102 THE WOODMAN AND HIS DOG. 86. THE WOODMAN AND HIS DOG. Shaggy, and lean, and shrewd, with pointed ears 87. LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP, THE SUNSHINE OF THE HEART. I LOVE the cheering sunlight Of love and friendship's smile They make this world a home of bliss, When my onward path looks dark, And find that each fond glance has I love the gentle music Of dear affection's voice-- With true friends by my side! power MARY BURROUGH. THE SOLDIER'S DREAM. 103 88. THE SOLDIER'S DREAM. Our bugles sang truce-for the night cloud had lower'd, When reposing that night on my pallet of straw, Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array, I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft In life's morning march, when my bosom was young; I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft, And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung. Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore, From my home and my weeping friends never to part; My little ones kiss'd me a thousand times o'er, And my wife sobb'd aloud in her fulness of heart "Stay, stay with us,-rest, thou art weary and worn;" CAMPBELL. 104 THE GERMAN BALLAD SINGER.. 89. THE GERMAN BALLAD SINGER. LIKE a passing bird with a sweet wild song, Of the land where the laden vine Dips its rich ripe fruit and its sheltering leaves In thine own beloved Rhine. 'Tis a tale of the deeds of other times- Of a craggy steep, and a castle strong- And a valorous knight and his ladye-love,- Proud singer! I see thy flashing eyes,- Thou art sitting in dreams by that stream afar, Of the happy flowers that for ever blow, Thou hast changed thy song to a soft low strain, And thy cheeks are wet with tears; The home of thy youth in thy fatherland 'Neath its sheltering tree appears!— THE GERMAN BALLAD SINGER. And thou seest thy parents far away, Thy song is done—we are parted now, But, wandering boy, thou hast touch'd a heart, May thy heart go uncorrupted back 105 NICOLL. 90. THE UNIVERSAL DANCE. Look at the leaves, how they dance on the tree, And look at the stars, how they dance in the sky, And see how the hours and days dance by, In the dance of the circling years. And thoughts, how they dance through the busy brain, Must be very well known to you; The young blood dances in every vein, And-why shouldn't I dance too? SHORTER. 106 THE BEGGAR, 91. THE BEGGAR. PITY the sorrows of a poor old man ! Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door, Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span; Oh! give relief, and Heaven will bless your store. These tattered clothes my poverty bespeak, Yon house, erected on the rising ground, (Hard is the fate of the infirm and poor!) Oh! take me to your hospitable home, Keen blows the wind, and piercing is the cold! Should I reveal the source of every grief, |