the distant vale;
2577    There's none to help poor Susan Gale,
2578    What must be done? what will betide?
2579
2580    And Betty from the lane has fetched
2581    Her pony, that is mild and good,
2582    Whether he be in joy or pain,
2583    Feeding at will along the lane,
2584    Or bringing faggots from the wood.
2585
2586    And he is all in travelling trim,
2587    And by the moonlight, Betty Foy
2588    Has up upon the saddle set,
2589    The like was never heard of yet,
2590    Him whom she loves, her idiot boy.
2591
2592    And he must post without delay
2593    Across the bridge that's in the dale,
2594    And by the church, and o'er the down,
2595    To bring a doctor from the town,
2596    Or she will die, old Susan Gale.
2597
2598    There is no need of boot or spur,
2599    There is no need of whip or wand,
2600    For Johnny has his holly-bough,
2601    And with a hurly-burly now
2602    He shakes the green bough in his hand.
2603
2604    And Betty o'er and o'er has told
2605    The boy who is her best delight,
2606    Both what to follow, what to shun,
2607    What do, and what to leave undone,
2608    How turn to left, and how to right.
2609
2610    And Betty's most especial charge,
2611    Was, "Johnny! Johnny! mind that you
2612    "Come home again, nor stop at all,
2613    "Come home again, whate'er befal,
2614    "My Johnny do, I pray you do."
2615
2616    To this did Johnny answer make,
2617    Both with his head, and with his hand,
2618    And proudly shook the bridle too,
2619    And then! his words were not a few,
2620    Which Betty well could understand.
2621
2622    And now that Johnny is just going,
2623    Though Betty's in a mighty flurry,
2624    She gently pats the pony's side,
2625    On which her idiot boy must ride,
2626    And seems no longer in a hurry.
2627
2628    But when the pony moved his legs,
2629    Oh! then for the poor idiot boy!
2630    For joy he cannot hold the bridle,
2631    For joy his head and heels are idle,
2632    He's idle all for very joy.
2633
2634    And while the pony moves his legs,
2635    In Johnny's left-hand you may see,
2636    The green bough's motionless and dead;
2637    The moon that shines above his head
2638    Is not more still and mute than he.
2639
2640    His heart it was so full of glee,
2641    That till full fifty yards were gone,
2642    He quite forgot his holly whip,
2643    And all his skill in horsemanship,
2644    Oh! happy, happy, happy John.
2645
2646    And Betty's standing at the door,
2647    And Betty's face with joy o'erflows,
2648    Proud of herself, and proud of him,
2649    She sees him in his travelling trim;
2650    How quietly her Johnny goes.
2651
2652    The silence of her idiot boy,
2653    What hopes it sends to Betty's heart!
2654    He's at the guide-postâ€”he turns right,
2655    She watches till he's out of sight,
2656    And Betty will not then depart.
2657
2658    Burr, burrâ€”now Johnny's lips they burr,
2659    As loud as any mill, or near it,
2660    Meek as a lamb the pony moves,
2661    And Johnny makes the noise he loves,
2662    And Betty listens, glad to hear it.
2663
2664    Away she hies to Susan Gale:
2665    And Johnny's in a merry tune,
2666    The owlets hoot, the owlets curr,
2667    And Johnny's lips they burr, burr, burr,
2668    And on he goes beneath the moon.
2669
2670    His steed and he right well agree,
2671    For of this pony there's a rumour,
2672    That should he lose his eyes and ears,
2673    And should he live a thousand years,
2674    He never will be out of humour.
2675
2676    But then he is a horse that thinks!
2677    And when he thinks his pace is slack;
2678    Now, though he knows poor Johnny well,
2679    Yet for his life he cannot tell
2680    What he has got upon his back.
2681
2682    So through the moonlight lanes they go,
2683    And far into the moonlight dale,
2684    And by the church, and o'er the down,
2685    To bring a doctor from the town,
2686    To comfort poor old Susan Gale.
2687
2688    And Betty, now at Susan's side,
2689    Is in the middle of her story,
2690    What comfort Johnny soon will bring,
2691    With many a most diverting thing,
2692    Of Johnny's wit and Johnny's glory.
2693
2694    And Betty's still at Susan's side:
2695    By this time she's not quite so flurried;
2696    Demure with porringer and plate
2697    She sits, as if in Susan's fate
2698    Her life and soul were buried.
2699
2700    But Betty, poor good woman! she,
2701    You plainly in her face may read it,
2702    Could lend out of that moment's store
2703    Five years of happiness or more,
2704    To any that might need it.
2705
2706    But yet I guess that now and then
2707    With Betty all was not so well,
2708    And to the road she turns her ears,
2709    And thence full many a sound she hears,
2710    Which she to Susan will not tell.
2711
2712    Poor Susan moans, poor Susan groans,
2713    "As sure as there's a moon in heaven,"
2714    Cries Betty, "he'll be back again;
2715    "They'll both be here, 'tis almost ten,
2716    "They'll both be here before eleven."
2717
2718    Poor Susan moans, poor Susan groans,
2719    The clock gives warning for eleven;
2720    'Tis on the strokeâ€”"If Johnny's near,"
2721    Quoth Betty "he will soon be here,
2722    "As sure as there's a moon in heaven."
2723
2724    The clock is on the stroke of twelve,
2725    And Johnny is not yet in sight,
2726    The moon's in heaven, as Betty sees,
2727    But Betty is not quite at ease;
2728    And Susan has a dreadful night.
2729
2730    And Betty, half an hour ago,
2731    On Johnny vile reflections cast;
2732    "A little idle sauntering thing!"
2733    With other names, an endless string,
2734    But now that time is gone and past.
2735
2736    And Betty's drooping at the heart,
2737    That happy time all past and gone,
2738    "How can it be he is so late?
2739    "The doctor he has made him wait,
2740    "Susan! they'll both be here anon."
2741
2742    And Susan's growing worse and worse,
2743    And Betty's in a sad quandary;
2744    And then there's nobody to say
2745    If she must go or she must stay:
2746    â€”She's in a sad quandary.
2747
2748    The clock is on the stroke of one;
2749    But neither Doctor nor his guide
2750    Appear along the moonlight road,
2751    There's neither horse nor man abroad,
2752    And Betty's still at Susan's side.
2753
2754    And Susan she begins to fear
2755    Of sad mischances not a few,
2756    That Johnny may perhaps be drown'd,
2757    Or lost perhaps, and never found;
2758    Which they must both for ever rue.
2759
2760    She prefaced half a hint of this
2761    With, "God forbid it should be true!"
2762    At the first word that Susan said
2763    Cried Betty, rising from the bed,
2764    "Susan, I'd gladly stay with you.
2765
2766    "I must be gone, I must away,
2767    "Consider, Johnny's but half-wise;
2768    "Susan, we must take care of him,
2769    "If he is hurt in life or limb"â€”
2770    "Oh God forbid!" poor Susan cries.
2771
2772    "What can I do?" says Betty, going,
2773    "What can I do to ease your pain?
2774    "Good Susan tell me, and I'll stay;
2775    "I fear you're in a dreadful way,
2776    "But I shall soon be back again."
2777
2778    "Good Betty go, good Betty go,
2779    "There's nothing that can ease my pain."
2780    Then off she hies, but with a prayer
2781    That God poor Susan's life would spare,
2782    Till she comes back again.
2783
2784    So, through the moonlight lane she goes,
2785    And far into the moonlight dale;
2786    And how she ran, and how she walked,
2787    And all that to herself she talked,
2788    Would surely be a tedious tale.
2789
2790    In high and low, above, below,
2791    In great and small, in round and square,
2792    In tree and tower was Johnny seen,
2793    In bush and brake, in black and green,
2794    'Twas Johnny, Johnny, every where.
2795
2796    She's past the bridge that's in the dale,
2797    And now the thought torments her sore,
2798    Johnny perhaps his horse forsook,
2799    To hunt the moon that's in the brook,
2800    And never will be heard of more.
2801
2802    And now she's high upon the down,
2803    Alone amid a prospect wide;
2804    There's neither Johnny nor his horse,
2805    Among the fern or in the gorse;
2806    There's neither doctor nor his guide.
2807
2808    "Oh saints! what is become of him?
2809    "Perhaps he's climbed into an oak,
2810    "Where he will stay till he is dead;
2811    "Or sadly he has been misled,
2812    "And joined the wandering gypsey-folk.
2813
2814    "Or him that wicked pony's carried
2815    "To the dark cave, the goblins' hall,
2816    "Or in the castle he's pursuing,
2817    "Among the ghosts, his own undoing;
2818    "Or playing with the waterfall."
2819
2820    At poor old Susan then she railed,
2821    While to the town she posts away;
2822    "If Susan had not been so ill,
2823    "Alas! I should have had him still,
2824    "My Johnny, till my dying day."
2825
2826    Poor Betty! in this sad distemper,
2827    The doctor's self would hardly spare,
2828    Unworthy things she talked and wild,
2829    Even he, of cattle the most mild,
2830    The pony had his share.
2831
2832    And now she's got into the town,
2833    And to the doctor's door she hies;
2834    Tis silence all on every side;
2835    The town so long, the town so wide,
2836    Is silent as the skies.
2837
2838    And now she's at the doctor's door,
2839    She lifts the knocker, rap, rap, rap,
2840    The doctor at the casement shews,
2841    His glimmering eyes that peep and doze;
2842    And one hand rubs his old night-cap.
2843
2844    "Oh Doctor! Doctor! where's my Johnny?"
2845    "I'm here, what is't you want with me?"
2846    "Oh Sir! you know I'm Betty Foy,
2847    "And I have lost my poor dear boy,
2848    "You know himâ€”him you often see;
2849
2850    "He's not so wise as some folks be,"
2851    "The devil take his wisdom!" said
2852    The Doctor, looking somewhat grim,
2853    "What, woman! should I know of him?"
2854    And, grumbling, he went back to bed.
2855
2856    "O woe is me! O woe is me!
2857    "Here will I die; here will I die;
2858    "I thought to find my Johnny here,
2859    "But he is neither far nor near,
2860    "Oh! what a wretched mother I!"
2861
2862    She stops, she stands, she looks about,
2863    Which way to turn she cannot tell.
2864    Poor Betty! it would ease her pain
2865    If she had heart to knock again;
2866    â€”The clock strikes threeâ€”a dismal knell!
2867
2868    Then up along the town she hies,
2869    No wonder if her senses fail,
2870    This piteous news so much it shock'd her,
2871    She quite forgot to send the Doctor,
2872    To comfort poor old Susan Gale.
2873
2874    And now she's high upon the down,
2875    And she can see a mile of road,
2876    "Oh cruel! I'm almost three-score;
2877    "Such night as this was ne'er before,
2878    "There's not a single soul abroad."
2879
2880    She listens, but she cannot hear
2881    The foot of horse, the voice of man;
2882    The streams with softest sound are flowing,
2883    The grass you almost hear it growing,
2884    You hear it now if e'er you can.
2885
2886    The owlets through the long blue night
2887    Are shouting to each other still:
2888    Fond lovers, yet not quite hob nob,
2889    They lengthen out the tremulous sob,
2890    That echoes far from hill to hill.
2891
2892    Poor Betty now has lost all hope,
2893    Her thoughts are bent on deadly sin;
2894    A green-grown pond she just has pass'd,
2895    And from the brink she hurries fast,
2896    Lest she should drown herself therein.
2897
2898    And now she sits her down and weeps;
2899    Such tears she never shed before;
2900    "Oh dear, dear pony! my sweet joy!
2901    "Oh carry back my idiot boy!
2902    "And we will ne'er o'erload thee more."
2903
2904    A thought is come into her head;
2905    "The pony he is mild and good,
2906    "And we have always used him well;
2907    "Perhaps he's gone along the dell,
2908    "And carried Johnny to the wood."
2909
2910    Then up she springs as if on wings;
2911    She thinks no more of deadly sin;
2912    If Betty fifty ponds should see,
2913    The last of all her thoughts would be,
2914    To drown herself therein.
2915
2916    Oh reader! now that I might tell
2917    What Johnny and his horse are doing!
2918    What they've been doing all this time,
2919    Oh could I put it into rhyme,
2920    A most delightful tale pursuing!
2921
2922    Perhaps, and no unlikely thought!
2923    He with his pony now doth roam
2924    The cliffs and peaks so high that are,
2925    To lay his hands upon a star,
2926    And in his pocket bring it home.
2927
2928    Perhaps he's turned himself about,
2929    His face unto his horse's tail,
2930    And still and mute, in wonder lost,
2931    All like a silent horseman-ghost,
2932    He travels on along the vale.
2933
2934    And now, perhaps, he's hunting sheep,
2935    A fierce and dreadful hunter he!
2936    Yon valley, that's so trim and green,
2937    In five months' time, should he be seen,
2938    A desart wilderness will be.
2939
2940    Perhaps, with head and heels on fire,
2941    And like the very soul of evil,
2942    He's galloping away, away,
2943    And so he'll gallop on for aye,
2944    The bane of all that dread the devil.
2945
2946    I to the muses have been bound,
2947    These fourteen years, by strong indentures;
2948    Oh gentle muses! let me tell
2949    But half of what to him befel,
2950    For sure he met with strange adventures.
2951
2952    Oh gentle muses! is this kind?
2953    Why will ye thus my suit repel?
2954    Why of your further aid bereave me?
2955    And can ye thus unfriended leave me?
2956    Ye muses! whom I love so well.
2957
2958    Who's yon, that, near the waterfall,
2959    Which thunders down with headlong force,
2960    Beneath the moon, yet shining fair,
2961    As careless as if nothing were,
2962    Sits upright on a feeding horse?
2963
2964    Unto his horse, that's feeding free,
2965    He seems, I think, the rein to give;
2966    Of moon or stars he takes no heed;
2967    Of such we in romances read,
2968    â€”'Tis Johnny! Johnny! as I live.
2969
2970    And that's the very pony too.
2971    Where is she, where is Betty Foy?
2972    She hardly can sustain her fears;
2973    The roaring water-fall she hears,
2974    And cannot find her idiot boy.
2975
2976    Your pony's worth his weight in gold,
2977    Then calm your terrors, Betty Foy!
2978    She's coming from among the trees,
2979    And now, all full in view, she sees
2980    Him whom she loves, her idiot boy.
2981
2982    And Betty sees the pony too:
2983    Why stand you thus Good Betty Foy?
2984    It is no goblin, 'tis no ghost,
2985    'Tis he whom you so long have lost,
2986    He whom you love, your idiot boy.
2987
2988    She looks againâ€”her arms are upâ€”
2989    She screamsâ€”she cannot move for joy;
2990    She darts as with a torrent's force,
2991    She almost has o'erturned the horse,
2992    And fast she holds her idiot boy.
2993
2994    And Johnny burrs and laughs aloud,
2995    Whether in cunning or in joy,
2996    I cannot tell; but while he laughs,
2997    Betty a drunken pleasure quaffs,
2998    To hear again her idiot boy.
2999
3000    And now she's at the pony's tail,
3001    And now she's at the pony's head,
3002    On that side now, and now on this,
3003    And almost stifled with her bliss,
3004    A few sad tears does Betty shed.
3005
3006    She kisses o'er and o'er again,
3007    Him whom she loves, her idiot boy,
3008    She's happy here, she's happy there,
3009    She is uneasy every where;
3010    Her limbs are all alive with joy.
3011
3012    She pats the pony, where or when
3013    She knows not, happy Betty Foy!
3014    The little pony glad may be,
3015    But he is milder far than she,
3016    You hardly can perceive his joy.
3017
3018    "Oh! Johnny, never mind the Doctor;
3019    "You've done your best, and that is all."
3020    She took the reins, when this was said,
3021    And gently turned the pony's head
3022    From the loud water-fall.
3023
3024    By this the stars were almost gone,
3025    The moon was setting on the hill,
3026    So pale you scarcely looked at her:
3027    The little birds began to stir,
3028    Though yet their tongues were still.
3029
3030    The pony, Betty, and her boy,
3031    Wind slowly through the woody dale:
3032    And who is she, be-times abroad,
3033    That hobbles up the steep rough road?
3034    Who is it, but old Susan Gale?
3035
3036    Long Susan lay deep lost in thought,
3037    And many dreadful fears beset her,
3038    Both for her messenger and nurse;
3039    And as her mind grew worse and worse,
3040    Her body it grew better.
3041
3042    She turned, she toss'd herself in bed,
3043    On all sides doubts and terrors met her;
3044    Point after point did she discuss;
3045    And while her mind was fighting thus,
3046    Her body still grew better.
3047
3048    "Alas! what is become of them?
3049    "These fears can never be endured,
3050    "I'll to the wood."â€”The word scarce said,
3051    Did Susan rise up from her bed,
3052    As if by magic cured.
3053
3054    Away she posts up hill and down,
3055    And to the wood at length is come,
3056    She spies her friends, she shouts a greeting;
3057    Oh me! it is a merry meeting,
3058    As ever was in Christendom.
3059
3060    The owls have hardly sung their last,
3061    While our four travellers homeward wend;
3062    The owls have hooted all night long,
3063    And with the owls began my song,
3064    And with the owls must end.
3065
3066    For while they all were travelling home,
3067    Cried Betty, "Tell us Johnny, do,
3068    "Where all this long night you have been,
3069    "What you have heard, what you have seen,
3070    "And Johnny, mind you tell us true."
3071
3072    Now Johnny all night long had heard
3073    The owls in tuneful concert strive;
3074    No doubt too he the moon had seen;
3075    For in the moonlight he had been
3076    From eight o'clock till five.
3077
3078    And thus to Betty's question, he
3079    Made answer, like a traveller bold,
3080    (His very words I give to you,)
3081    "The cocks did crow to-whoo, to-whoo,
3082    "And the sun did shine so cold."
3083    â€”Thus answered Johnny in his glory,
3084    And that was all his travel's story.
3085
3086LINES WRITTEN NEAR RICHMOND, UPON THE THAMES, AT EVENING.
3087
3088    How rich the wave, in front, imprest
3089    With evening-twilight's summer hues,
3090    While, facing thus the crimson west,
3091    The boat her silent path pursues!
3092    And see how dark the backward stream!
3093    A little moment past, so smiling!
3094    And still, perhaps, with faithless gleam,
3095    Some other loiterer beguiling.
3096
3097    Such views the youthful bard allure,
3098    But, heedless of the following gloom,
3099    He deems their colours shall endure
3100    'Till peace go with him to the tomb.
3101    â€”And let him nurse his fond deceit,
3102    And what if he must die in sorrow!
3103    Who would not cherish dreams so sweet,
3104    Though grief and pain may come to-morrow?
3105
3106    Glide gently, thus for ever glide,
3107    O Thames! that other bards may see,
3108    As lovely visions by thy side
3109    As now, fair river! come to me.
3110    Oh glide, fair stream! for ever so;
3111    Thy quiet soul on all bestowing,
3112    'Till all our minds for ever flow,
3113    As thy deep waters now are flowing.
3114
3115    Vain thought! yet be as now thou art,
3116    That in thy waters may be seen
3117    The image of a poet's heart,
3118    How bright, how solemn, how serene!
3119    Such heart did once the poet bless,
3120    Who, pouring here a 3 later ditty,
3121    Could find no refuge from distress,
3122    But in the milder grief of pity.
3123
3124    Remembrance! as we glide along,
3125    For him suspend the dashing oar,
3126    And pray that never child of Song
3127    May know his freezing sorrows more.
3128    How calm! how still! the only sound,
3129    The dripping of the oar suspended!
3130    â€”The evening darkness gathers round
3131    By virtue's holiest powers attended.
3132
3133
3134EXPOSTULATION AND REPLY.
3135
3136    "Why William, on that old grey stone,
3137    "Thus for the length of half a day,
3138    "Why William, sit you thus alone,
3139    "And dream your time away?
3140
3141    "Where are your books? that light bequeath'd
3142    "To beings else forlorn and blind!
3143    "Up! Up! and drink the spirit breath'd
3144    "From dead men to their kind.
3145
3146    "You look round on your mother earth,
3147    "As if she for no purpose bore you;
3148    "As if you were her first-born birth,
3149    "And none had lived before you!"
3150
3151    One morning thus, by Esthwaite lake,
3152    When life was sweet I knew not why,
3153    To me my good friend Matthew spake,
3154    And thus I made reply.
3155
3156    "The eye it cannot chuse but see,
3157    "We cannot bid the ear be still;
3158    "Our bodies feel, where'er they be,
3159    "Against, or with our will.
3160
3161    "Nor less I deem that there are powers,
3162    "Which of themselves our minds impress,
3163    "That we can feed this mind of ours,
3164    "In a wise passiveness.
3165
3166    "Think you, mid all this mighty sum
3167    "Of things for ever speaking,
3168    "That nothing of itself will come,
3169    "But we must still be seeking?
3170
3171    "â€”Then ask not wherefore, here, alone,
3172    "Conversing as I may,
3173    "I sit upon this old grey stone,
3174    "And dream my time away."
3175
3176THE TABLES TURNED; AN EVENING SCENE, ON THE SAME SUBJECT.
3177
3178    Up! up! my friend, and clear your looks,
3179    Why all this toil and trouble?
3180    Up! up! my friend, and quit your books,
3181    Or surely you'll grow double.
3182
3183    The sun above the mountain's head,
3184    A freshening lustre mellow,
3185    Through all the long green fields has spread,
3186    His first sweet evening yellow.
3187
3188    Books! 'tis a dull and endless strife,
3189    Come, hear the woodland linnet,
3190    How sweet his music; on my life
3191    There's more of wisdom in it.
3192
3193    And hark! how blithe the throstle sings!
3194    And he is no mean preacher;
3195    Come forth into the light of things,
3196    Let Nature be your teacher.
3197
3198    She has a world of ready wealth,
3199    Our minds and hearts to blessâ€”
3200    Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health,
3201    Truth breathed by chearfulness.
3202
3203    One impulse from a vernal wood
3204    May teach you more of man;
3205    Of moral evil and of good,
3206    Than all the sages can.
3207
3208    Sweet is the lore which nature brings;
3209    Our meddling intellect
3210    Misshapes the beauteous forms of things;
3211    â€”We murder to dissect.
3212
3213    Enough of science and of art;
3214    Close up these barren leaves;
3215    Come forth, and bring with you a heart
3216    That watches and receives.
3217
3218OLD MAN TRAVELLING; ANIMAL TRANQUILLITY AND DECAY, A SKETCH.
3219
3220                    The little hedge-row birds,
3221    That peck along the road, regard him not.
3222    He travels on, and in his face, his step,
3223    His gait, is one expression; every limb,
3224    His look and bending figure, all bespeak
3225    A man who does not move with pain, but moves
3226    With thoughtâ€”He is insensibly subdued
3227    To settled quiet: he is one by whom
3228    All effort seems forgotten, one to whom
3229    Long patience has such mild composure given,
3230    That patience now doth seem a thing, of which
3231    He hath no need. He is by nature led
3232    To peace so perfect, that the young behold
3233    With envy, what the old man hardly feels.
3234    â€”I asked him whither he was bound, and what
3235    The object of his journey; he replied
3236    "Sir! I am going many miles to take
3237    "A last leave of my son, a mariner,
3238    "Who from a sea-fight has been brought to Falmouth,
3239    And there is dying in an hospital."
3240
3241THE COMPLAINT OF A FORSAKEN INDIAN WOMAN
3242
3243    Before I see another day,
3244    Oh let my body die away!
3245    In sleep I heard the northern gleams;
3246    The stars they were among my dreams;
3247    In sleep did I behold the skies,
3248    I saw the crackling flashes drive;
3249    And yet they are upon my eyes,
3250    And yet I am alive.
3251    Before I see another day,
3252    Oh let my body die away!
3253
3254    My fire is dead: it knew no pain;
3255    Yet is it dead, and I remain.
3256    All stiff with ice the ashes lie;
3257    And they are dead, and I will die.
3258    When I was well, I wished to live,
3259    For clothes, for warmth, for food, and fire;
3260    But they to me no joy can give,
3261    No pleasure now, and no desire.
3262    Then here contented will I lie;
3263    Alone I cannot fear to die.
3264
3265    Alas! you might have dragged me on
3266    Another day, a single one!
3267    Too soon despair o'er me prevailed;
3268    Too soon my heartless spirit failed;
3269    When you were gone my limbs were stronger,
3270    And Oh how grievously I rue,
3271    That, afterwards, a little longer,
3272    My friends, I did not follow you!
3273    For strong and without pain I lay,
3274    My friends, when you were gone away.
3275
3276    My child! they gave thee to another,
3277    A woman who was not thy mother.
3278    When from my arms my babe they took,
3279    On me how strangely did he look!
3280    Through his whole body something ran,
3281    A most strange something did I see;
3282    â€”As if he strove to be a man,
3283    That he might pull the sledge for me.
3284    And then he stretched his arms, how wild!
3285    Oh mercy! like a little child.
3286
3287    My little joy! my little pride!
3288    In two days more I must have died.
3289    Then do not weep and grieve for me;
3290    I feel I must have died with thee.
3291    Oh wind that o'er my head art flying,
3292    The way my friends their course did bend,
3293    I should not feel the pain of dying,
3294    Could I with thee a message send.
3295    Too soon, my friends, you went away;
3296    For I had many things to say.
3297
3298    I'll follow you across the snow,
3299    You travel heavily and slow:
3300    In spite of all my weary pain,
3301    I'll look upon your tents again.
3302    My fire is dead, and snowy white
3303    The water which beside it stood;
3304    The wolf has come to me to-night,
3305    And he has stolen away my food.
3306    For ever left alone am I,
3307    Then wherefore should I fear to die?
3308
3309    My journey will be shortly run,
3310    I shall not see another sun,
3311    I cannot lift my limbs to know
3312    If they have any life or no.
3313    My poor forsaken child! if I
3314    For once could have thee close to me,
3315    With happy heart I then would die,
3316    And my last thoughts would happy be,
3317    I feel my body die away,
3318    I shall not see another day.
3319
3320THE CONVICT.
3321
3322    The glory of evening was spread through the west;
3323      â€”On the slope of a mountain I stood;
3324    While the joy that precedes the calm season of rest
3325      Rang loud through the meadow and wood.
3326
3327    "And must we then part from a dwelling so fair?"
3328      In the pain of my spirit I said,
3329    And with a deep sadness I turned, to repair
3330      To the cell where the convict is laid.
3331
3332    The thick-ribbed walls that o'ershadow the gate
3333      Resound; and the dungeons unfold:                      
3334    I pause; and at length, through the glimmering grate,
3335      That outcast of pity behold.
3336
3337    His black matted head on his shoulder is bent,
3338      And deep is the sigh of his breath,
3339    And with stedfast dejection his eyes are intent
3340      On the fetters that link him to death.
3341
3342    'Tis sorrow enough on that visage to gaze.
3343      That body dismiss'd from his care;
3344    Yet my fancy has pierced to his heart, and pourtrays
3345      More terrible images there.
3346
3347    His bones are consumed, and his life-blood is dried,
3348      With wishes the past to undo;
3349    And his crime, through the pains that o'erwhelm him, descried,
3350      Still blackens and grows on his view.
3351
3352    When from the dark synod, or blood-reeking field,
3353      To his chamber the monarch is led,
3354    All soothers of sense their soft virtue shall yield,
3355      And quietness pillow his head.
3356
3357    But if grief, self-consumed, in oblivion would doze,
3358      And conscience her tortures appease,
3359    'Mid tumult and uproar this man must repose;
3360      In the comfortless vault of disease.
3361
3362    When his fetters at night have so press'd on his limbs,
3363      That the weight can no longer be borne,
3364    If, while a half-slumber his memory bedims,
3365      The wretch on his pallet should turn,
3366
3367    While the jail-mastiff howls at the dull clanking chain,
3368      From the roots of his hair there shall start
3369    A thousand sharp punctures of cold-sweating pain,
3370      And terror shall leap at his heart.
3371
3372    But now he half-raises his deep-sunken eye,
3373      And the motion unsettles a tear;
3374    The silence of sorrow it seems to supply,
3375      And asks of me why I am here.
3376
3377    "Poor victim! no idle intruder has stood
3378      "With o'erweening complacence our state to compare,
3379    "But one, whose first wish is the wish to be good,
3380      "Is come as a brother thy sorrows to share.
3381
3382    "At thy name though compassion her nature resign,
3383      "Though in virtue's proud mouth thy report be a stain,
3384    "My care, if the arm of the mighty were mine,
3385      "Would plant thee where yet thou might'st blossom again."
3386
3387LINES WRITTEN A FEW MILES ABOVE TINTERN ABBEY, ON REVISITING THE BANKS OF THE WYE DURING A TOUR, July 13, 1798.
3388
3389    Five years have passed; five summers, with the length
3390    Of five long winters! and again I hear
3391    These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs
3392    With a sweet inland murmur. 4â€”Once again
3393    Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs,
3394    Which on a wild secluded scene impress
3395    Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect
3396    The landscape with the quiet of the sky.
3397    The day is come when I again repose
3398    Here, under this dark sycamore, and view
3399    These plots of cottage-ground, these orchard-tufts,
3400    Which, at this season, with their unripe fruits,
3401    Among the woods and copses lose themselves,
3402    Nor, with their green and simple hue, disturb
3403    The wild green landscape. Once again I see
3404    These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines
3405    Of sportive wood run wild; these pastoral farms
3406    Green to the very door; and wreathes of smoke
3407    Sent up, in silence, from among the trees,
3408    With some uncertain notice, as might seem,
3409    Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods,
3410    Or of some hermit's cave, where by his fire
3411    The hermit sits alone.
3412
3413                           Though absent long,
3414    These forms of beauty have not been to me,
3415    As is a landscape to a blind man's eye:
3416    But oft, in lonely rooms, and mid the din
3417    Of towns and cities, I have owed to them,
3418    In hours of weariness, sensations sweet,
3419    Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart,
3420    And passing even into my purer mind
3421    With tranquil restoration:â€”feelings too
3422    Of unremembered pleasure; such, perhaps,
3423    As may have had no trivial influence
3424    On that best portion of a good man's life;
3425    His little, nameless, unremembered acts
3426    Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust,
3427    To them I may have owed another gift,
3428    Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood,
3429    In which the burthen of the mystery,
3430    In which the heavy and the weary weight
3431    Of all this unintelligible world
3432    Is lighten'd:â€”that serene and blessed mood,
3433    In which the affections gently lead us on,
3434    Until, the breath of this corporeal frame,
3435    And even the motion of our human blood
3436    Almost suspended, we are laid asleep
3437    In body, and become a living soul:
3438    While with an eye made quiet by the power
3439    Of harmony, and the deep power of joy,
3440    We see into the life of things.
3441
3442                                    If this
3443    Be but a vain belief, yet, oh! how oft,
3444    In darkness, and amid the many shapes
3445    Of joyless day-light; when the fretful stir
3446    Unprofitable, and the fever of the world,
3447    Have hung upon the beatings of my heart,
3448    How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee
3449    O sylvan Wye! Thou wanderer through the woods,
3450    How often has my spirit turned to thee!
3451
3452    And now, with gleams of half-extinguish'd thought,
3453    With many recognitions dim and faint,
3454    And somewhat of a sad perplexity,
3455    The picture of the mind revives again:
3456    While here I stand, not only with the sense
3457    Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts
3458    That in this moment there is life and food
3459    For future years. And so I dare to hope
3460    Though changed, no doubt, from what I was, when first
3461    I came among these hills; when like a roe
3462    I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides
3463    Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams,
3464    Wherever nature led; more like a man
3465    Flying from something that he dreads, than one
3466    Who sought the thing he loved. For nature then
3467    (The coarser pleasures of my boyish days,
3468    And their glad animal movements all gone by,)
3469    To me was all in all.â€”I cannot paint
3470    What then I was. The sounding cataract
3471    Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock,
3472    The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,
3473    Their colours and their forms, were then to me
3474    An appetite: a feeling and a love,
3475    That had no need of a remoter charm,
3476    By thought supplied, or any interest
3477    Unborrowed from the eye.â€”That time is past,
3478    And all its aching joys are now no more,
3479    And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this
3480    Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur: other gifts
3481    Have followed, for such loss, I would believe,
3482    Abundant recompence. For I have learned
3483    To look on nature, not as in the hour
3484    Of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes
3485    The still, sad music of humanity,
3486    Not harsh nor grating, though of ample power
3487    To chasten and subdue. And I have felt
3488    A presence that disturbs me with the joy
3489    Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime
3490    Of something far more deeply interfused,
3491    Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
3492    And the round ocean, and the living air,
3493    And the blue sky, and in the mind of man,
3494    A motion and a spirit, that impels
3495    All thinking things, all objects of all thought,
3496    And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still
3497    A lover of the meadows and the woods,
3498    And mountains; and of all that we behold
3499    From this green earth; of all the mighty world
3500    Of eye and ear, both what they half-create, 5
3501    And what perceive; well pleased to recognize
3502    In nature and the language of the sense,
3503    The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse,
3504    The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul
3505    Of all my moral being.
3506                             
3507                           Nor, perchance,
3508    If I were not thus taught, should I the more
3509    Suffer my genial spirits to decay:
3510    For thou art with me, here, upon the banks
3511    Of this fair river; thou, my dearest Friend,
3512    My dear, dear Friend, and in thy voice I catch
3513    The language of my former heart, and read
3514    My former pleasures in the shooting lights
3515    Of thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a little while
3516    May I behold in thee what I was once,
3517    My dear, dear Sister! And this prayer I make,
3518    Knowing that Nature never did betray
3519    The heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege,
3520    Through all the years of this our life, to lead
3521    From joy to joy: for she can so inform
3522    The mind that is within us, so impress
3523    With quietness and beauty, and so feed
3524    With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues,
3525    Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men,
3526    Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all
3527    The dreary intercourse of daily life,
3528    Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb
3529    Our chearful faith that all which we behold
3530    Is full of blessings. Therefore let the moon
3531    Shine on thee in thy solitary walk;
3532    And let the misty mountain winds be free
3533    To blow against thee: and in after years,
3534    When these wild ecstasies shall be matured
3535    Into a sober pleasure, when thy mind
3536    Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms,
3537    Thy memory be as a dwelling-place
3538    For all sweet sounds and harmonies; Oh! then,
3539    If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief,
3540    Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts
3541    Of tender joy wilt thou remember me,
3542    And these my exhortations! Nor, perchance,
3543    If I should be, where I no more can hear
3544    Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these gleams
3545    Of past existence, wilt thou then forget
3546    That on the banks of this delightful stream
3547    We stood together; and that I, so long
3548    A worshipper of Nature, hither came,
3549    Unwearied in that service: rather say
3550    With warmer love, oh! with far deeper zeal
3551    Of holier love. Nor wilt thou then forget,
3552    That after many wanderings, many years
3553    Of absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs,
3554    And this green pastoral landscape, were to me
3555    More dear, both for themselves, and for thy sake.
3556 THE INFANT'S DELIGHT [Illustration: THE MISTLETOE-SELLERS.] [Illustration: THE DEAD ROBIN.] [Illustration] BLIND MAN'S BUFF. When the win-ter winds are blow-ing, And we ga-ther glad and gay, Where the fire its light is throw-ing, For a mer-ry game at play, There is none that to my know-ing,-- And I've play-ed at games enough,-- Makes us laugh, and sets us glow-ing Like a game at Blind-man's Buff. THE DEAD ROBIN. All through the win-ter, long and cold, Dear Minnie ev-ery morn-ing fed The little spar-rows, pert and bold, And ro-bins, with their breasts so red. She lov-ed to see the lit-tle birds Come flut-ter-ing to the win-dow pane, In answer to the gen-tle words With which she scat-ter-ed crumbs and grain. One ro-bin, bol-der than the rest, Would perch up-on her fin-ger fair, And this of all she lov-ed the best, And daily fed with ten-der-est care. But one sad morn, when Minnie came, Her pre-ci-ous lit-tle pet she found, Not hop-ping, when she call-ed his name, But ly-ing dead up-on the ground. ALL THINGS OBEY GOD. "He saith to the snow, Be thou on the earth." God's works are very great, but still His hands do not ap-pear: Though hea-ven and earth o-bey His will, His voice we can-not hear. And yet we know that it is He Who moves and governs all, Who stills the rag-ing of the sea, And makes the showers to fall. Alike in mer-cy He be-stows The sun-shine and the rain; That which is best for us He knows, And we must not com-plain, Whe-ther He makes His winds to blow, And gives His tem-pests birth, Or sends His frost, or bids the snow-- "Be thou up-on the earth." [Illustration: HE SAITH TO THE SNOW: BE THOU ON THE EARTH. JOB 37.6] [Illustration: SNOW-BALL-ING.] SNOW-BALL-ING. See these mer-ry ones at play, On this snowy New Year's Day: How they run, and jump, and throw Hand-fuls of the soft, white snow. You should hear them laugh and shout As they fling the snow about! 'Tis by Frank and Gus alone That the balls are chief-ly thrown, While their cou-sins make and bring Other balls for them to fling. Ka-tie is pre-par-ing thus, Quite a store of balls for Gus; But her mer-ry sis-ter May From her task has run a-way, All that heavy lump of snow, At her cou-sin Gus to throw. E-dith is not very bold, And at first she fear-ed the cold; Now at last you see her run Down the steps to join the fun. THE SICK DOLL. Oh! is there any cause to fear That dol-ly will be very ill? To cure my lit-tle dar-ling here, Pray, doc-tor, use your ut-most skill. And dol-ly, if you would get well, Hold out your arm, that Dr. Gray May feel your tiny pulse, and tell What best will take the pain a-way. And do not say: "I will not touch That nas-ty phy-sic, nor the pill." If lit-tle dolls will eat too much, They must not won-der if they're ill. If your mam-ma ate too much cake, She would be very poor-ly too, And nas-ty phy-sic have to take; And, lit-tle dol-ly, so must you. [Illustration: Those who the South-ern O-cean cross, Meet with the wide-wing-ed Al-ba-tross.] [Illustration: In ri-vers near the hot E-qua-tor, Lives the huge, sca-ly Al-li-ga-tor.] [Illustration: In north-ern snows, the Po-lar Bear, 'Mid glit-ter-ing ice-bergs makes his lair.] [Illustration: In shel-ter-ed nooks, by ri-ver-sides, The strange-ly-beard-ed Bar-bel hides.] [Illustration: THE SICK DOLL.] [Illustration: LITTLE ROSE'S VALENTINE.] [Illustration] NEL-LY'S PET LAMB. This lit-tle Lamb was brought to Nell The day its old ewe mo-ther died, And, now it knows and loves her well, It will not go from Nel-ly's side. A-long the hall, and up the stair, You hear its lit-tle pat-ter-ing toes: Her Pet will fol-low every-where A-bout the house, where Nel-ly goes. ROSE'S VA-LEN-TINE. ROSE. The post-man has been, dear mam-ma, And has brought me a let-ter so fine; And Su-san has one, but it is not, by far, So pret-ty a let-ter as mine. And, pray, will you read it to me, Mam-ma, if I give you a kiss? I wish very much to know who it can be That has sent me a let-ter like this. MAM-MA. To the lot of our dear lit-tle Rose We trust every bless-ing may fall; And this is the prayer and the fond hope of those Who love her most dear-ly of all. So now, lit-tle Rose, can you guess Who sent you this let-ter by post? ROSE. Oh, yes, dear mam-ma, I can tell you; oh, yes! For you, and pa-pa, love me most. "YOUR HEA-VEN-LY FA-THER FEED-ETH THEM." God loves His lit-tle birds; for all His ten-der care He shows; A sin-gle spar-row can-not fall But its Cre-a-tor knows. They do not sow, nor reap the corn, Gar-ner nor barn have they; God gives them break-fast every morn, And feeds them through the day. And this we know; for in His Word, Where all His ways we read, We find that eve-ry lit-tle bird He cares for, and will feed. God loves each lit-tle bird; but still More ten-der is His care For chil-dren who o-bey His will, Than for the fowls of air. [Illustration: YOUR HEAVENLY FATHER FEEDETH THEM. MATT. vi. 26.] [Illustration: PLOUGH-ING.] PLOUGH-ING. The lit-tle birds by God are fed But man must earn his dai-ly bread, And work that he may eat; Striv-ing his best, as John does now, The broad ten-acre field to plough, Where-in to sow the wheat. Old John, the plough-man, ne'er re-pines, Whe-ther it blows, or rains, or shines, But hap-py still does seem; And Dick, who leads the fore-most horse, Goes whist-ling as he walks across The field be-side the team. Let us per-form as glad-ly, too, The work our Mas-ter bids us do, And then we need not fear; But when from earth-ly toil we rest, We all shall meet a-mong the blest Who served Him tru-ly here. "HOW IS THE WEA-THER?" Cold win-ter has come, And the cru-el winds blow-- The trees are all leaf-less and brown; These two pret-ty rob-ins, Oh, where shall they go To shel-ter their lit-tle brown heads from the snow? Just look at the flakes com-ing down. But see, they have found a snug shel-ter at last, And hark, how they talk, while the storm whis-tles past: Says Pol-ly to Dick-y, "You're near-est the door, And you are the gen-tle-man, too: Just peep out and see When the storm will be o'er; Be-cause, if the wea-ther's as bad as be-fore, I think we will stay, do not you?" [Illustration: Far up a-mong the moun-tain peaks, His food the lone-ly Con-dor seeks.] [Illustration: The Co-bra has a dead-ly bite. And yet in mu-sic takes de-light.] [Illustration: The A-rabs through the de-sert wide, On the swift Dro-me-dary ride.] [Illustration: In gen-tle ri-vers, still and clear, We see the shin-ing Dace ap-pear.] [Illustration: "HOW IS THE WEATHER?"] [Illustration: NELLY'S NEW PARASOL.] NAUGH-TY NEL-LY AND HER NEW PA-RA-SOL. "No, Nel-ly! not to-day, my child! I can-not let you take it; This cold March wind, so strong and wild, Your pa-ra-sol, 'twould break it!" So said Mam-ma; but Nel-ly thought, "I will take my new pre-sent: Tis mine; to please me it was bought; The wea-ther's bright and plea-sant." So naugh-ty Nel-ly sli-ly took What kind Mam-ma had bought her, And out she went--and, only look! The wild March wind has caught her! The silk tore up, the ribs broke out, In spite of Nel-ly's sway-ing; And peo-ple laugh-ed at her, no doubt-- That comes of dis-o-bey-ing. "THE FLOW-ERS AP-PEAR ON THE EARTH." (SONG OF SOLOMON, ii. 12.) Now the win-ter cold is past, And blithe March winds are blow-ing, In shel-ter-ed nooks we find at last Bright flow-ers of spring are grow-ing. Along the hedge-row's mossy bank, Where ivy green is creep-ing, We see through weeds and net-tles rank The dark-blue vi-o-let peep-ing. And in the sun-ny gar-den beds Gay a-co-nites are show-ing, And snow-drops bend their grace-ful heads, And cro-cus-es are glow-ing. God makes the buds and leaves un-fold, All flow-ers are of His giv-ing; He guards them through the win-ter's cold, He cares for all things liv-ing. [Illustration] [Illustration: WHO TORE IT?] [Illustration: The E-mu in Aus-tra-lia's found, Where the wild bush spreads far a-round.] [Illustration: The ant-lered Elk comes pranc-ing forth From the pine for-ests of the North.] [Illustration: The Frog is of-ten-est to be seen In grassy mea-dows, damp and green.] [Illustration: The Fly-ing Fish can swim with ease, Or flut-ter o'er the tro-pic seas.] [Illustration: THE LITTLE HERO.] [Illustration: BLOWING BUBBLES.] [Illustration] JUMP! PUS-SY! Pus-sy, jump! for all the day You have time e-nough to play; Though at night, in barn and house, You must watch for rat or mouse. Pus-sy, jump! and if you do, We will pour some milk for you; Pus-sy, you shall be ca-ressed, If you try and jump your best. BLOW-ING BUB-BLES. Har-ry and Tom, the o-ther day, Went out in-to the yard to play; Their great de-light, in wea-ther bright, Is blow-ing bub-bles with pipes of clay. Tom took a ba-sin deep and wide, And Har-ry brought his mug be-side; They fil-led them quite with soap-suds white, And each to blow the big-gest tried. Poor Tom, he blew with might and main, And so, of course, he blew in vain; For all his trou-ble he made no bub-ble, But Tom was brave and tried a-gain. Till Har-ry said, "Dear Tom, you see, You blow too hard; now--look at me. There! that will rise to-ward the skies, And float a-bove the li-lac tree." A-PRIL SHOW-ERS. "Thou makest the earth soft with show-ers: Thou bless-est the spring-ing there-of."--PSALM lxv. 10. When A-pril skies be-gin to frown, And the cold rain comes pelt-ing down, We must not grum-ble nor com-plain, Nor i-dly say, we hate the rain. God sends the rain; the dust-y ground It soft-ens in the fields a-round; The mois-ture ev-e-ry plant re-ceives, And springs a-fresh in flow-ers and leaves. Should God for-bid the show-ers to fall, Nor send us any rain at all, The ground would all grow hard and dry, And ev-e-ry liv-ing plant would die. All things would starve and per-ish then-- No food for birds, nor beasts, nor men; Then do not mur-mur, nor com-plain, God, in His good-ness, sends the rain. [Illustration] [Illustration: "SNAP, BE GOOD!"] "SNAP, BE GOOD!" "Dear lit-tle Snap, you fun-ny pup, I love to see you beg, So cle-ver-ly do you sit up And bend each slen-der leg, Drop-ping the paw; And raise your ears a-bove your head, Look-ing so very wise; You seem to know I have some bread; And then, such bright green eyes I never saw. "Your shag-gy coat is long and rough, Your tail is rough-er still; Now, Snap, I think you've had e-nough, And more would make you ill-- In-deed it would. But sis-ter Lot-ty has some cake, And so if you will sit Quite still and good, till I say 'Take!' Then you shall have a bit; So, Snap, be good!" THE STRAY KIT-TEN. "Come, Kit-ty, come; you need not fear, Nor make that plain-tive mew; Don't be a-fraid, but ven-ture near, And lap the milk we bring you here, For none will in-jure you. "And, Kit-ty, since you've lost your way, You need no fur-ther roam; But stop, and dine with us to-day, And then, if you would wish to stay, Poor Kit-ty, here's your home. "And we will feed you fine and fat, On fresh new milk and nice; And, when you grow to be a cat, You can re-quite us well for that, By catch-ing all the mice." [Illustration: Where the wide wastes of o-cean lie, The greed-y Gan-net loves to fly.] [Illustration: Though ve-nom-ous, as authors write, The Gek-ko is not known to bite.] [Illustration: The Ri-ver Horse a-mong the reeds Of A-fric's lone-ly ri-vers feeds.] [Illustration: A-round our coasts the fish-ers meet With Had-docks, which, when dri-ed, we eat.] [Illustration: THE STRAY KITTEN.] [Illustration: THE FIRST OF MAY.] [Illustration] THE MAY-POLE. Round the May-pole, on the grass, Mer-ry lit-tle foot-steps pass; In the mid-dle Bes-sie stands, With the May-pole in her hands; While her play-mates dance and sing Round her in an end-less ring. Soon, in-deed, a feast they'll make, Cow-slip tea, with nice plum-cake-- And so our leave of them we'll take. THE FIRST OF MAY. The haw-thorn blos-som, snow-y white, Hangs thick upon the hedge to-day; With many flow-ers the fields are bright Upon this mer-ry First of May. So let us ga-ther flow-er-ets fair, And blos-soms from the haw-thorn spray, To deck our May-pole stand-ing there, Upon this mer-ry First of May. And then, like fai-ries, in a ring, A-round it we will dance or play, And all our glad-dest songs will sing Upon this mer-ry First of May. And dear-est Maud shall there be seen With crown of haw-thorn blos-soms gay, And she shall be our lit-tle queen, Upon this mer-ry First of May. UNI-VER-SAL PRAISE. See how na-ture now re-joices In this sun-ny month of May; Still to God from all its voices Giv-ing prais-es day by day. In the glad green wood-land al-leys Ev-e-ry bird its an-them trills! While flocks feed-ing in the val-leys, Herds up-on a thou-sand hills, Join with ev-ery crea-ture liv-ing, Here on land, in air, or sea, In one great world-wide thanks-giv-ing, Yield-ing praise, O God, to Thee! All a-round us swells the cho-rus From this good-ly world of ours, And earth's al-tar stands be-fore us Sweet with in-cense from her flow-ers. So, with Na-ture still con-fess-ing His great good-ness, let us pay Grate-ful hom-age for each bless-ing Of this sun-ny month of May. [Illustration] [Illustration: LOST LABOUR.] [Illustration: The sa-cred I-bis, we are told, The E-gyp-tians much re-vered of old] [Illustration: The I-gua-na's flesh is sweet and good; It haunts the riv-er and the wood.] [Illustration: On hin-der legs and tail so strong, The slim Jer-boa bounds a-long.] [Illustration: A row of prick-les, long and keen, On the John-Do-ry's back is seen.] [Illustration: WASHING MY CHILDREN.] [Illustration: TAKING CARE OF BABY] [Illustration] THE DAN-DE-LION CLOCK. The dan-de-lion blos-soms gay From the fields have passed away, And in their place left heads of grey. Now, Min-nie, won't it be good fun For each of us to ga-ther one, And sit and blow them in the sun? Very hard we both must blow, And scat-ter all the seeds like snow, That will be 'one o'clock,' you know." TAK-ING CARE OF BA-BY. Lit-tle, help-less ba-by dear, While with-in your cot you lie, Sis-ter May is sit-ting near-- She will sing your lul-la-by. When at last you fall a-sleep, Not the slight-est noise she'll make; Quiet as a mouse she'll keep, Lest she should her dar-ling wake. May will watch you well, for though She can play and prat-tle too, 'Tis not very long ago Since she was a babe like you. Then mam-ma o'er lit-tle May Day and night her watch would keep; May her care can now re-pay, Watch-ing ba-by whilst a-sleep. SUM-MER FLOW-ERS. "The de-sert shall re-joice, and blos-som as the rose."--ISAIAH XXXV. I. Be-hold the flow-ers of June! how fair And bright their buds ap-pear, As, open-ing to the sum-mer air, Our eyes and hearts they cheer! Who would have thought there could a-bound Such beau-ty and de-light Be-neath the cold and win-try ground That hid those flow-ers from sight? That pow-er which made and governs all-- The might-y pow-er of God-- A-lone could life and beau-ty call Out of the life-less sod. And He, who from the Win-ter's gloom Can Sum-mer thus dis-close, Shall one day make the de-sert bloom, And blos-som as the rose. [Illustration] [Illustration: "WHERE'S DICK-EY?"] "WHERE'S DICK-EY?" "Look there!" lit-tle Lot-ty cried, "Dick-ey's cage is o-pen wide, And, I fear, he's not in-side. Cou-sin John, Do please stand up-on this chair, Just to see if he is there. Pret-ty Dick, I won-der where You are gone! "Naugh-ty puss, your jaws, you lick! Have you eat-en lit-tle Dick? That would be a cru-el trick! No, I see Pret-ty Dick has flown a-way, And is sing-ing blithe and gay, Sit-ting yon-der on a spray Of the tree. "Well, I too should think it wrong, If a gi-ant, tall and strong, Just to hear my lit-tle song ev-ery day, Shut _me_ in a cage; and yet Thus I did my lit-tle pet--- So he must be glad to get Safe a-way." PLAY-ING AT OM-NI-BUS. Says Hu-bert, "Look, how fast it pours! I'm sure we can't go out of doors While it is rain-ing thus; So let us in the nur-se-ry stay, To have a mer-ry game, and play At driv-ing om-ni-bus. "Flo-ra and Ted-dy, you must be The horses, and be driv-en by me. Mind you go stea-dy--do! A place for Char-lie we shall find; To guard the 'bus he'll ride be-hind, And take the mon-ey too. "Dick, with pa-pa's old hat to wear, Looks just the thing to be a fare Who wants to ride with us. Jump up, sir! Six-pence all the way! Gee, gee, you horses! Gee, I say!"-- Off goes the om-ni-bus! [Illustration: With wings scarce mov-ing, through the sky, The lazy Kite is seen to fly.] [Illustration: The Kan-ga-roo a poc-ket wears, In which her lit-tle ones she bears.] [Illustration: The Liz-ard in the sun's warm rays De-lights to bask on summer days.] [Illustration: The Lam-prey, in the Se-vern caught, Was once the first of dain-ties thought.] [Illustration: PLAYING AT OMNIBUS.] [Illustration: ON THE WATER.] [Illustration] GA-THER-ING POP-PIES. Through the corn the chil-dren creep, Where the nod-ding pop-pies sleep, Fill-ing hands and a-prons white With the scar-let blos-soms bright. Gau-dy pop-pies must not stay Till the fu-ture har-vest day: They would wi-ther when the heat Ri-pens all the gold-en wheat-- Life for them is short and sweet. ON THE WA-TER. In our lit-tle boat to glide On the wa-ter blue and wide, While the sky is smooth and bright, What could give us more de-light? See the rip-ples, how they run, Twink-ling bright-ly in the sun; While re-flect-ed we can see Sha-dows of each hill and tree. See the li-lies, round and large, Float-ing near the reed-y marge, Where the bul-rush has its place And the hea-vy wa-ter-mace. See the great green dra-gon-fly, And the swal-low skim-ming by. See the fish-es spring and gleam, Ere they splash in-to the stream, See the bright king-fish-er too Dart a gleam of green and blue. These are all a-round our boat On the wa-ter whilst we float. HURT-FUL WEEDS. "Ev-e-ry plant, which My hea-ven-ly Fa-ther hath not plant-ed, shall be root-ed up."--ST. MATT. XV. 13. Though in the corn that waves a-round Are thorns, and many hurt-ful weeds, That spring in e-ven good-ly ground And plant-ed thick with choic-est seeds; Though in our hearts, how-e-ver taught And trained to guard them-selves from sin, The good is mixed with evil thought Our en-e-my has sown there-in, God's plant-ing shall not be o'er-thrown By world-ly weeds that cling a-bout His corn; and what He hath not sown Shall in His time be root-ed out. Then, that our lives may yield their fruit, Still let it be our con-stant prayer, That God from out our hearts will root All seeds He hath not plant-ed there. [Illustration] [Illustration: THE BUT-TER-FLY.] THE BUT-TER-FLY. A yel-low But-ter-fly one day, Grown tired of play and tired of fly-ing, Up-on a this-tle blos-som grey With out-spread wings was i-dly ly-ing. The stur-dy bees went hum-ming by, Draw-ing sweet ho-ney from the clo-ver, Nor stir-red the yel-low But-ter-fly, For he was but an i-dle ro-ver. Two lit-tle girls, named Anne and May, Came by with mirth and laugh-ter ring-ing, Anne ran to seize the in-sect gay-- May fol-low-ed fast and ceased her sing-ing. "Oh! dar-ling An-nie, let it be, Your touch will rob its plumes of beau-ty; And God, who made both you and me, Has taught us kind-ness is a du-ty." "GO A-WAY, RO-VER!" "You big black dog, go, go a-way! I will not let you bite My lit-tle pet; it can-not play, You gave it such a fright! "I think you want to eat it up Be-cause it is so small, But if you dare to touch my pup For help I mean to call; "And then pa-pa will bring a stick, And make you run a-way; So, Ro-ver, you had best go quick, And leave us here to play!" * * * * * Why, Ro-ver, is quite good and tame-- You need not be a-fraid; He on-ly wants to have a game, You sil-ly lit-tle maid! [Illustration: In sum-mer time, a-long our coasts. The Mack-a-rel swarm in count-less hosts.] [Illustration: We all at Mon-keys love to gaze, And watch their fun-ny tricks and ways.] [Illustration: A bird so fool-ish is the Nod-dy, It may be caught by a-ny-bo-dy.] [Illustration: The harm-less Newt is to be seen In stag-nant ponds, with duck-weed green.] [Illustration:"GO AWAY, ROVER!"] [Illustration: LUCY AND ARTHUR.] [Illustration] THE RUSH PA-RA-SOL. "Oh, come to the brook, sis-ter Kate, Oh, come with me, Het-ty and Gus, Where rush-es, so long and so straight, Are grow-ing in thou-sands for us!" Thus cries, to the rest, lit-tle May; And off to the mea-dow go all-- For nurse has just shown her the way Of mak-ing a rush pa-ra-sol. LU-CY AND AR-THUR. The day was fine, the sun was hot, So Lu-cy took her pail and spade, And went to find a nice dry spot Where wells and cas-tles might be made. But all the shore just then was wet, So Lu-cy took off shoes and socks; She knew that nurse would fume and fret If they got spoilt by sand or rocks. But Ar-thur was so strong and big, He thought that he was quite a man, And he, in boots, would stand and dig, Which proved a very fool-ish plan. For soon his boots got wet and cold, And hurt his feet, and made him cry; He had to sit and hear nurse scold, While both his boots were put to dry. THE PRO-VI-DENCE OF GOD. "The Lord shall give that which is good, and our land shall yield her increase."--PSALM lxxxv. 12. The seed was sown long months a-go, And, through the win-ter's cold and snow, We trust-ed that God's care would bring The green and ten-der blade in spring, Which che-rished by the sun and rain Of sum-mer, now has yield-ed grain In au-tumn, when the reap-er leaves His cot to cut and bind the sheaves, And load with them the nod-ding wain Which bears them home-ward from the plain. So God's great mer-cies thus a-bound; His love still brings the sea-sons round; His bless-ings fill our hap-py fields, And all our land its in-crease yields: So if we serve Him as we should, Our Lord will give us all things good; And He who doth the ra-vens feed Much more will give us all we need! [Illustration] [Illustration: PLAY-ING A-MONG THE SHEAVES.] PLAY-ING A-MONG THE SHEAVES. Oh, who could there be More mer-ry than we, On this bright har-vest morn. As we fro-lic and play, While we hide a-way, A-mong the sheaves of corn? We may fro-lic still Wher-e-ver we will, But yet we must not tread To waste with our feet The grains of the wheat-- The wheat that makes our bread. For God, as we need, Gives the corn to feed And make us well and strong; And to waste in vain His gift of the grain Would grieve Him, and be wrong. KEEP-ING SCHOOL. Oh, tell me if e-ver you knew A teach-er who looked so se-vere As sis-ter Ma-ri-a can do, When les-sons she's go-ing to hear? Just look how she holds up her cane And frowns, as she threat-ens each one! But yet they'll not cry or com-plain, Be-cause it is only in fun. The dunce's cap Dol-ly must wear, Her task was not learnt very well; And now lit-tle Jane, I de-clare, Pre-tends she's un-a-ble to spell. Yet sis-ter may hold up her cane, And though they'll look so-lemn, each one, From laugh-ter they scarce can re-frain. Be-cause it is only in fun. [Illustration: In i-vy, tree, or barn, or tow-er The Owl a-waits the e-ven-ing hour.] [Illustration: The fish-ing Ot-ter may be found In streams which flow through Eng-lish ground.] [Illustration: Be-neath the ri-ver's sedg-y side The sav-age Pike de-lights to hide.] [Illustration: In cav-ern pools, in end-less night, The poor blind Pro-teus shuns the light.] [Illustration: KEEPING SCHOOL.] [Illustration: MILKING-TIME.] [Illustration] SNAP AP-PLE. "Come, while it spins round, try your luck; Come, E-thel, and Kate, and your bro-thers! On two ends two ap-ples are stuck, And an on-ion on each of the o-thers. Be ready, and snap as they pass, Be quick, if you mean to be right, Or not the sweet ap-ples, a-las! 'Twill be, but the on-ions, you'll bite." MILK-ING TIME. Through the long day the cows are seen All graz-ing as they go, Wan-der-ing a-long the mea-dows green Where yel-low hawk-weeds grow. But when the clock with-in the tower Strikes five, they al-ways pace Slow-ly--for well they know the hour-- Home to the milk-ing place. Then in the yard quite still they stand, Swing-ing their la-zy tails, Where Ann and Su-san are at hand With stools and milk-ing pails I love to see the white milk flow, And in the pail froth up; And Ann, who is so kind, I know, Will let me fill my cup. AU-TUMN. "Be glad then, and re-joice in the Lord your God."--JOEL ii. 23. 'Tis au-tumn now; the corn is cut, But o-ther gifts for us are spread, The pur-ple plum, the ripe brown nut, And pears and ap-ples, streaked with red, A-mong the dark-green branch-es shine, Or on the grass be-neath them fall; While full green clus-ters deck the vine That trails o'er trel-lis, roof, and wall. In our dear land the la-den trees Be-speak God's pro-vi-dence and love; He sends all need-ful gifts like these For those who trust in Him a-bove. How good is He to make such choice Of plea-sant fruits for us to grow! 'Tis meet, in-deed, that we re-joice In Him who loves His chil-dren so. [Illustration: BE GLAD THEN, AND REJOICE IN THE LORD YOUR GOD. JOEL II. 23] [Illustration: THE SQUIR-REL.] THE SQUIR-REL. "Squir-rel, squir-rel, brown and brisk, High a-bove me in the tree, I can see you bound and frisk, I can see you peep at me. "Squir-rel, squir-rel, you can play; Mer-rier beast is none than you; Yet you are not only gay, You are wise and mer-ry too. You can play till sum-mer's o'er, And the nuts come fall-ing free, Then to hoard your win-ter store You are busy as a bee. "Squir-rel, squir-rel, I would bound Gai-ly at my sports as you, And, like you, I would be found Care-ful for the fu-ture too." "CON-TRA-RY WINDS" Both Tom and Will had e-qual skill In mak-ing lit-tle boats and ships; They cut a-way a whole half day, And co-vered all the floor with chips. And when the boys had made their toys, They thought to put them to the test-- To try which boat, when set a-float, Would sail a-cross a tub the best. But Will and Tom, each blow-ing from A dif-fe-rent side, you well may guess, No boats could go straight on, and so They tacked a-bout in great dis-tress. Such heavy gales a-gainst their sails Made both the boats go whirl-ing round; The sails got wet, the boats up-set, And all the crew on board were drowned. [Illustration: When the warm sum-mer days draw near, From south-ern climes the Quails ap-pear.] [Illustration: South Afric's plains the Quag-gas roam, Re-mote from farm or set-tler's home.] [Illustration: The fish-er-man the Roach may hook, In quiet pond or gentle brook.] [Illustration: When the fell Rat-tle-snake slides near, The In-dian may its rat-tle hear.] [Illustration: "CONTRARY WINDS."] [Illustration: NAUGHTY DICK.] [Illustration] BAT-TLE-DORE AND SHUT-TLE-COCK. See these mer-ry chil-dren four, Now their les-son time is o'er, Deal-ing with the bat-tle-dore Steady blow on blow; Till the fea-thered shut-tle-cocks Fly at their al-ter-nate knocks, "Re-gu-lar as kitch-en clocks," Spin-ning to and fro. [Illustration: OUR GOD IS MERCIFUL. PSALM CXVI. 5] [Illustration: CUT-TING NAMES.] CUT-TING NAMES. See where the spread-ing beech has made Be-neath its boughs a plea-sant shade To screen them from the sun; There George, and Anne, and Ma-ry play, Or read up-on each sun-ny day, When all their tasks are done. George has pulled out his knife, you see, And on the smooth-barked beech-en tree Has some-thing found to do; He's carv-ing deep, and plain, and well The let-ters, one by one, which spell His name and An-nie's too. His sis-ter An-nie, stand-ing by, Is watch-ing with a cu-ri-ous eye, And won-der-ing at his skill. To men and wo-men when they grow, They'll come and find the beech tree show Those names quite plain-ly still. THE CON-CERT. "See how it rains! We can-not go Our walk a-cross the fields; and so, Since Tom and Et-tie Holmes are come, And cous-in Fred has brought his drum, And some can sing, and o-thers play, We'll have a con-cert here to-day. You, Tom, must in the mid-dle stand, And mark the time, with stick in hand; You, bro-ther Ben, the tongs must take, For they will good tri-an-gles make; Hal clicks the 'bones,' and Em-me-line Will beat her lit-tle tam-bour-ine, And cous-in Fred will drum a-way, And Kate the con-cer-ti-na play. All must at-tend to Tom; and mind None play too fast, nor lag be-hind; And then, I'm sure, we all shall see How grand a con-cert this will be, And say this is the wis-est way To spend this wet Oc-to-ber day." [Illustration: The long-billed Snipe fre-quents our clime About the chil-ly au-tumn time.] [Illustration: The Ti-ger, from his hid-den lair, Springs on the tra-vel-ler un-a-ware.] [Illustration: The U-rano-sco-pus hides a-mong The mud, and an-gles with its tongue.] [Illustration: Though gay and pleas-ing to the sight, The Vi-per has a dead-ly bite.] [Illustration: THE CONCERT.] [Illustration: CAUGHT IN THE FOG.] [Illustration] PLAY-ING WITH WOOD-EN BRICKS. An In-di-an tem-ple on the floor The chil-dren build with wood-en bricks, They've placed two pil-lars by the door, And on the roof they now would fix A good tall spire, so Et-ty takes A long-er brick, and sets it there; And though when-e'er we walk it shakes, It will not tum-ble, I de-clare! CAUGHT IN THE FOG. Anne and Jane will long re-mem-her How, one morn-ing in No-vem-ber, As they both were home-ward stroll-ing, Round the Lon-don fog came roll-ing-- First, a yel-low dark-ness fall-ing, Then a noise of link-boys call-ing, Cab, and 'bus, and cart-wheels rum-bling, Hor-ses on the pave-ment stum-bling, Peo-ple, in the smoke and smo-ther, Run-ning up a-gainst each other, No one see-ing, much less know-ing, Whi-ther he or she was go-ing. Little Jane clung to her sis-ter, While Anne com-fort-ed and kissed her, For the girls felt bro-ken-heart-ed, Fear-ing lest they should be part-ed. So they were when Char-lie found them, Lost a-mid the crowd a-round them, But so glad when they es-pied him, And came trip-ping home beside him. TRUST IN GOD. "He ma-keth light-nings for the rain; He bring-eth the wind out of His trea-sur-ies."--Ps. CXXXV. 7. Our God who reign-est up on high, Though light-nings flash a-cross the sky, And howl-ing tem-pests hur-ry by, We fear not these, for Thou art nigh To all who trust in Thee. Though now the sky is o-ver-cast, And hea-vy rains are fall-ing fast, And storm and sleet go driv-ing past, And day by day the moan-ing blast Sweeps dead leaves from the tree, No-vem-ber time, that seems so drear, When days are dark and win-ter near, Will pass at length, and Christ-mas cheer The last hours of the dy-ing year With song and dance and mirth. And in due time Thy mighty pow-er Will give the spring, with sun and shower, The o-pen-ing leaf, the ear-ly flow-er, And birds in e-ve-ry wood-land bow-er Will sing to glad-den earth. [Illustration: HE MAKETH LIGHTNINGS FOR THE RAIN; HE BRINGETH THE WIND OUT OF HIS TREASURIES. PSALM CXXXV. 7.] [Illustration: HOME FROM SCHOOL.] HOME FROM SCHOOL. Come, Meg and El-len, don't com-plain, For, see, the geese en-joy the rain, And dog-gie does not fret; And yet, The drops come rol-ling down his ears, And nose, and whisk-ers, just like tears; Poor Mop, he's drip-ping wet! Our big um-brel-la co-vers three, And snug and dry we all may be, And chat-ter as we go, And show The grumb-ling peo-ple whom we meet That nei-ther wind, nor driv-ing sleet, Can spoil our tem-pers.--No, We will not take such days as this, Nor any-thing God sends, a-miss, But what we can-not cure Endure; And this will prove a Gold-en Rule To prac-tise as we walk from school-- Of that we may be sure. THE KIT-TENS' BATH. One day when Lil-lie saw her cat Sit down and lick a kit-ten's face; "No, puss," said she, "don't wash like that-- My bath will be the pro-per place. "I'll show you how to wash them, puss." So in she dipped them one by one; Poor Min-nie mewed and made a fuss, But Lil-lie only thought it fun. Puss feared her lit-tle kits would drown, And did her best to get them out; While Lil-lie dipped them up and down, And splashed the wa-ter all a-bout. Till nurse came up and saw the mess, Took out the kit-tens, and instead Made thought-less Lil-lie quite un-dress, And have her bath and go to bed. [Illustration: We find the snow-y Whi-ting most A-bound along our South-ern coast.] [Illustration: Who roams through Eng-land's mea-dows fair May see the Yel-low-ham-mer there.] [Illustration: The Xeno-pel-tis has a hide, With spots of man-y co-lours dyed.] [Illustration: See, with long tail but scan-ty mane, The Ze-bra gal-lops o'er the plain.] [Illustration: THE KITTENS' BATH.] [Illustration] TURN-ING THE TRENCH-ER. If, at this old Christ-mas game, Kate, who spins the trench-er, call Any play-er out by name, He must catch it ere it fall. If "Move all" she should re-peat, All sit still; but if she say "Twi-light," each must change his seat, Or a for-feit he must pay. THE WISE MEN OF THE EAST. The East-ern sages watched the sky, They looked from night till morn, There shone a bright, new star on high, They knew that Christ was born. Then up they rose, and came from far, They jour-neyed night and day, Led by the shin-ing of that star, And found Him where He lay. There is not any need for us To leave our homes be-hind, Through dis-tant lands to tra-vel thus The Son of God to find. For home to us each Christ-mas Day The new-born Sa-vi-our brings; Then shall we not our hom-age pay Like those good East-ern kings? 
3557
3558 The Frog Who Wished To Be As Big As The Ox. There was a little Fog Whose home was in a bog, And he worried 'cause he wasn't big enough. He sees an ox and cries: "That's just about my size, If I stretch myself--Say Sister, see me puff!" So he blew, blew, blew, Saying: "Sister, will that do?" But she shook her head. And then he lost his wits. For he stretched and puffed again Till he cracked beneath the strain, And burst, and flew about in little bits. The Grasshopper And The Ant. The Grasshopper, singing All summer long, Now found winter stinging, And ceased in his song. Not a morsel or crumb in his cupboard-- So he shivered, and ceased in his song. Miss Ant was his neighbor; To her he went: "O, you're rich from labor, And I've not a cent. Lend me food, and I vow I'll return it, Though at present I have not a cent." The Ant's not a lender, I must confess. Her heart's far from tender To one in distress. So she said: "Pray, how passed you the summer, That in winter you come to distress?" "I sang through the summer," Grasshopper said. "But now I am glummer Because I've no bread." "So you sang!" sneered the Ant. "That relieves me. Now it's winter--go dance for your bread!" The Cat And The Fox. The Cat and the Fox once took a walk together, Sharpening their wits with talk about the weather And as their walking sharpened appetite, too; They also took some things they had no right to. Cream, that is so delicious when it thickens, Pleased the Cat best. The Fox liked little chickens. With stomachs filled, they presently grew prouder, And each began to try to talk the louder-- Bragging about his skill, and strength, and cunning. "Pooh!" said the Fox. "You ought to see me running. Besides, I have a hundred tricks. You Cat, you! What can you do when Mr. Dog comes at you?" "To tell the truth," the Cat said, "though it grieve me I've but one trick. Yet that's enough--believe me!" There came a pack of fox-hounds--yelping, baying. "Pardon me", said the Cat. "I can't be staying. This is my trick." And up a tree he scurried, Leaving the Fox below a trifle worried. In vain he tried his hundred tricks and ruses (The sort of thing that Mr. Dog confuses)-- Doubling, and seeking one hole, then another-- Smoked out of each until he thought he'd smother. At last as he once more came out of cover, Two nimble dogs pounced on him--All was over! The Hen With The Golden Eggs. To this lesson in greed, Pray, little ones, heed: Each day, we are told, A most wonderful Hen Laid an egg made of gold For this meanest of men. So greedy was he, He was not satisfied. "What is one egg to me? I want all that' inside!" He cut off her head, And began to explore. But the poor hen was dead. And could lay eggs no more. The Dog And His Image. A foolish Dog, who carried in his jaw A juicy bone, Looked down into a stream, and there he saw Another one, Splash! In he plunged.. The image disappeared-- The meat he had was gone. Indeed, he nearly sank, And barely reached the bank. The Acorn and the Pumpkin. Once there was a country bumpkin Who observed a great big pumpkin To a slender stem attached; While upon an oak tree nourished, Little acorns grew and flourished. "Bah!" said he. "That's badly matched." "If, despite my humble station, I'd a hand in this Creation, Pumpkins on the oaks would be; And the acorn, light and little, On this pumpkin stem so brittle Would be placed by clever Me." Then, fatigued with so much thought, he Rest beneath the oak tree sought. He Soon in slumber found repose But, alas! An acorn, falling On the spot where he lay sprawling, Hit him--plump!--Upon the nose. Up he jumped--a wiser bumpkin. "Gosh!" he said. "Suppose a pumpkin Came a-fallin' on my face! After all, if I had made things, I'll allow that I'm afraid things Might be some what out of place." The Raven And The Fox. Mr. Raven was perched upon a limb, And Reynard the Fox looked up at him; For the Raven held in his great big beak A morsel the Fox would go far to seek. Said the Fox, in admiring tones: "My word! Sir Raven, you are a handsome bird. Such feathers! If you would only sing, The birds of these woods would call you King." The Raven, who did not see the joke, Forgot that his voice was just a croak. He opened his beak, in his foolish pride-- And down fell the morsel the Fox had spied. "Ha-ha!" said the Fox. "And now you see You should not listen to flattery. Vanity, Sir is a horrid vice-- I'm sure the lesson is worth the price." The City Mouse And The Country Mouse. A City Mouse, with ways polite, A Country Mouse invited To sup with him and spend the night. Said Country Mouse: "De--lighted!" In truth it proved a royal treat, With everything that's good to eat. Alas! When they had just begun To gobble their dinner, A knock was heard that made them run. The City Mouse seemed thinner. And as they scampered and turned tail, He saw the Country Mouse grow pale. The knocking ceased. A false alarm! The City Mouse grew braver. "Come back!" he cried. "No, no! The farm, Where I'll not quake or quaver, Suits me," replied the Country Mouse. "You're welcome to your city house." The Lion And The Gnat. The Lion once said to the Gnat: "You brat, Clear out just as quick as you can, now--s'cat! If you meddle with me I will not guarantee That you won't be slammed perfectly flat-- D'ye see?" Said the Gnat: "Because you're called King--you thing!-- You fancy that you will make me take wing. Why, an ox weighs much more, Yet I drive him before When I get good and ready to sting. Now, roar!" Then loudly his trumpet he blew. And--whew! How fiercely and fast at his foe he flew. From the tail to the toes He draws blood as he goes. Then he starts in to sting and to chew His nose. Sir Lion was mad with the pain. In vain He roared and he foamed and he shook his mane. All the beasts that were nigh Fled in fear from his cry. But the Gnat only stung him again-- In the eye. He looked and laughed as he saw--Haw, Haw!-- The Lion self-torn by his tooth and claw, So His Majesty's hide With his own blood was dyed. Said the Gnat: "Shall I serve you up raw-- Or fried?" It's finished. The Lion's loud roar is o'er. He's bitten and beaten, he's sick and sore. But a spider's web spread Trapped the Gnat as he sped With the news...He will never fight more-- He's dead! The Dove And The Ant. An Ant who in a brook would drink Fell off the bank. He tried To swim, and felt his courage sink-- This ocean seemed so wide. But for a dove who flew above He would have drowned and died. The friendly Dove within her beak A bridge of grass-stem bore: On this the Ant, though worn and weak. Contrived to reach the shore Said he: "The tact of this kind act I'll cherish evermore." Behold! A barefoot wretch went by With slingshot in his hand. Said he: "You'll make a pigeon pie That will be kind of grand." He meant to murder the gentle bird-- Who did not understand. The Ant then stung him on the heel (So quick to see the sling). He turned his head, and missed a meal: The pigeon pie took wing. And so the Dove lived on to love-- Beloved by everything. The Fox And The Grapes. Rosy and ripe, and ready to box, The grapes hang high o'er the hungry Fox.-- He pricks up his ears, and his eye he cocks. Ripe and rosy, yet so high!-- He gazes at them with a greedy eye, And knows he must eat and drink--or die. When the jump proves to be beyond his power-- "Pooh!" says the Fox. "Let the pigs devour Fruit of that sort. Those grapes are sour!" The Ass In The Lion's Skin. An Ass in The Lion's skin arrayed Made everybody fear. And this was queer, Because he was himself afraid. Yet everywhere he strayed The people ran like deer. Ah, ah! He is betrayed: No lion has that long and hairy ears. Old Martin spied the tip; and country folk Who are not in the secret of the joke, With open mouths and eyes Stare at old Martin's prize-- A Lion led to mill, with neck in yoke. The Fox And The Stork. Old Father Fox, who was known to be mean, Invited Dame Stork in to dinner. There was nothing but soup that could scarcely be seen:-- Soup never was served any thinner. And the worst of it was, as I'm bound to relate, Father Fox dished it up on a flat china plate. Dame Stork, as you know, has a very long beak: Not a crumb or drop could she gather Had she pecked at the plate every day in the week. But as for the Fox--sly old Father: With his tongue lapping soup at a scandalous rate, He licked up the last bit and polished the plate. Pretty soon Mistress Stork spread a feast of her own; Father Fox was invited to share it. He came, and he saw, and he gave a great groan: The stork had known how to prepare it. She had meant to get even, and now was her turn: Father Fox was invited to eat from an urn. The urn's mouth was small, and it had a long neck; The food in it smelled most delightful. Dame Stork, with her beak in, proceeded to peck; But the Fox found that fasting is frightful. Home he sneaked. On his way there he felt his ears burn When he thought of the Stork and her tall, tricky urn. The Monkey And The Cat. Jocko the Monkey, Mouser--his chum, the Cat, Had the same master. Both were sleek and fat, And mischievous. If anything went wrong, The neighbors where not blamed. Be sure of that. Jocko, 'tis said was something of a thief; Mouser, if truth be told, would just as lief Much stolen cheese as chase the midnight mouse. The praise bestowed on either must be brief. One day these rogues, stretched flat before the fire, Saw chestnuts roassting. "Ah! Could we conspire To jerk them out," said Jocko, "from the coals, We'd smash the shells and have our heart's desire. "Come, Brother Mouser! This day 'tis your turn To do some bold and desperate thing to earn A reputation. You, who are so quick, Snatch out the nuts before they start to burn. "Alas! That I, a Monkey, was not made To play with fire. But you are not afraid." So Mouser--pleased, like many a cat or man, With pretty words--sly Jocko's wish obeyed. Into the fire he put a practiced paw: Out came a chestnut clinging to his claw-- Another and another. As they dropped Jocko devoured them, whether roast or raw. A servant enters. Off the robbers run. Jocko, you may be sure, enjoyed the fun. But Mouser's paw is sadly singed--for what? Just to get nuts for Jocko. He got none. The Hare And The Tortoise. Said the Tortoise one day to the Hare: "I'll run you a race if you dare. I'll bet you cannot Arrive at that spot As quickly as I can get there." Quoth the Hare: "You are surely insane. Pray, what has affected your brain? You seem pretty sick. Call a doctor in--quick, And let him prescribe for your pain." "Never mind," said the Tortoise. "Let's run! Will you bet me?" "Why, certainly." "Done!" While the slow Tortoise creeps Mr. Hare makes four leaps, And then loafs around in the sun. It seemed such a one-sided race, To win was almost a disgrace. So he frolicked about Then at last he set out-- As the Tortoise was as nearing the place. Too late! Though he sped like a dart, The Tortoise was first. She was smart: "You can surely run fast," She remarked. "Yet you're last. It is better to get a good start." The Heron Who Was Hard To Please. A long-legged Heron, with long neck and beak, Set out for a stroll by the bank of a creek. So clear was the water that if you looked sharp You could see the pike caper around with the carp. The Heron might quickly have speared enough fish To make for his dinner a capital dish. But he was a very particular bird: His food fixed "just so," at the hours he preferred. And hence he decided 'twas better to wait, Since his appetite grew when he supped rather late. Pretty soon he was hungry, and stalked to the bank. Where some pondfish were leaping--a fish of low rank. "Bah, Bah!" said the Bird. "Sup on these? No--not I. I'm known as a Heron: as such I live high." Then some gudgeon swam past that were tempting to see, But the Heron said hautily: "No--not for me. For those I'd not bother to open my beak, If I had to hang 'round come next Friday a week." Thus bragged the big Bird. But he's bound to confess That he opened his elegant beak for much less. Not another fish came. When he found all else fail, He was happy to happen upon a fat snail. The Raven Who Would Rival The Eagle. An Eagle swooped from out the sky, And carried off a sheep. A Raven seeing him, said: "I Could do that too if I should try. His meal comes mighty cheap." Of all that well-fed flock was one As fat as fat could be. The Raven rose, and lit upon Her back. She seemed to weigh a ton-- So very fat was she. And, oh! Her wool was wondrous thick: It would have made a mat. The Raven's claws are caught, and stick! He's played himself a pretty trick-- To fly with one so fat. "Ba, ba!" "Caw, caw!" cry bird and beast. The shepherd comes at last: Sir Raven who would find a feast Is from the woolly one released, And in a cage kept fast. The Miller, His Son And The Ass. A Miller and Son once set out for the fair, To sell a fine ass they had brought up with care; And the way that they started made everyone stare. To keep the Ass fresh, so the beast would sell dear On a pole they slung him. It surely seemed queer: He looked, with heels up, like some huge chandelier. One person who passed them cried out in great glee. "Was there anything ever so silly?" said he. "Can you guess who the greatest Ass is of those three?" The Miller at once put the brute on the ground; And the Ass, who had liked to ride t'other way round, Complained in language of curious sound. No matter. The Miller now made his Son ride, While he followed after or walked alongside. Then up came three merchants. The eldest one cried; "Get down there, young fellow! I never did see Such manners:--a gray-beard walks where you should be. He should ride, you should follow. Just take that from me!" "Dear Sirs," quoth the Miller, "I'd see you content." He climbed to the saddle; on foot the boy went... Three girls passed. Said one: "Do you see that old Gent? There he sits, like a bishop. I say it's a shame, While that boy trudging after seems more than half lame." "Little girl," said the Miller, "go back whence you came." Yet this young creature so worked on his mind That he wanted no woman to call him unkind: And he said to his Son: "Seat yourself here--behind." With the Ass bearing double they jogged on again, And once more met a critic, who said: "It is plain Only dunces would give their poor donkey such pain. He will die with their weight: it's a shame and a sin. For their faithful servant they care not a pin. They'll have nothing to sell at the fair but his skin." "Dear me!" said the Miller, "what am I to do? Must I suit the whole world and the world's father, too? Yet it must end some time--so I'll see the thing through." Both Father and Son now decided to walk, While the Ass marched in front with a strut and a stalk; Yet the people who passed them continued to talk. Said one to another: "Look there, if you please, How they wear out their shoes, while their Ass takes his ease. Were there ever, d'ye think, three such asses as these?" Said the Miller: "You're right. I'm an Ass! It is true. Too long have I listened to people like you. But now I am done with the whole kit and crew. "Let them blame me or praise me, keep silent or yell, My goings and comings they cannot compel. I will do as I please!"...So he did--and did well.
3559
3560 THE DOG AND THE WOLF. A wolf there was, whose scanty fare Had made his person lean and spare; A dog there was, so amply fed, His sides were plump and sleek; 'tis said The wolf once met this prosp'rous cur, And thus began: "Your servant, sir; I'm pleased to see you look so well, Though how it is I cannot tell; I have not broke my fast to-day; Nor have I, I'm concern'd to say, One bone in store or expectation, And that I call a great vexation." "Indeed it is," the dog replied: "I know no ill so great beside; But if you do not like to be So poorly fed, come live with me." "Agreed," rejoined the wolf, "I'll go: But pray, what work am I to do?" "Oh, guard the house, and do not fail To bark at thieves, and wag your tail." So off they jogg'd, and soon arrived At where the friendly mastiff lived. "Well," said the wolf, "I can't deny You have a better house than I." "Not so," the other then replied, "If you with me will hence abide." "Oh," said the wolf, "how kind you are! But what d'ye call _that_, hanging there? Is it an iron chain, or what?" "Friend," said the dog, "I quite forgot To mention that; sometimes, you see, They hook that little chain to _me_; But it is only meant to keep Us dogs from walking in our sleep, And should you wear it, you would find, It's nothing that you need to mind." "I'll take your word," the wolf replied. "It's truth by me shall ne'er be tried; I'll have my liberty again, And you your collar and your chain." MORAL. Our neighbors sometimes seem to be A vast deal better off than we; Yet seldom 'tis they really are, Since _they_ have troubles too to bear, Which, if the truth were really known, Are quite as grievous as our own. [Illustration] THE HERDSMAN. A herdsman, who lived at a time and a place Which, should you not know, is but little disgrace, Discover'd one morning, on counting his stock, That a sheep had been stolen that night from the flock. "Oh, I wish I had caught ye, _whoever ye be_ I'd have soon let you know, I'd have soon let ye see, What he had to expect," said the herdsman, "I trow; But I've thought of a scheme that will trouble you now." So what did he do, sir, but put up a board, Describing the thief, and proposed a reward Of a lamb, to the man who would give information Concerning the thief, and his true designation. The project succeeded; for soon there applied A certain near neighbor, with others beside. "But tell me the thief," said the herdsman, "at least;" "Come hither," said they, "and we'll show you the beast!" "The _beast_!" said the rustic, who thought he should die on The spot, when he found that the thief was a lion! "Ill luck to my hurry, what now shall I do? I promised a lamb to detect you 'tis true; But now I'd consent _all_ my substance to pay, If I could but with safety get out of your way." MORAL. Silly people ask things that would ruin, if sent; They demand them in haste, and at leisure repent. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE BOYS AND THE FROGS. Some boys, beside a pond or lake, Were playing once at _duck and drake?_ When, doubtless to their heart's content, Volleys of stones were quickly sent. But there were some (there will be such) Who did not seem amused so much; These were the frogs, to whom the game, In point of sport was not the same. For scarce a stone arrived, 'tis said, But gave some frog a broken head; And scores in less than half an hour, Perished beneath the dreadful shower. At last, said one, "You silly folks, I say, Do fling your stones another way; Though _sport_ to _you_, to throw them thus, Remember, pray, 'tis _death_ to us!" MORAL. From hence this moral may be learn'd: Let play _be play_ to _all concern'd_. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE COCK AND THE JEWEL. A cock there was: a sage was he (If Esop we may trust,) Who wish'd to make a meal, you see, As other sages must. With this intent, as heretofore, When on the hunt for grain; Our hero scratch'd the litter o'er With all his might and main. But scarce a minute had he scratch'd, When, to his great surprise, A gem, with golden chain attach'd, He saw with both his eyes. "Alack!" quoth he, "what have we here? A diamond, I protest! Which lords and ladies buy so dear, And hold in such request. "But one good barley-corn to me Has more intrinsic worth Than all the pearls now in the sea, Or gold now in the earth." MORAL. The moral here, in Esop's mind, Was this, there's not a doubt: Things have _most_ value, which we find We _cannot_ do without. [Illustration] THE MAN AND THE LION. A man and a lion once had a dispute, Which was reckon'd the greatest, the man or the brute; The lion discoursed on his side at some length, And greatly enlarged on his courage and strength. The man, one would think, had enough to reply On _his_ side the question, which none could deny; But like many others who make a pretence, He talk'd perfect nonsense, and thought it good sense. "So," says he, "don't be prating,--look yonder, I pray, At that sculpture of marble, now what will you say? The lion is vanquished; but as for the man He is striding upon him; deny it who can." "But pray," said the lion, "who sculptured that stone?" "One of _us_," said the man, "I must candidly own." "But when _we_ are sculptors," the other replied, "You will then on the man see the _lion_ astride." MORAL. The man might have added, if he had been wise, "But a beast _cannot_ sculpture a stone, _if he tries_." _That_ sufficiently shows where the difference lies. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE FOX AND THE CRANE. "I certainly think," said a fox to a crane, "That face, ma'am of yours is remarkably plain; That beak that you wear is so frightful a feature, It makes you appear a most singular creature." The crane, much offended at what she had heard, March'd off at full speed, without saying a word: "Oh dear!" said the fox, "Mrs. Crane, I protest You misunderstand me, 'twas only a jest." "Come, don't be affronted--stay with me and dine; You know very well 'tis this temper of mine To say such odd things to my intimate friends; But you know that poor Reynard no mischief intends." So the crane thought it best not to break with him quite, But to view his remarks in a good-natured light. So she put on as pleasant a face as she could When he ask'd her to dine, and replied that she would. But alas! she perceived that his jokes were not over, When Reynard removed from the victuals its cover 'Twas neither game, butcher's meat, chicken, not fish; But plain gravy-soup, in a broad shallow dish. Now this the fox lapp'd with his tongue very quick, While the crane could scarce dip in the point of her beak; "You make a poor dinner," said he to his guest; "Oh, dear! by no means," said the bird, "I protest." But the crane ask'd the fox on a subsequent day, When nothing, it seems, for their dinner had they But some minced meat served up in a narrow-neck'd jar; Too long, and narrow, for Reynard by far. "You make a poor dinner, I fear," said the bird; "Why, I think," said the fox, "'twould be very absurd To deny what you say, yet I cannot complain, But confess, though a fox, that I'm matched by a crane." MORAL. Cunning folks who play tricks which good manners condemn, Often find their own tricks play'd again upon them. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE TRAVELLER AND THE SATYR. A luckless wight, in winter slow, Travelling once a forest through Cold and hungry, tired and wet, Began in words like these to fret: "Oh, what a sharp inclement day! And what a dismal, dreary way! No friendly cot, no cheering fields, No food this howling forest yields; I've nought in store or expectation! There's nought before me but starvation." "Not quite so bad," a voice replied; Quickly the traveller turned aside, And saw the satyr of the wood, Who close beside his dwelling stood. "Here is my cave hard by," said he, "Walk in, you're welcome, pray be free." The traveller did not hesitate, Hoping for something good to eat, But follow'd to his heart's content, Blowing his finger as he went. "Pray," said the satyr, "may I know For what you blow your fingers so?" "What! need you," said the man, "be told?-- To _warm_ my fingers, 'numb'd with cold." "Indeed!" was all his host replied, Intent some pottage to provide, Which heated well, with spice infused, Was to his shivering guest produced: So hot it was, as Esop sung, It made our traveller scald his tongue; And wishing not again to do it, Our hero could not wait, but blew it. "What?" said his host, in accent rough, "Is not your pottage hot enough?" "Yes," said the man, "full well I know it, 'Tis far too hot, that's why I blow it." "You artful villain! do you so?" His host replied, with angry brow; "My cave shall not a moment hold A man that blows both hot and cold! By none but rogues can that be done, You double-dealing wretch, begone!" MORAL. The traveller scarce deserved such wrath, For warming fingers--cooling broth. No statutes old or new forbid it, Although with the same mouth he did it: Yet this beware of old and young, What Esop meant--a _double tongue_; Which flatters now with civil clack, And slanders soon behind one's back. [Illustration] THE TRAVELLERS AND THE PURSE. Two friends once were walking in sociable chat, When a purse one espied on the ground; "Oh, see!" said he, (thank my fortune for that,) "What a large sum of money I've found!" "Nay, do not say _I_" said his friend, "for you know 'Tis but friendship to share it with me;" "I share it with you," said the other. "How so? He who _found_ it the owner should be." "Be it so," said his friend, "but what sound do I hear? 'Stop thief!' one is calling to you; He comes with a constable close in the rear!" Said the other, "Oh, what shall we do?" "Nay, do not say _we_," said his friend, "for you know You claimed the sole right to the prize! And since all the _money_ was taken by you, With you the _dishonesty_ lies." MORAL. When people are selfish, dishonest, and mean, Their nature, in dealing, will quickly be seen. [Illustration] THE MOUTH AND THE LIMBS. In days of yore, they say, 'twas then When all things spoke their mind; The arms and legs of certain men, To treason felt inclined. These arms and legs together met, As snugly as they could, With knees and elbows, hands and feet, In discontented mood. Said they, "'Tis neither right nor fair, Nor is there any need, To labor with such toil and care, The greedy mouth to feed." "This we're resolved no more to do, Though we so long have done it;" "Ah!" said the knees and elbows too, "And we are bent upon it." "I," said the tongue, "may surely speak, Since I his inmate am; And for his vices while you seek, His virtues I'll proclaim. "You say the mouth embezzles all, The fruit of your exertion; But I on this assembly call To prove the base assertion. "The food which you with labor gain, He too with labor chews; Nor does he long the food retain, But gives it for your use. "But he his office has resign'd To whom you may prefer; He begs you therefore now to find Some other treasurer." "Well, be it so," they all replied; "His wish shall be obeyed; We think the hands may now be tried As treasurers in his stead." The hands with joy to this agreed, And all to them was paid; But they the treasure kept indeed, And no disbursements made. Once more the clam'rous members met, A lean and hungry throng; When all allowed, from head to feet, That what they'd done was wrong. To take his office once again, The mouth they all implored; Who soon accepted it, and then Health was again restored. MORAL. This tale for state affairs is meant, Which we need not discuss; At present we will be content, To find a moral thus: The mouth has claims of large amount, From arms, legs, feet, and hands; But let them not, on that account, Pay _more_ than it demands. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE HARE AND THE TORTOISE. Said a hare to a tortoise, "Good sir, what a while You have been only crossing the way; Why I really believe that to go half a mile, You must travel two nights and a day." "I am very contented," the creature replied, "Though I walk but a tortoise's pace, But if you think proper the point to decide, We will run half a mile in a race." "Very good," said the hare; said the tortoise, "Proceed, And the fox shall decide who has won," Then the hare started off with incredible speed; But the tortoise walk'd leisurely on. "Come tortoise, friend tortoise, walk on," said the hare, "Well, I shall stay here for my dinner; Why, 'twill take you a month, at that rate, to get there, Then how can you hope to be winner?" But the tortoise could hear not a word that she said For he was far distant behind; So the hare felt secured while at leisure she fed, And took a sound nap when she dined. So at last this slow walker came up with the hare, And there fast asleep did he spy her; And he cunningly crept with such caution and care, That she woke not, although he pass'd by her. "Well now," thought the hare, when she open'd her eyes, "For the race,--and I soon shall have done it;" But who can describe her chagrin and surprise, When she found that the _tortoise_ had won it! MORAL. Thus plain plodding people, we often shall find, Will leave hasty confident people behind. [Illustration] THE MILKMAID. A milkmaid, who poized a full pail on her head, Thus mused on her prospects in life, it is said: "Let's see--I should think that this milk will procure One hundred good eggs, or fourscore to be sure. "Well then--stop a bit,--it must not be forgotten, Some of these may be broken, and some may be rotten; But if twenty for accidents should be detach'd, It will leave me just sixty sound eggs to hatch'd. "Well, sixty sound eggs--no; sound chickens, I mean; Of these some may die--we'll suppose seventeen-- Seventeen!--not so many--say ten at the most, Which will leave fifty chickens to boil or to roast. "But then there's their barley; how much will they need? Why they take but one grain at a time when they feed, So that's a mere trifle; now then let us see, At a fair market price, how much money there'll be? "Six shillings a pair--five--four--three-and-six, To prevent all mistakes, that low price I will fix; Now what will that make? fifty chickens, I said, Fifty times three-and-sixpence--_I'll ask brother Ned_. "Oh! but stop--three-and-sixpence a _pair_ I must sell 'em; Well, a pair is a couple--now then let us tell 'em; A couple in fifty will go--(my poor brain!) Why just a score times, and five pair will remain. "Twenty-five pair of fowls--now how shameful it is, That I can't reckon up as much money as this! Well, there's no use in trying; so let's give a guess; I will say twenty pounds, and _it can't be no less_. "Twenty pounds, I am certain, will buy me a cow, Thirty geese, and two turkeys--eight pigs and a sow; Now if these turn out well, at the end of the year, I shall fill both my pockets with guineas 'tis clear. "Then I'll bid that old tumble-down hovel good-bye; My mother she'll scold, and my sisters they'll cry: But I won't care a crow's egg for all they can say; I sha'n't go to stop with such beggars as they!" But forgetting her burden, when this she had said, The maid superciliously toss'd up her head When alas! for her prospects--the milk pail descended! And so all her schemes for the future were ended. MORAL. This moral, I think, may be safely attach'd: Reckon not on your chickens before they are hatch'd. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE LARK AND HER YOUNG ONES. A lark who had her nest conceal'd, Says Esop, in a barley field; Began, as harvest time drew near, The reaping of the corn to fear; Afraid they would her nest descry, Before her tender brood could fly. She charged them therefore every day, Before for food she flew away, To watch the farmer in her stead, And listen well to all he said. It chanced one day, she scarce was gone, Ere the farmer came and his son. The farmer well his field survey'd, And sundry observations made; At last, "I'll tell you what," said he, "This corn is fit to cut, I see; But we our neighbor's help must borrow, So tell them we begin to-morrow." Just after this the lark returned, When from her brood this news she learned. "Ah! dearest mother," then, said they, "Pray, let us all begone to-day." "My dears," said she, "you need not fret, I shall not be uneasy yet; For if he waits for neighbor's aid, The business long will be delay'd." At dawn she left her nest once more, And charged her young ones as before. At five the farmer came again, And waited for his friends in vain, "Well," said the man, "I fancy, son, These _friends_ we can't depend upon; To-morrow early, mind you go, And let our own _relations_ know." Again the lark approach'd her nest, When round her all her young ones press'd, And told their mother, word for word, The fresh intelligence they heard. "Ah, children, be at ease," said she "We're safe another day, I see; For these _relations_, you will find, Just like his _friends_, will stay behind." At dawn again the lark withdrew, And did again her charge renew. Once more the farmer early came, And found the case was just the same. The day advanced, the sun was high; But not a single help drew nigh. Then said the farmer, "Hark ye, son-- I see this job will not be done, While thus we wait for friends and neighbors; So you and I'll commence our labors: To-morrow early, we'll begin _Ourselves_, and get our harvest in." "Now," said the lark, when this she heard, "Our movement must not be deferr'd; For if the farmer and his son Themselves begin, 'twill soon be done." The morrow proved the lark was right; For all was cut and housed by night. MORAL. Hence, while we wait for other's aid, Our business needs must be delay'd; Which might be done with half the labor 'Twould take to go and call a neighbor. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE PHILOSOPHER AND THE ACORN. A philosopher, proud of his wit and his reason, Sat him under an oak in a hot summer season. On the oak grew an acorn or two, it is said: On the ground grew a pumpkin as big as his head. Thought the sage, "What's the reason this oak is so strong A few acorns to bear that are scarce an inch long; While this poor feeble plant has a weight to sustain, Which had much better hang on the tree, it is plain?" But just at the time the philosopher spoke An acorn dropp'd down on his head from the oak; Then, said he, who just now thought _his_ plan was so clever, "I am glad that _this_ was not a pumpkin, however." MORAL. The sage would no doubt have looked grievously dull, Had a pumpkin descended with force on his scull. Of his folly then let us in future beware, And believe that _such_ matters _are best as they are_: Leave the manners and customs of oak trees alone, Of acorns, and pumpkins--and look to our own. [Illustration] THE WOLF AND THE CRANE. A wolf, once forgetting the size of his swallow, Tried to pass a large marrow-bone through it. "Oh dear," said the beast, thinking death was to follow, "How careless and stupid to do it!" His mouth was propp'd open by means of the bone, And his breathing was greatly impeded, But a crane coming up, he contrived to make known What kind of assistance he needed. "How d'ye do?" said the bird; said the beast, "Very ill, For a bone has gone down the wrong way; But if you can extract it by means of your bill, The service I'll amply repay." Thought the crane, "I'm no surgeon: yet all must agree, That my bill will make excellent _forceps_; And as for the money, I do not now see Why I need refuse taking his worship's." Said the bird, "It's agreed;" said his patient, "Proceed, And take the bone hence, I beseech;" Which, after awhile, and with infinite toil, The crane at last managed to reach. "Thank my stars!" said the beast, from his terrors released, "Thank you _too_, sir," said he to the bird; "Alas!" said the crane, "is this all I'm to gain, I was waiting the promised reward." Said the wolf, "You forget, I've contracted no debt, Since the service was _rendered by me_; Your head I releas'd from the jaws of a beast, And now you're demanding a fee!" MORAL. Give your help to a wolf, should he beg for your aid, But you must not expect when you've done to be paid. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE DOG AND THE SHADOW. A dog growing thinner, for want of a dinner, Once purloined him a joint from a tray, "How happy I am, with this shoulder of lamb," Thought the cur as he trotted away. But the way that he took, lay just over a brook, Which he found it was needful to cross; So without more ado, he plunged in to go through, Not dreaming of danger or loss. But what should appear, in this rivulet clear, As he thought upon coolest reflection, But a cur like himself, who with ill-gotten pelf, Had run off in that very direction. Thought the dog, _a propos_! but that instant let go (As he snatched at this same water-spaniel) The piece he possess'd:--so with hunger distress'd He slowly walk'd home to his kennel. MORAL. Hence, when we are needy, don't let us be greedy, (Excuse me this line of digression,) Lest in snatching at all, like the dog, we let fall The good that we have in possession. [Illustration] THE TRAVELLERS AND THE BEAR. Two trav'llers one morning set out from their home, It might be from Sparta, from Athens, or Rome; It matters not which, but agreed, it is said, Should danger arise, to lend each other aid. But scarce was this done, when forth rushing amain, Sprung a bear from a wood tow'rds these travellers twain; Then one of our heroes, with courage immense, Climb'd into a tree, and there found his defence. The other fell flat to the earth with dread, When the bear came and smelt him, and thought he was dead; So not liking the carcase, away trotted he, When straight our brave hero descended the tree. Then, said he, "I can't think what the bear could propose, When so close to your ear, he presented his nose." "Why this," said the other, "he told me to do, To beware for the future of cowards like you." MORAL. Those people who run from their friends in distress, Will be left when _themselves_ are in trouble, I guess. [Illustration] THE FROGS AND THE BULL. A Bull once treading near a bog, Displaced the entrails of a frog, Who near his foot did trust them; In fact, so great was the contusion, And made of his inwards such confusion, No art could re-adjust them. It chanced that some who saw his fate, Did to a friend the deed relate, With croakings, groans, and hisses; "The beast," said they, "in size excell'd All other beasts," their neighbors swell'd, And ask'd, "as large as this is!" "Oh, larger far than that," said they, "Do not attempt it, madam, pray;" But still the frog distended, And said, "I'll burst, but I'll exceed," She tried, and burst herself indeed! And so the matter ended. MORAL. Should you with pride inflate and swell, As did the frog: then who can tell! Your sides may crack, as has been shown, And we with laughing crack our own. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE COUNCIL OF MICE. Some mice who saw fit, once a quarter to meet, To arrange the concerns of their city; Thought it needful to choose, as is common with us, First a chairman, and then a committee. When the chairman was seated, the object he stated For which at that meeting they sat: Which was, it should seem, the concerting a scheme To defeat the designs of the cat. Dr. Nibblecheese rose, and said, "I would propose, To this cat we fasten a bell; He who likes what I've said, now will hold up his head; He who does not, may hold up his tail." So out of respect, they their noses erect, Except one who the order reversed; _Ayes_, all then but one, but yet nought could be done, Until he had his reasons rehearsed. "I shall not," said this mouse, "waste the time of the house, In long arguments; since, as I view it, The scheme would succeed without doubt, if indeed We could find any mouse who would _do it_." "Hear! hear!" was the cry, and "no bells we will try, Unless you will fasten them on;" So quite broken-hearted the members departed, For the bill was rejected _nem. con._ MORAL. Then be not too hasty in giving advice, Lest your schemes should remind of the council of mice; You had better delay your opinion a year, Than put forth a ridiculous one, it is clear. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE WOLF AND THE LAMB. A wolf and lamb once chanced to meet, Beside a stream, whose waters sweet Brought various kinds of beasts together, When dry and sultry was the weather; Now though the wolf came there to _drink_, Of _eating_, he began to think, As soon as near the lamb he came, And straight resolved to kill the same; Yet thought it better to begin, With threat'ning words and angry mien. "And so," said he, to him below, "How dare you stir the water so? Making the cool refreshing flood, As brown as beer, and thick as mud." "Sir," said the lamb, "that cannot be, The water flows _from you to me_; So, 'tis impossible, I think, That what I do can spoil your drink." "I say it does, you saucy puss: How dare you contradict me thus; But more than this, you idle clack, You rail'd at me behind my back Two years ago, I have been told;" "How so? I'm not a twelvemonth old," The lamb replied; "So I suspect Your honor is not quite correct." "If not, your mother it must be, And that comes all the same to me," Rejoined the wolf--who waited not But kill'd and ate him on the spot. MORAL. Some, like the wolf, adopt the plan, To make a quarrel _if they can_; But none with you can hold dispute, If you're _determined_ to be mute; For sure this proverb must be true, That ev'ry _quarrel_ must have _two_. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE BEASTS IN PARTNERSHIP. This _firm_ once existed, I'd have you to know, Messrs. Lion, Wolf, Tiger, Fox, Leopard, and Co.; These in business were join'd, and of course 'twas implied, They their stocks should unite, and the profits divide. Now the fable relates, it so happened one day, That their efforts combined, made a bullock their prey: But agreed that the Lion should make the division, And patiently waited the monarch's decision. "My friends," said the Lion, "I've parted, you see, The whole into six, which is right, you'll agree; One part I may claim, as my share in the trade." "Oh, take it and welcome," they all of them said. "I claim too the second; since no one denies 'Twas my courage and conduct that gained you the prize: And for the third; that you know is a fine To the Lord of the manor, and therefore is mine." "Hey day!" said the fox; "Stop a bit," said the lion, "I have not quite done," said he, fixing his eye on The other three parts; "you are fully aware, That, as _tribute_, one other part comes to my share. "And I think 'twould be prudent, the next to put by Somewhere safe in _my_ den for a future supply, And the other, you know, will but barely suffice, To pay those expenses which always arise." "If this be the case," said the fox, "I discern That the business to _us_ is a losing concern; If so to withdraw, I should think would be best;" "Oh, yes! let us break up the firm," said the rest; And so:--for you may not have heard of it yet,-- It was quickly dissolved, though not in _the gazette_. MORAL. Some folks in their dealings, like him in the fable, Will take others' shares, if they think they are able; But let them not wonder who act in this way, If they find none will join them in business or play. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE LION AND THE MOUSE. A lion, with the heat oppress'd, One day composed himself to rest; But whilst he dozed, as he intended, A mouse his royal back ascended; Nor thought of harm as Esop tells, Mistaking him for something else, And travelled over him, and round him, And might have left him as he found him, Had he not, tremble when you hear, Tried to explore the monarch's ear! Who straightway woke with wrath immense, And shook his head to cast him thence. "You rascal, what are you about," Said he, when he had turned him out. "I'll teach you soon," the lion said, "To make a mouse-hole in my head!" So saying, he prepared his foot, To crush the trembling tiny brute; But he, the mouse, with tearful eye, Implored the lion's clemency, Who thought it best at least to give His little pris'ner a reprieve. 'Twas nearly twelve months after this, The lion chanced his way to miss; When pressing forward: heedless yet, He got entangled in a net. With dreadful rage he stamp'd and tore, And straight commenced a lordly roar; When the poor mouse who heard the noise, Attended, for she knew his voice. Then what the lion's utmost strength Could not effect, she did at length: With patient labor she applied Her teeth, the net-work to divide; And so at last forth issued he, A _lion_, by a mouse set free. MORAL. Few are so small or weak, I guess, But may assist us in distress; Nor shall we ever, if we're wise, The meanest, or the least, despise. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE JEALOUS ASS. "There lived," says friend Esop, "some ages ago, An ass who had feelings acute, you must know; This ass to be jealous, felt strongly inclined, And for reasons which follow, felt hurt in his mind." It seems that his master, as I understand, Had a favorite dog which he fed from his hand. Nay, the dog was permitted to jump on his knee: An honor that vex'd our poor donkey to see. "Now," thought he, "what's the reason, I cannot see any, That I have no favors, while he has so many? If all this is got by just wagging his tail, Why _I_ have got one, which I'll wag without fail." So the donkey resolved to try what he could do And, determined unusual attentions to show, When his master was dining, came into the room. "Good sir!" said his friends, "why your donkey is come!" "Indeed!" said their host, great astonishment showing, When he saw the ass come, while his tail was a-going; But who can describe his dismay or fear, When the donkey rear'd up, and bray'd loud in his ear! "You rascal get down,--John, Edward, or Dick! Where are you? make haste, and come here with a stick." The man roared--the guests laugh'd--the dog bark'd--the bell rung: Coals, poker, and tongs, at the donkey were flung, Till the blows and the kicks, with combined demonstration, Convinced him that this was a bad speculation; So, mortified deeply, his footsteps retrod he, Hurt much in his mind, but still more in his body. MORAL. So some silly children, as stupid as may be, Will cry for indulgences fit for a baby. Had they enter'd the room while the donkey withdrew, They'd have seen their own folly and punishment too: Let them think of this fable, and what came to pass; Nor forget, he who play'd this fine game was _an ass_. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE TOWN AND COUNTRY MICE. A plain, but honest, country mouse, Residing in a miller's house; Once, on a time, invited down An old acquaintance of the town: And soon he brought his dainties out; The best he had there's not a doubt. A dish of oatmeal and green peas, With half a candle, and some cheese; Some beans, and if I'm not mistaken, A charming piece of Yorkshire bacon. And then to show he was expert In such affairs, a fine dessert Was next produced, all which he press'd, With rustic freedom, on his guest. But he, the city epicure, This homely fare could not endure Indeed he scarcely broke his fast By what he took, but said, at last, "Old crony, now, I'll tell you what: I don't admire this lonely spot; This dreadful, dismal, dirty hole, Seems more adapted for a mole Than 'tis for you; Oh! could you see _My_ residence, how charm'd you'd be. Instead of bringing up your brood In wind, and wet, and solitude, Come bring them all at once to town, We'll make a courtier of a clown. I think that, for your children's sake, 'Tis proper my advice to take." "Well," said his host, "I can but try, And so poor quiet hole good bye!" Then off they jogg'd for many a mile, Talking of splendid things the while; At last, in town, they all arrived-- Found where the city mouse had lived-- Entered at midnight through a crack, And rested from their tedious track. "Now," said the city mouse, "I'll show What kind of fare I've brought you to:" On which he led the rustic mice Into a larder, snug and nice, Where ev'ry thing a mouse could relish, Did ev'ry shelf and nook embellish. "Now is not this to be preferr'd To your green peas?" "Upon my word, It is," the country mouse replied, "All this must needs the point decide." Scarce had they spoke these words, when, lo! A tribe of servants hasten'd through, And also two gigantic cats, Who spied our country mouse and brats. Then, by a timely exit, she Just saved herself and family. "Oh, ask me not," said she in haste, "Your tempting dainties more to taste; I much prefer my homely peas, To splendid dangers such as these." MORAL. Then let not those begin to grumble, Whose lot is safe, though poor and humble; Nor envy him who better fares, But for each good, has twenty cares. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE FOX AND THE CROW. Crows feed upon worms: yet an author affirms Cheshire cheese they will get if they're able; "For," said he, "I well know, one unprincipled crow Once purloined a large piece from my table." Then away darted she, to the shade of a tree, To deposit the booty within her; But it never occurr'd to the mind of the bird, That a _fox_ was to have it for dinner. "How many a slip, 'twixt the cup and the lip!" (Excuse me, I pray, the digression,) Said a fox to himself, "I can share in the pelf, If I act with my usual discretion." So said he, "Is it you? pray, ma'am, how do you do, I have long wish'd to pay you a visit; For a twelvemonth has pass'd, since I heard of you last Which is not very neighborly, is it? "But, dear madam," said he, "you are dining, I see; On that subject I'd ask your advice; Pray, ma'am, now can you tell, where provisions they sell, That are not an extravagant price? "Bread and meat are so dear, and have been for a year, That poor people can scarcely endure it, And then _cheese is so high_, that such beggars as I, _Till it falls_, cannot hope to procure it." But the ill-behaved bird did not utter a word, Still intent on retaining her plunder; Thought the fox, "It should seem, this is not a good scheme, What else can I think of, I wonder?" So said Reynard once more, "I ne'er knew it before, But your feathers are whiter than snow is!" But thought he, when he'd said it, "she'll ne'er give it credit, For what bird is so black as a crow is." "But I'm told that your voice is a horrible noise, Which they say of all sounds is the oddest; But then this is absurd, for it never is heard, Since you are so excessively modest." If _that's_ all thought the crow, "I will soon let you know That all doubt on that score may be ended;" Then most laughingly piped, the poor silly biped, When quickly her dinner descended! MORAL. If this _biped_ had not been so vain and conceited, She would not by the fox quite so soon have been cheated; But perhaps the term _biped_ to some may be new: 'Tis a two-legged creature--perchance it is _you_. [Illustration] THE LION AND THE ECHO. A lion, bravest of the wood, Whose title undisputed stood, As o'er the wide domains he prowl'd, And in pursuit of booty growl'd, An Echo from a distant cave Regrowl'd, articulately grave: His majesty, surprised, began To think at first it was a man; But on reflection sage, he found It was too like a lion's sound. "Whose voice is that which growls at mine?" His highness ask'd. Says Echo, "Mine!" "Thine!" says the Lion: "Who art thou?" Echo as stern cried, "Who art thou?" "Know I'm a lion, hear and tremble!" Replied the king. Cried Echo, "Tremble!" "Come forth," says Lion; "show thyself." Laconic Echo answered, "Elf." "Elf, durst thou call me, vile pretender?" Echo as loud replies, "Pretender!" At this, as jealous of his reign, He growl'd in rage; she growl'd again. Incensed the more, he chafed and foam'd, And round the spacious forest roam'd To find the rival of his throne, Who durst with him dispute the crown. A fox, who listen'd all the while, Address'd the monarch with a smile: "My liege, most humbly I make bold, Though truth may not be always told, That this same phantom which you hear, That so alarms your royal ear, Is not a rival of your throne: The voice and fears are all your own." Imaginary terrors scare A timorous soul with real fear; Nay, even the wise and brave are cow'd By apprehensions from the crowd: A frog a lion may disharm, And yet how causeless the alarm! [Illustration] [Illustration] THE PAPER KITE. Once on a time, a paper kite Was mounted to a wondrous height; Where, giddy with its elevation, It thus express'd self-admiration: "See how yon crowds of gazing people Admire my flight above the steeple; How would they wonder, if they knew All that a kite, like me, could do? Were I but free, I'd take a flight, And pierce the clouds beyond their sight. But, ah! like a poor prisoner bound, My string confines me near the ground. I'd brave the eagle's towering wing, Might I but fly without a string." It tugg'd and pull'd, while thus it spoke, To break the string--at last it broke! Deprived at once of all its stay, In vain it tried to soar away: Unable its own weight to bear, It flutter'd downward through the air; Unable its own course to guide, The winds soon plunged it in the tide. Oh! foolish kite, thou hadst no wing, How could'st thou fly without a string? My heart replied, "Oh, Lord, I see How much the kite resembles me! Forgetful that by thee I stand, Impatient of thy ruling hand; How oft I've wish'd to break the lines Thy wisdom for my lot assigns! How oft indulged a vain desire For something more or something higher! And but for grace and love divine, A fall thus dreadful had been mine." [Illustration] [Illustration] THE RATS AND THE CHEESE. If bees a government maintain, Why may not rats of stronger brain And greater power, as well bethought By Machiavelian axioms taught? And so they are, for thus of late It happened in the rats' free state. Their prince (his subjects more to please) Had got a mighty Cheshire cheese, In which his ministers of state Might live in plenty and grow great. A powerful party straight combined, And their united forces join'd, To bring their measures into play, For none so loyal were as they; And none such patriots, to support As well the country as the court. No sooner were those Dons admitted But (all those wondrous virtues quitted) They all the speediest means devise To raise themselves and families. Another party well observing These pamper'd were, while they were starving, Their ministry brought in disgrace, Expelled them and supplied their place; These on just principles were known The true supporters of the throne, And for the subjects liberty They'd (marry would they) freely die; But being well fix'd in their station, Regardless of their prince and nation, Just like the others, all their skill Was how they might their paunches fill. On this a rat, not quite so blind In state intrigues as human kind, But of more honor, thus replied: "Confound ye all on either side; All your contentions are but these, Whose arts shall best secure the cheese." [Illustration] [Illustration] AURELIA AND THE SPIDER. The muslin torn, from tears of grief In vain Aurelia sought relief; In sighs and plaints she pass'd the day; The tatter'd frock neglected lay: While busied at the weaving trade, A spider heard the sighing maid And kindly stopping in a trice, Thus offer'd (gratis) her advice: "Turn, little girl! behold in me A stimulus to industry Compare your woes, my dear, with mine, Then tell me who should most repine: This morning, ere you left your room, The chambermaid's remorseless broom In one sad moment that destroy'd, To build which thousands were employ'd! The shock was great; but as my life I saved in the relentless strife, I knew lamenting was in vain, So patient went to work again. By constant work, a day or more, My little mansion did restore: And if each tear which you have shed Had been a needle-full of thread, If every sigh of sad despair Had been a stitch of proper care, Closed would have been the luckless rent, Nor thus the day have been misspent." [Illustration] [Illustration] THE REDBREAST AND THE SPARROW. Perch'd on a tree, hard by a rural cot, A redbreast singing cheer'd the humble spot; A sparrow on the thatch in critic spleen Thus took occasion to reprove the strain: "Dost thou," cried he, "thou dull dejected thing, Presume to emulate the birds of spring? Can thy weak warbling dare approach the thrush Or blackbird's accents in the hawthorn bush? Or with the lark dost thou poor mimic, vie, Or nightingale's unequal'd melody? These other birds possessing twice thy fire Have been content in silence to admire." "With candor judge," the minstrel bird replied, "Nor deem my efforts arrogance or pride; Think not ambition makes me act this part, I only sing because I love the art: I envy not, indeed, but much revere Those birds whose fame the test of skill will bear; I feel no hope arising to surpass, Nor with their charming songs my own to class; Far other aims incite my humble strain. Then surely I your pardon may obtain, While I attempt the rural vale to move By imitating of the lays I love." [Illustration] THE POET AND THE COBWEBS. A bard, whose pen had brought him more Of fame than of the precious ore, In Grub Street garret oft reposed With eyes contemplative half-closed. Cobwebs around in antique glory, Chief of his household inventory, Suggested to his roving brains Amazing multitude of scenes. "This batch," said he, "of murder-spinners Who toil their brains out for their dinners, Though base, too long unsung has lain By kindred brethren of Duck Lane, Unknowing that its little plan Holds all the cyclopedia of man. "This one, whose radiant thread Is every where from centre spread, Like orbs in planetary skies, Enclosed with rounds of various size, This curious frame I aptly call A cobweb mathematical. "In secret holes, that dirty line, Where never sun presumes to shine, With straws, and filth, and time beset, Where all is fish that comes to net, That musty film, the Muse supposes Figures the web of Virtuosos. "You, where the gaudy insect sings, Are cobwebs of the court of kings, Where gilded threads conceal the gin. And broider'd knaves are caught therein. "That holly, fix'd 'mid mildew'd panes, Of cheerless Christmas the remains (I only dream and sing its cheer, My Muse keeps Lent throughout the year) That holly, labor'd o'er and o'er, Is cobwebs of the lawyer's lore, Where frisky flies, on gambols borne, Find out the snare, when lost, undone. "These dangling webs, with dirt and age, Display their tatter'd equipage, So like the antiquarian crew, That those in every thread I view. "Here death disseminated lies, In shrunk anatomies of flies; And amputated limbs declare What vermin lie in ambush there: A baited lure with drugg'd perdition, A cobweb, not misnamed physician. "Those plaited webs, long pendent there, Of sable bards a subtle snare, Of all-collective disposition, Which holds like gout of inquisition, May well denominated be, The trap-webs of divinity." But whilst our bard described the scene, A bee stole through a broken pane; Fraught with the sweets of every flower, In taking his adventurous tour, Is there entrapp'd. Exert thy sting, Bold bee, and liberate thy wing! The poet kindly dropp'd his pen, And freed the captive from its den; Then musing o'er his empty table, Forgot the moral of his fable. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE EPICURE AND THE PHYSICIAN. Two hundred years ago, or more, An heir possess'd a miser's store; Rejoiced to find his father dead, Till then on thrifty viands fed; Unnumber'd dishes crown'd his board, With each unwholesome trifle stored. He ate--and long'd to eat again, But sigh'd for appetite in vain: His food, though dress'd a thousand ways, Had lost its late accustom'd praise; He relish'd nothing--sickly grew-- Yet long'd to taste of something new. It chanced in this disastrous case, One morn betimes he join'd the chase: Swift o'er the plain the hunters fly, Each echoing out a joyous cry; A forest next before them lay; He, left behind, mistook his way, And long alone bewildered rode, He found a peasant's poor abode; But fasting kept, from six to four, Felt hunger, long unfelt before; The friendly swain this want supplied, And Joan some eggs and bacon fried. Not dainty now, the squire in haste Fell to, and praised their savory taste; Nay, said his meal had such a _gout_ He ne'er in tarts and olios knew. Rejoiced to think he'd found a dish, That crown'd his long unanswer'd wish, With gold his thankful host he paid, Who guides him back from whence he stray'd; But ere they part, so well he dined, His rustic host the squire enjoin'd To send him home next day a stock Of those same eggs and charming hock. He hoped this dish of savory meat Would prove that still 'twas bliss to eat; But, ah! he found, like all the rest, These eggs were tasteless things at best; The bacon not a dog would touch, So rank--he never tasted such! He sent express to fetch the clown, And thus address'd him with a frown: "These eggs, this bacon, that you sent, For Christian food were never meant; As soon I'll think the moon's a cheese, As those you dress'd the same with these. Little I thought"--"Sir," says the peasant, "I'm glad your worship is so pleasant: You joke, I'm sure: for I can swear, The same the fowls that laid them are! And know as well that all the bacon From one the self-same flitch was taken: The air, indeed, about our green Is known to make the stomach keen." "Is that the case?" the squire replied; "That air shall be directly tried." He gave command--a house he hired, And down he goes with hope inspired, And takes his cooks--a favorite train; But still they ply their art in vain. Perhaps 'twas riding did the feat: He rides,--but still he cannot eat. At last a friend, to physic bred, Perceived his case, and thus he said: "Be ruled by me, you soon shall eat, With hearty gust, the plainest meat; A pint of milk each rising morn, Procure from cow of sable horn; Shake in three drops of morning dew From twig of ever-verdant yew; It must by your own hand be done, Your face turn'd westward from the sun. With this, ere half an hour is past, Well crumb'd with biscuit, break your fast; Which done, from food (or all is vain) For twice three hours and one abstain-- Then dine on one substantial dish, If plainly dress'd, of flesh or fish." Grave look'd the doctor as he spake-- The squire concludes th' advice to take, And, cheated into temperance, found The bliss his former luxury drown'd. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE FROGS DESIRING A KING. Athens in freedom flourish'd long, 'Till licence seized the giddy throng. Just laws grown weary to obey, They sunk to tyranny a prey. Pisistratus, though mild he sway'd, Their turbulence had not allay'd. Whilst they were cursing in despair, The yoke they had not learn'd to bear, Esop, their danger to describe, Rehears'd this fable to the tribe: "Some frogs, like you, of freedom tired, From Jupiter a king desir'd: One that should execute the law, And keep the dissolute in awe. Jove laugh'd, and threw them down a log, That thundering fell and shook the bog. Amongst the reeds the tremblers fled: Till one more bold advanc'd his head, And saw the monarch of the flood Lying half smothered in the mud. He calls the croaking race around: "A wooden king!" the banks resound. Fear once remov'd they swim about him, And gibe and jeer and mock and flout him; And messengers to Jove depute, Effectively to grant their suit. A hungry stork he sent them then, Who soon had swallow'd half the fen. Their woes scarce daring to reveal, To Mercury by night they steal, And beg him to entreat of Jove The direful tyrant to remove. 'No,' says the God, 'they chose their lot, And must abide what they have got:' So you, my friends, had best go home In peace, lest something worse should come." [Illustration] [Illustration] THE HARE AND THE BRAMBLE. A hare, closely pursued, thought it prudent and meet To a bramble for refuge awhile to retreat; He enter'd the covert, but entering, found That briers and thorns did on all sides abound; And that, though he was safe, yet he never could stir, But his sides they would wound, or would tear off his fur: He shrugg'd up his shoulders, but would not complain: "To repine at small evils," quoth puss, "is in vain: That no bliss can be perfect, I very well knew-- But from the same source good and evil doth flow-- And full sorely my skin though these briers may rend, Yet they keep off the dogs, and my life will defend: For the sake of the good, then, let evil be borne-- For each sweet has its bitter, each bramble its thorn." [Illustration] [Illustration] THE HORSE AND THE STAG. Within a certain pasture, There lived some creatures wild. The sky was blue, the grass was green, The air was very mild. Now though this field was large and fine, They could not live in love: But for the grass in one large spot A horse and stag once strove. The stag was strongest in the strife, And so the battle won; And from the field the horse was sent And with chagrin was stung. So to the man the horse applied, For help, the stag to beat, And so effectual was his help, The stag had to retreat. But when to go away he tried, The man held to him fast: "Now that you are of use," he cried, "You'll serve me to the last." [Illustration] [Illustration] THE CAT AND THE OLD MOUSE. The mice o'errun a certain house-- In every spot was found a mouse. So for a cat the mistress went, And to the kitchen puss was sent. With diligence were many caught, And eaten up. The mice were taught That they some cunning must devise To keep the prey from pussy's eyes. So on a certain shelf so high, To reach which puss in vain might try, There all the mice together got, And they resolved to leave it not. So pussy found that to eat them, She must resort to stratagem. And holding fast by means of pegs, She hung suspended by the legs. And downward she then hung her head, And looked as though she were quite dead-- And thus she sought to cheat the mice, And from their dwellings them entice. A cunning mouse, well "up to trap," On pussy her two eyes did clap. "Aha!" she cried, "puss are you there? Within your reach, I would not dare-- Not e'en though it were proved by law, That your whole skin were stuffed with straw." [Illustration] THE FOX AND THE VIZOR MASK. A fox while walking out one day, Into a toy shop chanced to stray; Among the toys that stood arrayed, A vizor mask was there displayed, With rosy cheeks, complexion fair, And ruby lips and auburn hair, And eyes of blue, and Grecian nose; And many beauties to disclose, It seemed made. The fox, with sighs, Gazed on. "Ah, ah!" he cries, "Look at this head it naught contains, It has rare beauty, but no brains." MORAL. The accomplished beau, in air and mien how blest. His hat well fashioned, and his hair well dress'd-- But still undress'd within: to give him brains Exceeds his hatter's or his barber's pains. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE GOOSE THAT LAID GOLDEN EGGS. A man once had a goose I'm told, Which had laid each day an egg of gold. Now if this treasure were well spent, It might make any one content. But no! this man desired more; And though of eggs he had rich store; He thought one day the goose he'd kill, And then at once his pockets fill. So chasing goosey round and round, She soon was caught and firmly bound He opened her from neck to tail And then his folly did bewail. For not a single egg was there, And thus he lost this treasure rare. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE FOX AND THE GRAPES. A fox once took it in his pate, To go beyond a garden gate, To see if there grew on the trees, Some food his hunger to appease. So in he went and there he spied Some grapes. To reach them hard he tried. Now they were large and luscious too, Quite purple, and beautiful to view. So up he jumps with many a bound, Until exhausted to the ground, He falls. The grapes hang o'er his head, In clusters large, "Well! well!" he said, "You are but green, and hard as stone, And all my time away is thrown. I'll leave you to your solitude, You are not fit to make me food." [Illustration] [Illustration] THE MOUSE AND THE WEASEL. A very thin and hungry mouse, Into a granary stole, Where stood a basket full of grain, In which was a small hole. After much squeezing he got in, And there he ate his fill; But when he tried to issue out, The hole seemed smaller still. A weasel who stood looking on, Cried out in sneering tone, "You can't come out, my little dear, Until you've smaller grown. "You were half-starved when you crept in, And now you are quite stout; So cease to eat until you can, As you got in, get out." [Illustration] [Illustration] THE MISER AND HIS TREASURE. In a retired spot, A miser had got A very large treasure in store. And it was his delight, Each morn and each night, To count it and add to it more. He had made the hole deep, And he thought none would peep, To find out his secret retreat. But a servant so sly, His master did spy, And thought that his cunning he'd beat. So one dark winter night, He took out his light, And to the field hastened away; And he laughed in his sleeve, To think how 'twould grieve His master to miss it next day. And indeed the distress Of his lord you may guess, For words can't describe it, I'm sure. He tore out his hair, Clasp'd his hands in despair And cried he was ruined and poor. A man passing by, His grief chanced to spy; And told him, "'tis useless to mourn. You can look at the hole, To solace your soul, Although all the money is gone." [Illustration] THE JACKDAW AND THE PEACOCKS. Thus Esop has the folly shown, To build on merits not your own. A jackdaw, empty, pert and vain, Who held his equals in disdain, One day some beauteous feathers found, Left by a peacock on the ground. When in the gaudy plumage dress'd, The shallow thing his fortune bless'd; With stately gesture strode along, And boldly join'd the peacock throng; Who, his impertinence to pay, First stripp'd him, and then chas'd away. The crest-fall'n coxcomb homeward sneaks, And his forsaken comrades seeks; Where'er he comes, with scorn they leave him, And not a jackdaw will receive him. Says one he had disdain'd, at last, "Such as thou art, thou mightst have pass'd, And hadst not now been cast behind, The scorn and scandal of thy kind." [Illustration] [Illustration] THE SPARROW AND THE HARE. Who dares another's ills deride, Had best against his own provide. An eagle pouncing on a hare, With piercing cries puss rends the air; When a pert sparrow from a tree, Insulted thus her misery: "Ho, ho! poor puss, thy boasted speed Has failed thee, then, in time of need!" Scarce had she spoke, when, like an arrow, A vulture darted on the sparrow. Ere the poor hare resign'd her breath, "This sight," she cried, "consoles in death --That thou, who hast my woes derided, My last of miseries hast divided!" [Illustration] THE ASS AND THE LION. Vain boasters credit may surprise, Till known; who knows them will despise. A lion once a hunting took An ass, and hid him in a nook. To drive the forest made him bray, That he might seize the passing prey. Long-ears set up such horrid cries, That every creature trembling flies; The lion, practised in his trade, Had soon abundant carnage made; Satiate with spoil, the ass he calls, And bid him cease his hideous brawls. The king he found with slaughter weary, Surrounded by his noble quarry, And, puffed with self-importance, said: "Sir, to some purpose I have bray'd!" "No ass more famously could do," The lion says, "but thee I knew, Or I might have been frightened too." [Illustration] [Illustration] THE STAG AND THE FOUNTAIN. That good from bad men rarely know, This apologue may serve to show: A stag upon a fountain's side, Beheld his branching horns with pride; While of his spindle-shanks asham'd, Their disproportioned form he blam'd. Sudden he hears the hunter's cries, And to the forest nimbly flies. The woods receive their well-known guest. His tangled horns, his feet arrest; The hounds approach, and seize their prey; Who, dying, thus was heard to say: "Wretch that I am! too late I learn, How little we the truth discern! What would have saved me, I despis'd, And what has been my ruin, priz'd!" [Illustration] [Illustration] THE EAGLE, THE CAT, AND THE SOW. Her nest on high an eagle made Lower a cat her kittens laid; And at the bottom of the tree A sow dispos'd her progeny. Vile puss to gain her wicked ends, Much love for both of them pretends. First to the eagle's aerie mounts, And thus to her false alarms recounts: "Madam, in truth our dangerous state, 'Tis with reluctance I relate; But things are really gone so far, Conceal them I no longer dare. Night after night the treacherous sow Our tree has undermined below; Ere long it cannot choose but fall, And then she hopes to eat us all." Successful when she saw her lies, Down to the bristly sow she hies; "My worthy neighbor!" crying out, "I pray you, mind what you're about, For to a certainty I know, The eagle waits but till you go, (The thing with great concern I say,) To make your little ones her prey." Suspicious dread when thus inspir'd, Puss to her hole all day retir'd; Stealing at night on silent paw, To stuff her own and kittens' maw. To stir nor sow nor eagle dare. What more? fell hunger ends their care; And long the mischief-making beast With her base brood on carrion feast. Learn hence, ye simples, ere too late, What ills the double-tongued create. [Illustration] THE EAGLE, THE RAVEN AND THE TORTOISE. Who in their foe united find Force, art, and a remorseless mind, Whate'er their strength and prowess be, To perish stand in jeopardy. An eagle once a tortoise held, Safe in his horny house concealed, Which he in vain essayed to break With all the fury of his beak. As with his prey he wing'd the air, A wily raven ventur'd near: "Your prize is excellent," says she, "And if you'll give a share to me, I know, for all his iron hide, How we the dainty may divide." The bargain made, "On yonder wall, Down," says the raven, "let him fall." He listen'd to the hoary sinner; And they on turtle made their dinner. Thus fraud and force their purpose gain, And nature fortifies in vain. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE FLY AND THE HORSE. A fly upon a coach-box seated, With arrogance the horses rated. "Advance!" cries out the paltry thing, "Unless you mean to feel my sting." "Not thee we heed," a horse replied, "But him whose skilful hand can guide The rein and whip. We better know Than thee when we should stop or go." Thus men without or sense or weight, Think themselves born to rule the state. [Illustration] ESOP AT PLAY. When an Athenian Esop saw, Playing with school-boys once at taw, The man with laughter shook his sides; Esop the laughter thus derides: "Of this slack bow before you laid, The meaning, sprightly sir," he said, "Explain!" (A crowd had gather'd round.) Surpris'd, the man no answer found: He puzzled long, but all his wit Could on no explanation hit. The laugh on Esop's side; says he, "Why you this bow unbended see, It is because it needs must break, If always bent; so we must take Due relaxation, that the mind Its vigor may when wanted find." He who in harmless sport employs A vacant hour, is not unwise. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE OLD PILOT AND THE SAILORS. To one complaining of his fate, Esop this fable did relate. A ship by raging tempests toss'd, The seamen, giving all for lost, 'Twas who should weep and pray the most. Grown calm at once the sky and sea, They shout in joyful extacy. The pilot, from experience wise, The giddy crew did thus advise: "Nor much rejoice, nor over grieve, But decently what comes receive; Since good and ill succeed so near, Meet ill with hope and good with fear." [Illustration] THE CRAB AND HER DAUGHTER. Not what they hear, but what they see, Will children and domestics be. A crab one day her daughter chid; "You never do as you are bid, Have I not told you o'er and o'er, That awkward gait to use no more? Learn, ninny, once for all to know, Folks forward and not backward go." "Mamma," says Miss, "how strange you talk! Have I not learn'd from you to walk? Were I to move the other way, How could I follow you I pray?" [Illustration] [Illustration] THE SUN AND THE WIND. Phebus and Boreas from on high Upon the road a traveller spy, Wearing a cloak for fear of rain. Says Boreas, "his precaution's vain 'Gainst me, I'll show you for a joke How soon I'll make him quit his cloak." "Come on," says Phebus, "let us see Who best succeeds, or you or me." The wind to blow so fierce began, He almost had upset his man; But still his cloak, for all his roar, Was wrapp'd more closely than before. When Boreas what he could had done, "Now for my trial," says the Sun, And with his beams so warm'd the air, The man his mantle could not bear, But open'd first, then threw aside. Learn hence, unbending sons of pride Persuasive manners will prevail, When menaces and bluster fail. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE TWO POTS. Forc'd on a stream to make their way, To pot of brass says pot of clay: "Since brass is stout and clay is frail, Pray let us at a distance sail. Not your intention that I fear Sir Brass," adds humble Earthenware, "While the winds leave you to yourself; But woe betide my ribs of delf, If it should dash our sides together; For mine would be the damage, whether Their force should you or I impel; To pray proceed, and fare you well." Learn hence, ye folks of low estate, To keep due distance from the great. [Illustration] [Illustration] HERCULES AND THE CARTER. His cart bemired, a carter pray'd To Hercules to come and aid. "Up!" says the God, "thou lazy dog. And lift the axle from the bog; Think'st thou Gods nothing have to do But listen to such knaves as you?" [Illustration] THE ANT AND THE GRASSHOPPER. From a wise emmet, well sustain'd On what her industry had gain'd, A grasshopper some aid desir'd. "What was his trade?" the ant inquir'd. "I've none," the grasshopper replied; "I range the country far and wide, Singing all day from door to door, And have no time to form a store." Shutting her granaries, says the ant, "No wonder, friend, you are in want; He who all summer sings, may chance In winter to be forc'd to dance." To spend his time in idle song, The thoughtless grasshopper was wrong; And not to give a small supply, The emmet mean and niggardly. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE CROW AND THE PITCHER. Patience and ingenuity The want of natural means supply. A thirsty crow some water found, But in a vessel so profound, That with her neck at utmost stretch, A single drop she could not reach. Then stones she in the pitcher places, Which to the top the water raises; And by this innocent device Her thirst at leisure satisfies. [Illustration] THE ANGLER AND THE LITTLE FISH. An angler a small salmon caught, Who with much earnestness besought That he would let her go: says she, "What can you do with such as me! Next year when grown a little bigger, I in your bag might make a figure." The prudent man replied, "No, no; Into my pouch, though small, you go. A bird in hand is better far, Than two that in the bushes are." [Illustration] THE FROG AND THE FOX. Let us our own defects amend, Ere to guide others we pretend. A sallow, wrinkl'd, spotted frog, To turn physician left the bog. "He every malady could cure," He said, "that animals endure." "First on yourself your science show," Says Reynard: "that the world may know Your skill and knowledge, pray begin Of those foul spots to clear your skin: For while you look so sick and pale, To vend your drugs you'll ne'er prevail." [Illustration] THE APE AND HER YOUNG ONES. An ape had cubs; one much she lov'd, The other small affection prov'd. Alarm'd, she hears the hunter's cries; And catching up her darling flies: Through fear she stumbled o'er some stones And broke the little favorite's bones; The other to her back who clung Uninjured went with her along. Mothers, beware! the fondl'd child By too much tenderness is spoil'd; While those who hardships have endur'd, To suffer life are best inur'd. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE FIR TREE AND THE THORN. The lowly and contented state Is farthest from the wounds of fate. A fir tree upon a humble thorn From his high top look'd down with scorn. "For loftiest fanes we grow," she said, "Of us the tallest masts are made, While thou, poor bramble, canst produce Nothing of ornament or use." "Great tree," the modest thorn replied, "When the sharp axe shall pierce your side, In vain you then may wish to be Unsought-for, and unknown like me." [Illustration] [Illustration] THE ASS IN THE LION'S SKIN. Fools may on other fools impose; The sage their real value knows. An ass once found a lion's skin, And rolling up himself therein, From every fold that he came nigh, Made flocks, and herds, and shepherds fly. Ranging the country round, at last He meets his master where he pass'd, Who long-ears instantly descries Through his magnificent disguise: Laying his cudgel on his side, "Get home, thou stupid fool," he cried: "With others for a lion pass; I know thee for an arrant ass." [Illustration] [Illustration] THE DOG IN THE MANGER. A mastiff in a stable lay, Couch'd on a manger full of hay. When any thing drew near to eat, He quickly forced it to retreat. An ox then cried, "detested creature, How vile is thy malignant nature, Which will not others let enjoy That which thou never canst employ!" [Illustration] THE STAG AND THE VINE. A stag pursued with horn and hound In a thick vineyard shelter found. Soon as he thought the danger past, He on the vine began to feast. The huntsman hears the rustling noise, And through half-eaten leaves descries His branching horns, the pack recalls, And merited the creature falls To his ingratitude a prey. Those their protectors who betray, Unpitying, all the world will see Consign'd to death and infamy. [Illustration] THE MISCHIEVOUS DOG. Titles and ribands, bought with shame, Folly and vice but more proclaim. A man who own'd a vicious dog, Upon his collar fix'd a log, Which the vain cur supposed to be A note of worth and dignity. A mastiff saw his foolish pride; "Puppy," indignantly he cried, "That thing is put about your neck Your mischievous designs to check; And to who see you to declare, Of what a currish race you are." [Illustration] THE SICK MAN AND THE PHYSICIAN. Woe to the land where those who guide, To please the people's foolish pride, Persuade them there is nought to dread, When ruin threatens o'er their head. A patient, ask'd to tell his pains, Of thirst and shivering cold complains. "'Tis very good," the doctor said; "He has but to remain in bed, And take the med'cines I shall send, The thing will soon be at an end." When next the question was repeated, The man complain'd he much was heated; "This," cried the leech, "is better still!" And thus to each increasing ill, "That it was going well," he cried, Till the poor martyr sunk and died. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE FARMER AND HIS SONS. Work, work, my boys, with hand and mind! Your labors you will fruitful find. A husbandman, about to die, Call'd on his children to come nigh: "I leave," he says, "a small estate, But wherewithal to make it great: For know, a treasure it contains, If you to search will take the pains." He died. The sons dug all the ground, And there no hidden treasure found; But so productive was the soil, The crop by far o'erpaid the toil. Says one, when they the corn had sold, "This treasure 'twas our sire foretold!" [Illustration:] [Illustration] THE SWALLOW AND THE BIRDS. Those who of guides stand most in need, Are least inclin'd advice to heed. A travell'd swallow, learn'd and wise, To all his feather'd neighbors cries: "See you yon laborers there below; What is it, think ye, that they sow? 'Tis hemp, my friends; of which are made The nets that for us all are laid; The moment yonder men are gone, Then pick the seeds up one by one." The gay inhabitants of air For his precaution little care. The seedling sprung; again the swallow Urges his good advice to follow; Again his counsel they deride. The plants full grown, and cut, and dried, Beaten and spun, the nets were made, And the unwary birds betray'd, Regretting, in their hapless fate, Their incredulity too late. Learn hence the danger to foresee, Nor wait for their maturity. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE BOASTING TRAVELLER. A fellow who abroad had been, Told marvels he had done and seen: "When resident at Rhodes," he said, "A leap of twenty yards he made Over a barrier ten feet high; A dozen witnesses were by." "Come on," says one, at the same table, "Yon ditch and fence to o'erleap you're able. They're not, by much, so high or wide; Here let the experiment be tried. Suppose yourself at Rhodes, and we Your faithful witnesses will be." The man replied, "that he to-day Was not quite well," and stole away. Who boast of what they cannot do Both knavery and folly show. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE OLD WOMAN AND HER MAIDS. Better known evils to endure, Than seek by wrong a doubtful cure. A thrifty dame her maids awoke At the first crowing of the cock. They of such early rising tir'd, To kill the harmless cock conspir'd. The dame, to hear him crow in wait, Next morning lay in bed till eight. But when she knew the trick they had play'd, She caused a larum to be made, And rung it daily in their ears Two hours before the dawn appears. [Illustration] [Illustration] INDUSTRY AND SLOTH. Insidious sloth her object gains, If but a hearing she obtains. A youth ask'd why so long in bed? "I listen to a cause," he said; "As soon as I unclose my eyes. First industry excites to rise." "Up, up," she says, "to meet the sun, Your task of yesterday's undone!" "Lie still," cries sloth, "it is not warm, An hour's more sleep can do no harm; You will have time your work to do, And leisure for amusement too." [Illustration] [Illustration] THE SHEPHERD TURNED MERCHANT. Fair weather sailors, keep at home, For be assur'd the storm will come. A shepherd of an inland breed Brought to the coast his flocks to feed; The beauty of a summer sea, A merchant tempted him to be. He sold his sheep, and with the sale Purchas'd of dates an ample bale. He sail'd; a furious tempest rose; Into the sea his dates he throws; And swimming from the bark to land, Arrives half dead upon the strand. To one, soon afterwards who stood Pleas'd with the calmness of the flood, "Aye, aye," the simple shepherd said "With dates again it would be fed." [Illustration] [Illustration] THE SPENDTHRIFT AND THE SWALLOW. A fool who all had thrown away, When wandering pennyless one day, Perceived a swallow. "Ho," says he, "Summer is come at last I see!" And to a Jew his mantle sold. Next day it was severely cold: Starv'd as he walk'd, the bird he found Frozen to death upon the ground. "Ah! what a fool was I," he cried, "When on one swallow I relied!" Those who too readily believe, For their credulity may grieve. [Illustration] THE EAGLE AND THE CROW. The wise well know their force to weigh, Nor what they cannot do, essay. A carrion crow an eagle saw Seize on a lamb with beak and claw. Conceiving he could better do, He pounces on a well fed ewe; But he and not the sheep was caught; For when to fly with it he sought, His feet entangled in the wool, The shepherd seiz'd the helpless fool. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE WOLF AND THE SHEPHERD'S BOY. In wantonness a shepherd's boy Alarm'd the neighbor's with his cry; "The wolf! the wolf!" And when they came, Of their lost labor made his game. At last the wolf when there indeed, His real cries they did not heed; He and his flock a prey were made, And for his lies he dearly paid. Those who are known to have deceiv'd, When they speak truth, are not believ'd. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE FOX WITHOUT A TAIL. Fashions and modes we often see, Made to conceal deformity: Those to whom nature has been kind, Should leave such fopperies behind. A fox who in a trap was taken, Resign'd his brush to save his bacon. Ashamed that all the world should know His cunning had been cheated so, To an assembly of the nation He made the following oration: "I oft have thought the tails we wear A troublesome appendage are; Where's their utility, I pray? They serve but to obstruct our way. Nor ornamental do I find, To drag this ponderous length behind. For my part, without more debate, I move our tails we amputate." "Please, sir, to show yourself behind," (Says one to smoke the jest inclin'd, And who discovered what it was) "We there perhaps shall see the cause, Ere we your prudent counsel take, Why you this curious motion make?" His bare posteriors when they found, Loud laughter shook the benches round; Nor could the fox without a tail To introduce the mode prevail. [Illustration] THE MEN AND THE OYSTER. Any partition better make, Than _all_ the hungry law should take. By the sea side two travellers found A fine large oyster on the ground; His claim each obstinately lays: "I saw it first," one eager says; "I pick'd it up," the other cries; "Mine"--"Mine is certainly the prize." They talk'd as usual, loud and long; And more they reason'd, more were wrong; Till they a neighboring lawyer see Passing, and mutually agree To take him for their referee. With legal dignity of face, He heard them both relate the case; "Your claims are good," then gravely said, "And a brave lawsuit would have made Which to prefer I cannot tell, So each of you must take a shell; And, as the oyster is but one, That I myself will swallow down; To stink it otherwise had lain, And all your cash been spent in vain; You're cheaply off; go home content; And faith the fish was excellent." [Illustration] THE SHEPHERD AND HIS DOG. A dog his master so deceiv'd, He was the best of curs believ'd. The flock was trusted to his care, Whene'er the shepherd was not there. And in the house, a favored guest, He always fed upon the best. The treacherous guard his charge betray'd And on the sheep in secret prey'd. The master, when the crime was prov'd, With double indignation mov'd, About his neck the halter tied Himself: the dog for mercy cried; "You let the wolf escape," he said, "Who much more slaughter oft has made." "Wretch!" says the man, "the wolf declares Hostility, and boldly dares; He has no confidence abused: But, coward, thou my trust hast used: Against myself! and on this tree Without delay shalt hanged be." [Illustration] [Illustration] THE COUNTRYMAN AND THE JUSTICE. The law still lends the readiest aid, When well her ministers are paid. A countryman, by power oppress'd, Seeking to have his wrongs redress'd, Oft to the justice went in vain; Admittance he could ne'er obtain, But still was bid again to come; "Unwell"--"engag'd"--or "not home!" The wily rustic took a kid One day, and in a basket hid; And when he to the house drew near, Began to pinch him by the ear, So that the porter, from the hall, Might hear the little fatling squall; The man his master's mind who knew, Open'd the door and let him through. The shepherd, laughing as he pass'd, Says to his kid, "Thy cries at last An audience for my wrongs obtain; Thy flesh, perhaps, redress will gain." [Illustration] THE COCK AND THE FOX. The world applauds the lucky hit, When it beholds the biter bit. A treach'rous fox invited down A cock, who on a tree had flown. "Do you not know, my friend," says he, "Bird, beast, fish, reptile, man agree, To live henceforth in amity? Come down and celebrate the day." "Troth," quoth the cock, "you truly say; For hounds I see come o'er the dell, With open mouths, the news to tell." "Adieu," says Ren. "'Tis best to go; Those dogs the treaty may not know." [Illustration] [Illustration] THE BLIND MAN AND THE LAME. Who kind assistance give and take, Life's arduous journey best will make. Two men, one blind, the other lame, To pass a ford together came. The stream was rapid, and the way Obliquely thwart the current lay; To his companion says the blind, "Yon winding road I ne'er shall find." "Nor my poor limbs," the lame replied, "The current's rapid force abide." "Come," says the blind, "my loins are strong, I'll bear you on my back along, While you to guide me give the word;" And thus they safely cross'd the ford. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE MAN AND THE SERPENT. There's in the world a cursed race, Of nature so perverse and base, If from the gallows you should save, A dangerous enemy you have. A countryman a serpent found, Stiffen'd with frost upon the ground, And took her home; but when the fire Began new vigor to inspire, Swelling her neck with angry eyes, She fills the cot with hissing cries. The rustic then his axe did take, "Is this then the return you make? Is this your gratitude?" he said, And knock'd the reptile on the head. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE TWO STREAMS. Those who display much dash and din, Have seldom any thing within. A weary traveller, one day, Cross'd o'er a river in his way; Alarm'd to see the foaming tide Dashing o'er rocks from side to side, Nevertheless, his course to keep, He ventur'd in with trembling step; And found the water neither deep, Nor footing bad; and got well o'er. When he had travell'd some leagues more, He to another river came, That smoothly flowed, a silent stream: This he thought easily to pass; But ere he in the middle was, He plunged into a gulf profound, And for his feet no bottom found; But, forced to swim with all his might, Got to the shore in piteous plight. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE SOT AND HIS WIFE. Inveterate sin is seldom cur'd. A wife had long a sot endur'd, Who all his time in taverns spent, While his affairs in ruin went. Once as insensible he lay, She dress'd him in a corpse's array, And with the undertaker's aid, Into a burying vault convey'd. The fumes dispersed, the man awakes; All for reality he takes. When by the glimmering of a lamp He saw his mansion drear and damp, Reflecting how his life had pass'd, A forced repentance came at last. The wife, with suited voice and dress, Presented an infernal mess: "Good Trap, pray take away your meat; I have no appetite to eat," He cried, "but faith I'm devilish dry: Can't you a bowl of wine supply?" The woman, seeing all was vain, Restor'd him to his casks again: Consol'd with certainty, that he Ere long a real corpse must be. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE FARMER AND HIS QUARRELSOME SONS. Three sons an honest farmer had; And it so happen'd, ne'er a lad Could with the other two agree; All quarrelling perpetually. Their time in idle contest spent, Garden and farm to ruin went; And the good farmer and his wife Led but a miserable life. One day as this unhappy sire Sat musing by his evening fire, He saw some twigs in bundles stand, Tied for the basket-maker's hand. Taking up one: "My boys," says he, "Which is the strongest, let me see; He who this bundle breaks in twain, The preference, and this prize shall gain," (Showing a pair of Sunday shoes.) The rivals every effort use In vain. Their utmost force when tried, The father took the twigs untied, And giving to them one by one, The work immediately was done. "Yon twigs," he says, "that broken lie, This useful lesson may supply: That those in amity who live, And succor to each other give, Double their forces to resist Oppression, and their work assist." [Illustration] THE FIG TREE AND THE FLOWERING SHRUB. Flowers which many leaves display, In fruitless beauty fade away. Cries one of these, with saucy sneer, To a plain fig-tree growing near, "How comes it, honest friend, that thou Dost in the spring no blossoms show?" Says he, "I keep them out of view, For fear I should resemble you, And in the autumn nought produce Of permanence and solid use." Who soon and much essay to shine, May dread a premature decline. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE FARMER AND THE LANDLORD. A farmer of an honest fame, One morning to his landlord came: "Alas, my lord," he weeping said, "Gored by my bull, your ox is dead. What must be done?" "The case is plain," Replies the lord; "the creature slain, The owner of the bull must pay; Let it be done without delay." "Heav'n give your worship long to live! I hope you will a good one give, For mine was good!" "How! your's, my friend? Let me your story comprehend: Your bull, you say, my ox has gored?" "Forgive me the mistake, my lord, In my confusion I have made; Mine was the ox that must be paid; But 'tis all one--what's just for me The same must for your worship be: I'll tell the steward what you say." "Not yet--we'll think of it to-day. Further inquiry must be had; Perhaps your fences were but bad; Perhaps--but come again to-morrow." The honest laborer saw with sorrow, That justice wears a different face, When for themselves men put the case. [Illustration] THE SCHOOL-BOY AND THE MONITOR. At play on Thames's verdant side A school boy fell into the tide, Where providentially there stood A willow, bending o'er the flood. Buoy'd on its branch, he floating lay, The monitor pass'd by that way. The lad entreats his life to save: The Don replies with aspect grave, "Sirrah, what business had you there? How vain is all our watchful care! You never heed a word we say; Your disobedience you shall pay!" "First," says the boy, "pray stretch your hand: I'll hear you when I come to land." This is for those, with vain parade Who give advice, instead of aid. [Illustration] THE MILLER AND HIS ASS. A rustic bringing to the fair An ass, that he might show him there, Sleek and well looking let him trot; He followed with his son on foot. The first they met upon the road, At our pedestrians laugh'd loud, "Look at those two legged asses," cried, "Who trudge on foot when they might ride!" The father with the hint complies: Makes the boy mount. Now other cries Assail their ears; by graybeards blam'd; "Sirrah, you ought to be asham'd To ride and let your father walk!" Again he listened to their talk. The sire got up, the youth got down; When passing through a country town, At every door the mothers said, "A murrain light on thy old head! Hast thou no bowels for thy kind? At least take up the lad behind." This done they next were thus address'd: "Two lubbers on a little beast? They fitter are to carry him!" Complying with this senseless whim, Upon a pole his feet in air, The ass they on their shoulders bear. Now laughing shouts spread far and wide. The ass's ligatures untied, "Proceed, my son," then said the man: "To please the world, do all we can, Since 'tis impossible, you see, To please ourselves content we'll be." [Illustration] [Illustration] THE DREAMER AND HIS SON. Mortals bring down upon their head The very miseries most they dread. The only son of a rich knight In hunting daily took delight. The father living in alarm, Lest he should come to any harm, Dream'd that he saw him on the ground, Rent with the lion's fatal wound. The youth, allow'd to hunt no more, Impatiently confinement bore. Remarking, one unlucky day, In the fine chamber where he lay, A lion painted on the wall, "Thou art," he cried, "the cause of all." With idle rage the wall he struck, And in his hand an iron stuck, Which piercing bones and sinews through, Fester'd and then a gangrene grew. And thus the father's ill-tim'd care Deprived him of his son and heir. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE OLD MAN AND DEATH. Though life be welcome to the wise, Death cannot take him by surprise; Aware that every day and hour He holds but at the tyrant's power, That beauty, talents, worth, are vain. A moment's respite to obtain. Nothing more known, and yet how rare It is with courage to prepare For this inevitable day! All hope a little more delay. One who had suffer'd many a year, And to a century drew near, At last complain'd, that unawares Death came, unsettled his affairs: "My will is not completely made; A little time," he trembling said, "A little longer let me live; Some warning 'tis but fair to give! My grandson is expected home; At least pray, let the doctor come." "Poor helpless driveller!" Death replied, "Ten years ago thou should'st have died! Thy friends, thy foes, thyself outliv'd: Almost an age thou hast surviv'd: Some who their day had scarce begun. Others beneath their noon-tide sun-- Time's deepest lines engrave thy brow, And dost thou hesitate to go? Idiot, what warning would'st thou have? One foot already in the grave: Sight, hearing, feeling, day by day, Sunk gradual in a long decay. I blame myself for my neglect; Thou'st not a moment to expect!" When failing nature warns, the sage Sees death a refuge from old age; And rising from life's lengthened feast, Willing retires, a sated guest. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE PAINTER. When candid critics deign to blame Their index points the road to fame, But when dull fools your works admire, Throw them at once into the fire. In Rome there dwelt, in days of yore, A painter deep in graphic lore. His touch was firm, his outline true, And every rule full well he knew. A Mars he painted, meant to show How far his learned skill could go. The work complete, he call'd a friend, On whose good taste he could depend. The friend was honest, spoke his thought, And fairly pointed out the fault, "That overwork'd in every part, It show'd too much laborious art." The painter argued for his rules, And cited maxims from the schools; Still the judicious critic held The labor should be more conceal'd. While they disputed on his stricture, A coxcomb came to see the picture: Entering, he cries, "Good heavens, how fine! The piece, I swear, is quite divine! The sword, the knot, the belt, the leather, The steel, the gold, the silk, the feather, Are perfect nature, all together!" The painter, reddening with despite, Whispers, "My friend, by Jove, you're right. 'Tis not enough our art to know, Till less of it we learn to show; My picture must be done again I see, to please discerning men." [Illustration] [Illustration] THE COBBLER AND THE NABOB. A cobbler, who had fix'd his stall Against a nabob's palace wall, Work'd merrily as others play, And sung and whistled all the day. A prey to many an anxious care, Less merry was the lord, by far; And often in the night he thought It hard, sleep was not to be bought: And if tow'rds morn he got a doze, The cobbler troubled his repose. One day he bid the man attend-- And, "Well," says he, "my honest friend, How is it that so well you thrive? You seem the happiest man alive. Pray, what may be the profit clear, That you can earn within the year?" "What in a twelvemonth I can earn, My lord, was never my concern; 'Tis quite enough," the cobbler said, "If I can gain my daily bread." "Take then this note"--'twas twenty pound; "But sing not with so shrill a sound, Good man," the generous nabob cries, "When early to your work you rise; For then I want to close my eyes." Delighted to his stall he went: But now he first felt discontent; All day he neither work'd nor ate, For thinking of his happy fate. At night, when he retir'd to bed, He plac'd the note beneath his head. But could not sleep a single wink, What he should do with it, to think; And every little noise he heard, That folks were come to rob him, fear'd. Living in constant dread to all, Who did but look towards his stall, So lean and sallow he was grown, The man was hardly to be known. At last he begg'd the lord to see: "Take back your present, sir," said he, "Riches, I find, are not for me. To-morrow I my song renew; Not less my gratitude to you: And care henceforward I will take, My chaunts your slumber do not break." [Illustration] [Illustration] THE HORSE AND HIS RIDER. A man a palfrey long possess'd, A quiet, serviceable beast; Spavin'd, indeed, and somewhat blind, But still his way he well could find; And if he stumbled now and then, Was soon upon his feet again. In short, for many a year, the pack Had borne him safely on his back. Till riding out one fatal day, He overheard some coxcombs say, "For such a man, 'tis quite a shame, To mount a horse old, blind, and lame." "Aye," replied one, "I know a steed Would nobly carry him indeed; Young, vigorous, beautiful, and sound; His like is nowhere to be found." In evil hour an ear he lent, To view this boasted courser went: Unwary on his back he got, And tried to put him on a trot; He rear'd and plung'd, and leap'd about, Till from his seat he shook him out, Then kicking, pitch'd him o'er his head, And laid him on the pavement dead. The vicious creature left at large, On all his fury would discharge; This from behind his heels surprise, Trod under foot, that sprawling lies: Another, who would seize the reins, Is bit and mangled for his pains. But want of nourishment and rest Will tame at last the fiercest beast; And rage itself suspends its course, Exhausted by its proper force. Light'ning no more his eyes inspire, No more his nostrils snorted fire; At bay he stood, fatigu'd and lank, With flagging ears, and beating flank. An active jockey, stout and able, Contracts to bring him to the stable; Soothes, and his neck begins to pat, And the corn rattles in his hat; By hunger drawn, repell'd by fear, The courser neighs, retires, comes near; Lur'd with the smell, begins to eat. The jockey vaulted in the seat: With vigorous hand the bridle plied, And stuck the rowels in his side. Some bounds and curvets still he made, But soon submissively obey'd. The horseman who such skill had shown, Resolv'd to keep him for his own: Aware that constant work alone Can keep this wicked spirit down He night and day is on his back, To lead him to some new attack, No road is safe, nor far nor near, This highwayman is every where. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE GOOD MINISTER. An honest minister disgrac'd, (Such are not easily replac'd,) Found the sweet leisure in his fields, To virtuous minds retirement yields. The king, who had his foes believ'd, The loss of him ere long perceiv'd. To bring him back again intent, To his retreat alone he went: "My friend, you must return with me," He said, "your value now I see." "Forgive me," the Recluse replied; "Here I determine to abide. By sad experience well I know, Were I to court again to go, And all my best endeavors do, To serve my country, sir, and you, Art and intrigue so much prevail, Again I certainly should fail; Against your will and approbation, And the good wishes of the nation, You'd find yourself compell'd to yield, And I once more must quit the field." The honest man, who will not bend To circumstance, or condescend To pay his court to knave or fool, Will never long a nation rule. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE SWAN AND THE COOK. A man once had a swan and goose Among his birds and beasts. The one was destined for a pet, The other for a feast. Sometimes you saw them sailing Gracefully on the current, side by side, Sometimes they played a game of tag, Or plunged into the tide. One day the master ordered The cook to kill the goose, And roast it for his dinner; It was fat and fit for use. But the cook had taken a drop too much, And it had gone to his head; So when he went out for the goose He took the swan instead. He seized the swan fast by the throat, And would have kill'd it soon: But the bird saw he was to die, And he his throat did tune, And warbled out his farewell lay. The cook straight dropped his knife In great surprise, "what! what!" cried he, "Shall I take the life Of a musical bird like this? No, no! it must not be. So to the garden he shall go back And ne'er be kill'd by me." [Illustration] THE LYNX AND THE MOLE. A lynx once met by chance a mole, Just emerging from his hole. The lynx with penetrating eye The beauties of the place did spy, And asked the mole to take a share In the fine prospect, rich and rare. "I've seldom found so good a place. From this small hill you see a space Extended far beneath your view, I like it much; pray do not you? See now the sun begins to rise, And with crimson tints the skies. It spreads all round its genial heat, And nature now enjoys a treat." "Well, well!" the mole aloud did cry "You may see this and more, but I Can only now before me see, A very heavy mist." "Truly, Now," said the lynx, "I clearly see The difference 'twixt you and me. My eyes see with perception bright While your's are always dark as night. Go to your hold beneath the ground, While I will range the forest round." [Illustration] [Illustration] THE OLD CAT AND THE YOUNG MOUSE. A young mouse of little experience, Thought to soften an old cat, And besought her clemency, By asking for his life at her expense. Said he, "A mouse, or e'en a rat, Is not a great charge on the house; And I shall not starve out the host. Besides I seldom quit my post, And when I do a grain of corn Has served me since I first was born. Now I am thin, pray let me be, I'll serve your children yet, you'll see." Thus to the cat spoke the poor mouse. The other answered, "You mistake, When unto me this tone you take; You might as well talk to the deaf, As to so old a cat as I, And through your tricks I spy, Die! you can go and chatter to the fates, My children will be fed on better cates." MORAL. Youth is sanguine, and hopes for all: Old age is pitiless; so says our moral. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE TWO FRIENDS. Two real friends lived in Monomotapa, All that belonged to one was for the other, And each was unto each a brother. The people of that country, thus, Make better friends than among us. One night when fast asleep, They each were sound reposing, The eldest darted from his couch, And stopped the other's dozing. He runs to see his friend, Awakes the slaves, and in the end, Even his friend is quite alarmed, And goes to seek the other, With sword and purse. "My brother, What can the matter be? Here I am armed, you see, Ready with sword to fight for you, And here is money ready too, If you have lost in play. You're even welcome to my handsome slave, With jet black hair, and eyes so grave." "No!" said the other, "I need naught, But ere I slept to-night, I thought, Being in a trance, that you were sad, And as the thought nigh drove me mad, I hurried to your tent, And found you sleeping quite content." MORAL. Which of the two best loved the other? Here is a thing to ponder on. A true friend is a precious thing, And all to aid you he will bring, But with excess of love the other In dreams was thinking of his brother. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE SICK STAG. In a land where stags are many, One fell sick, and not any Of all his friends, delayed to come, To offer aid and consolation, In his sorrowful situation. Said he, "My friends, pray let me die In the right way, nor shed such tears." Not at all, the consolers, With many a tear, and many a sigh, Had come resolved by him to lie; And when they left they helped themselves Upon his lands, the greedy elves! And drank from out his brook, And every one of them such suppers took, That when the stag revived, He found his meals reduced; So that while his friends had thrived, He had to fast or die of hunger. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE FOREST AND THE WOODMAN. A woodman had broken or misplaced The wooden handle of his axe, This loss could not be well replaced. So master woodman humbly prayed From all the trees a single branch, And promised to go elsewhere when he made Again his livelihood, And he would touch nor oak nor pine. The trees which were all very good Furnished for him new arms, And soon commenced all their alarms, And their regret. The axe was mended. And his repentance all was ended. The miserable wretch but used it, E'en as he had before abused it, By felling down the forest trees, Which groaned in spirit, and which died, By arms they had themselves supplied. MORAL. This is the way the world goes on, We use our benefits against our benefactors: I am tired of speaking thereupon, Till we obtain our wants, we are good actors. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE ELEPHANT AND THE MONKEY OF JUPITER. Formerly the elephant and the rhinoceros Disputing on the light of empire Resolved to end the combat thus-- By fighting to their heart's desire. The day was fixed, when it was heard, That the monkey of Sire Jupiter Had been seen in the air, Poised on a cloud like any bird. The elephant was quite convinced That to arrange the new election, An interest the god evinced, And felt for him a great affection, He went to see the monkey's highness, Expecting him to speak about the fight, But not a word said monkey. At this sight, The elephant perceived that he must speak himself, And so began: "Sire Jupiter," said he, "Between rhinoceros and me will see A royal combat of legation; A tournament for all the nation. I suppose you have already heard This news!" Said monkey, "Not a word." The elephant ashamed, and quite surprised, Looked on the monkey with astonished eyes. Said monkey, "In celestial place, A fly or leopard are of equal race." "Was it not then because of us," Said elephant, "that you descended?" "Nay," said the monkey, quite offended. "I left the heavens to share a grain of corn Among some ants, nor knew that you were born. We have the care of mortal things; But all are equals in our eyes, And at your talk I feel surprise." [Illustration] [Illustration] THE WOODCUTTER AND DEATH. A woodman was toiling, all covered with dust, But reach home with his faggot ere night he must, Panting and weary he walks quite slow, How to get home he does not know. At last quite exhausted with toil and trouble, With the weight of the burden and his years, bent double. He puts down his faggot, and thinks of his pains, What is his work, and what are his gains, How since he came into this weary world, By the wheels of blind fortune around he's been twirled. Was he not poor, a wood cutter, at best, Oft without bread, always without rest. He thinks of his wife, his children, his taxes, At last quite warm with the subject he waxes. He calls on death; who comes without delay, The woodman, in terror, knows not what to say. Death asks what to do the man wishes he should. "Oh, help me," he said, "with this faggot of wood. My poor bones ache, and my limbs they crack. So help me to put it upon my back." [Illustration] THE RAT AND THE OYSTER. A rat who lived in the field, A rat of little wit, Once grew tired of his father's house, And quietly left it. He left the field, the grain and wheat, Set out to travel, left his hole, And just as soon as he was out, "How large and spacious on the whole Is this great country spread about. Here are the Apeninnes, and there Caucasus." The smallest mole hill is a mountain. At the end of some days our traveller arrives At a certain canton where every oyster thrives, And our famed traveller turned very pale, Thinking he saw great vessels setting sail "Mercy," said he, "My father was a dunce, He did not dare to travel even once, While I have seen already, The maritime empire, And travelled to my heart's desire." From a certain learn'd man, The rat had heard of such things, And thinks he has seen all he can. Among the many oysters closed, There was one open, which reposed, Mouth gaping, in the sun, The learned, travelled man, The rat, approached, thinking to make An excellent repast, and began to take A bite at the fine oyster, plump and fat, Whereupon closing on our rat, The oyster caught him tight And held him with all its might. MORAL. This fable goes to show, That those mistake, Who think that all they know: When knowing nothing of the world, Their giddy brain is quickly whirled. And hence this moral let us make, That he is caught, who thinks to take. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE PHYSICIANS. Dr. So-much-the-worse went out to see A patient sick as one could be. His brother So-much-the-better, Having received an urgent letter, Came also the sick man to visit. So-much-the-worse declared he'd die, So-much-the-better asked him why. And while their plans they thus discourse, The sick man died, _so much the worse_! So-much-the-better now declared, That if the sick man had not despaired, He would have lived. So-much-the-worse Said, "I was right, agree with me, Our patient's dead, as you can see." MORAL. There's wisdom in the saying, by my troth, Too many cooks will spoil the broth. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE MOUNTAIN IN LABOR. A mountain thought to be in labor, Made such a horrid noise, That round it each stranger came and neighbor, Thinking the end of all this noise would be A city, quite as large as three. Having drawn all the province round, The mountain from a little mound, Let out a mouse. MORAL. When I think upon this fable, Of which the narration is false, And the sense true; It puts me much in mind Of authors not a few, Who boast that they are able To write on any subject as they please, And after all--do nothing. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE CAT METAMORPHOSED INTO A WOMAN. A man was passionately fond of his cat, He thought she was pretty, and sleek, and all that; And she purred in the softest tone, He wished to make her his own. This man by prayers, by tears, By sorcery and charms, Changed pussy to a woman fair, And took her in his arms. But in the wainscot soon a rat Made itself manifest, And very soon the pussy cat, Could still no longer rest. Her foolish husband who believed That nothing had of cat remained, And as his wife had her received-- Was, now, I warrant, somewhat pained. Next time the vermin came, Pussy was surer of her game-- For having changed her face, The mice not frightened, Did not change their pace-- And the astonished spouse Was very glad-- To change her back-- And was no more cat-mad. MORAL. What in the bone is born, Will in the flesh remain, Both night and morn, And ne'er come out again. [Illustration] THE FROG AND THE RAT. He who another thinks to injure, May in the end destroy himself. A rat who fed exceeding well, Was by a frog invited out to dine; "The voyage," said froggy, "will be quickly made, If you will tie your foot to mine." Frog vaunted the delight of bathing, Praised the varieties they'd met upon the way, And when the rat consented to be tied, Attempted to bear him away. The rat half drowned resisted all he could. The frog, imaged the dinner he would make; Suddenly, flying from a neighboring wood, A hawk appeared, and quickly did he take Both of the combatants up in his bill, Before they e'en had time to make their will; And quite delighted did the greedy sinner Make off of fish and flesh a hearty dinner. For in the hawk's dominions, fast days Are never kept. Now if the frog had acted as he ought, And had not tried to dine off the poor rat, They would not both have perished, To make fat, A pampered hawk; And master rat, Had he not been so curious about Aquatic government, Had from the scrape got safely out. MORAL. A scheme or a conspiracy, Be it all plotted well As safe, 'twould seem as it could be, And sure of all success, May, none the less, Entirely fail, And grand conspirators, And all bewail, The day that set them scheming. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE LION AND THE FLY. A lion by a gad-fly worried, Half maddened by his sting, Exclaimed, "Be off, vile fly-- Mean, pitiful, base thing!" After the fly had ended his repast, Fully exhausted feels the beast at last, And roared so that he shook the earth, While the victorious fly Met in the spider's web his destiny. MORAL. Two morals draw I from this tale: First, We should fear the smallest enemy; And second, We may escape great perils, And from a trifling cause may die. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE TWO MULES. Two mules went travelling on their way, One with a sack of corn; The other with gold and bells so gay, Most gaily tripped along. Proud of so rich a load, He kept the bells a ringing-- And was so proud, had he known how He would have commenced singing. Soon some robbers rude appeared, Who stopped this mule upon his road, And very soon they had him cleared Of all his weight of precious gold. Falling beneath their blows, "I die," The expiring trotter cried, "Had you been," said the other, "Low as I, you would not thus have died." Be moderate when you are high, Nor glory o'er the passers by. [Illustration] [Illustration] JUPITER AND THE FARMER. Jupiter had a farm to let, Mercury advertised it, and people came, Made offers, listened, all the same, Made some objection. One declared the land Was rough and dry, And full of sand. One had this reason, one had that, Until at last a man appeared, Who said he'd try to farm it, agreed that He might have any weather that he chose. Behold! as soon as he but yawns, it blows Or rains, or is quite clear. His neighbors, even the most near, Are not affected by these changes. In usual route, their weather ranges; They have good crops, But he had none. At last when tired, he began Complaining unto Jupiter. The next year the same thing, Changes of weather he can bring-- And the neighbors no more Than the Americans, Are troubled by the farming Of his lands. At last tired out, with all his strife in vain, He yields his power to the God of rain; Acknowledging, that all along The god did right, And he did wrong. MORAL. Let us conclude that Providence For man ordains much better than we can. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE COCK, THE CAT, AND THE LITTLE MOUSE. A young mouse, who had nothing seen, Was nearly caught; You shall hear how He told his mother the adventure-- He said, "Pray, listen, now: I started out to frolic at a venture, When two fine animals appeared Before my eyes, And filled me with surprise. One was soft, benign, and sweet, The other, turbulent, and full of inquietude, Had a loud voice, piercing and rude, And on his head a piece of flesh. A sort of arm raised him up in the air, As though to fly out of a mesh-- His tail was spread out like a fan." Now it was a cock of which our little mouse, Made to his mother this fine picture, Describing him like an enthusiast. "He beat," said he, "his flanks, With his two arms, Making such a noise and such a din, That, frightened half to death, I hurried in. Although I pique myself upon my courage And heartily I cursed him in my heart, For but for him, I'd taken part, In conversation with the gentle creature, Who my advances would encourage. She is velvety, like us, with a long tail, A modest look, and sparkling eyes, And is much like a rat. She spies The objects round her. I turned pale On hearing the other creature's din, Or else I should have asked her in." "My child," said the mother, "this last was a cat, An enemy of every mouse and rat. The other a cock, whom do not fear, Perhaps we may dine on him here." Take care, whatever they may seem, Of judging people by their mien. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE MONKEY. The animals, on the death of the lion, During his life, prince of the country, Resolved to elect a king to try on The regal crown, and chose a monkey. Because after the animals had all Tried on the regal crown, or let it fall, Because their heads were all too big, Or too small, too horned, or too thick, The monkey slipped through it; And with it cut up many a trick, Which they all thought refined, And chose him with one mind. Only the fox regretted the election, And swore to reign in his defection. He came and made his compliment; "Sire," said he, "I know a treasure meant For your high majesty. I will show The spot where it lies hid." The monkey went at Reynard's bid-- And was caught in a trap. The fox exclaimed, "How do you think to govern us, When, after all, with all your fuss, You cannot well, do what you may, Keep e'en yourself out of harm's way." The animals agreed, That royal power suits very few indeed. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE HORSE AND THE ASS. An ass accompanied by a horse uncourteous, Who only had his harness on his back; And the poor jackass staggered 'Neath the load of vegetable and a pack; He begged the horse to help him, If he could-- But not a single bit, The other would. "I ask," said the poor beast, "A little pity-- Help me at least, To reach the city." The horse refused, And got his due, For the ass died. The farmer's man Stripped off the skin of honest Ben, And made the horse, whom they espied, Drag on the skin and the cart beside. MORAL. 'Tis wise to lend our aid To others in distress, We often thus are made The means of happiness. The churlish, unkind man His neighbor's death may cause, And have to help his family, Through taxes and the laws. [Illustration] THE ASTROLOGER WHO FELL INTO A WELL. An astrologer, of high ambition, While star-gazing fell down Into a well. "Sage gentleman," Remarked the people of the town, "How did you think to read the stars, old man, When you cannot preserve your own position." This adventure in itself, without going further, Might serve as a lesson, to most of mankind, For of us mortals, a certain part inclines, To the belief, that, with the help of mind, The book of Destiny may easily be read, But this book, by Homer and his disciples sung, What is it called but _Chance_, by ancients, And by us Christians named Providence instead. Now in Chance there can no science be, Or why should it be called by them _Chance_-- And things uncertain, who knows in advance? If all depends upon the fixed decree, Of Him who does all things, and nothing does unwisely. How should we read his will, And know that which from us he would conceal? Wherefore watch the stars so nicely, To know how to avoid inevitable woe; Or how, in future times, our fate will go; To make us, in the midst of pleasure, sad, Or with predicted evil, drive us mad, Convert all blessings into curses dire? Is this the knowledge to which we aspire, Is it an error or a crime thus to believe That future destiny can thus be known? In place of star-gazing above our head, Let us confide ourselves to the Great One. The firmament exists, the stars go on their way, And the sun shines upon us every day; And every day, the day is lost in night, Without our knowing aught else from the sight. That the seasons come, the crops are ripe, And in what wood we should look out for snipe, And some few other things, but for the change Of day to night, by which the world doth range, It has not aught to do with Destiny. Quacks, and ye compilers of horoscopes, Quit all the courts of princes in Europe, And take with you all mischief makers You deserve belief no more than they do. MORAL. This astrologer in the well, Resembles all of his false art, Who while they are in danger, dream That in the stars, they read the happiest theme. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE ANIMALS SICK WITH THE PLAGUE. A scourge which spread terror, Invented by heaven to punish earth-- The plague (if to name it be no error) Was making every animal To curse his birth. In one day it might have enriched Acheron, And upon beasts made busy war. Amongst them all there was not one, But, sick and ailing, was complaining sore; All did not die, but each was ill-- Not one strove now to eat his fill, No meat excited them to taste, Nor did the wolves again lay waste, The innocent prey. Even the doves fled from each other, And cooed no more the live-long day. The lion held war counsel--"My brother," Said he, addressing each in turn, "I think that heaven hath allowed This punishment on us to fall For the sins we have disavowed. Now I for one will confess all, And let him who is most to blame, Be slaughtered in the others' name. Perhaps he may obtain a common cure, For history tells us that in like cases, The guilty die in others' places; Let us not then be false to Nature, Let us confess our faults--in fine I will the first acknowledge mine; And I avow, that oft I keep A serious tax on harmless sheep. What had they done, In naught offended-- Yet I their quiet lives have ended. Sometimes, with sorrow be it heard, I e'en have eaten the shepherd, And I acknowledge all-- And I will die like a quiet bird-- If my death keep you from your fall. It must be hoped now in all justice, That he who is most guilty perish." "Sire," said the fox, "you are too good a king To die for any trivial thing; Your simples are too nice. Eat sheep, and why not? Is it a sin? is it a vice? No, sire, you did them honor; And as for shepherds, I desire, That over us their false empire Should cease, and we have all we want Of sheep and fleece." So said the fox, flatterers applaud, The tiger, bear, and other powers they laud, Even for their most violent offence. All quarrelsome people, Down to the mastiffs, Were little saints. But when the donkey's turn came on, They heard him with many ifs. He said, "I now remember That by a monk's garden passing, (It was late in December, And my strength soon faints,) I ate a leaf of some dry plant, And e'en now I with terror pant." They seized upon him and devoured, And said he was the cause Of heaven's anger being lowered. With interested judges, _right_ Is always on the side of _might_. [Illustration] THE CANDLE. It was in the home of the Olympian gods, That bees first lodged, 'tis said, On Mount Hymettus; and thitherwards Came zephyrs with light tread. When from the hives, the honey, Had all been taken out, As there remained naught but wax, Some candles were, for money, Carefully made and sold in packs. One of these candles on a certain day Seeing that clay by fire was turned to brick, Thought he could harden his body the same; And getting near the fire to try the trick, This new Empedocles to flame condemned Soon found of his philosophy the end. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE HOG, THE GOAT, AND THE SHEEP. A goat, a sheep, and a fat hog, On the same cart were bound for the fair. They lay as quietly as any log, But were not seeking their amusement there. They were to be sold, so says the story. The carter, who his business knows, Don't take them into town to see the _shows_. Dame porker was inclined to squeal, As though the butcher's knife she 'gan to feel. Her grunts, and squeals, and cries Were loud enough to deafen one, The other animals more wise, And better tempered, with surprise Exclaimed, "have done!" The carter to the porker turned, "Where have you manners learned, Why stun us all? Do you not see That you're the noisiest of the three? That sheep says not a word, Nor can the young goat's voice be heard." "But," said the hog, "they both are fools. If like me they knew their fate, They'd halloo out at greater rate, The goat will only lose her milk, The sheep his wool, but here, poor me, I'm to be eaten, and know my destiny." The porker was quite right, But hallooing with all her might, Was all too late, And could not alter her sad fate. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE DELICATE HERON. By the bank of a river, A heron walked out, And in it were sporting, Pike, mackerel and trout. Now these fish with great ease, Our bird might have caught, But I'll wait till I'm hungry The silly bird thought. At last came his appetite, "Now I'll eat," the bird cries, And some tench from the bottom, Just then he saw rise. "But these are not good enough At this time of day," And he waited for better Till all swam away. At eve almost starved When all other means fail, He was right glad to sup On a poor little snail. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE BLACKAMOOR AND HER MISTRESS. A foolish young lady, Took one of her maids, Who chanced to be black As the ace of spades, And said she'd have her washed white, By the other maids; She was put in a tub, And with water and towels Her skin they did rub, Through a long summer day till the night; But the more they did rub her, The blacker she got; And while they did scrub her, She mourned her hard lot. So the maids threw away All their labor and care, And the mistress gave up Her fine scheme in despair. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE BEAR AND THE GARDENER. A bear and gardener, Who mutually tired Of solitary life, And were inspired, With a warm friendship for each other, Promised to be to one another, Excellent friends, and so they were. As for the death of the poor man I'll tell you how it happened, If I can. The bear watching the gardener in his sleep-- Beholding on his head a fly, And thinking it bad company, Took up a stone and dropped it down, Upon the fly 'tis true, But broke the gardener's crown. MORAL. To make our fortunes or to mend, A most malignant enemy Is better than a foolish friend. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE VULTURES AND THE PIGEONS. The wing'd inhabitants of air Waged on a time a direful war. Not those, in budding groves who sing, To usher in the amorous spring; Nor those, with Venus' car who fly Through the light clouds and yielding sky But the rapacious vulture brood, With crooked beak that thirsts for blood, And iron fangs. Their war, 'tis said, For a dog's carrion corse was made. Shrill shrieks resound from shore to shore; The earth beneath is sanguin'd o'er; Versed in the science to destroy, Address and valor they employ. 'Twould take a hundred tongues to tell, The heroes from the air who fell. The dovecote race, a gentle nation, Made offers of their mediation. Prudent ambassadors are sent; The vultures with the terms content, Agree their guarantee to take, And armistice and treaty make. This kind desire to interfere, Cost the poor peace-makers full dear. To rapine bred, the ruthless crew, Nor gratitude nor faith who knew, On the defenceless pigeons fall, And shortly had devoured them all. MORAL. When tyrants from their quarrels cease, Some weaker neighbor pays their peace. His safety in their warfare lies; Their feuds, not he should compromise. When Joseph, Frederick, and Kate, Tired of unprofitable hate, Their animosities would heel, They swallowed Poland at a meal. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE BEAR AND THE BEES. A bear once rambled from his home, Chanced through a garden trim to roam, Where, 'neath the shelter of the trees, The farmer had his hives of bees. Bruin loved honey. "Now," said he, "I'll rob your store-house, Master Bee. You'll buz, and hum about my ears, But noise a brave bear never fears." So saying, bear o'erturns a hive, And straight the air is all alive, With angry enemies, who sting As well as buz; and make bear sing, A lively tune of growls and roars, And cover him with smarting sores.