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102

THE WOODMAN AND HIS DOG.

86. THE WOODMAN AND HIS DOG.
FORTH goes the woodman, leaving unconcerned
The cheerful haunts of man, to wield the axe,
And drive the wedge in yonder forest drear,-
From morn till eve his solitary task.

Shaggy, and lean, and shrewd, with pointed ears
And tail cropped short, half lurcher and half cur,
His dog attends him. Close behind his heel
Now creeps he slow; and now, with many a frisk
Wide scampering, snatches he the drifted snow
With ivory teeth, or ploughs it with his snout,
Then shakes his powdered coat, and barks for joy.
COWPER.

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,
And all its care beguile;

When my onward path looks dark,
I turn to their bright ray,

And find that each fond glance has
To chase the gloom away.

I love the gentle music

Of dear affection's voice-
It wakes each thought to ecstacy,
And bids my heart rejoice.
The proud may frown upon me-
I care not for their pride,
For I can smile at all the world
With true friends by my side!

power

MARY BURROUGE.

THE SOLDIER'S DREAM.

88. THE SOLDIER'S DREAM.

103

OUR bugles sang truce-for the night cloud had lower'd,
And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky;
And thousands had sunk on the ground overpower'd,
The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die.

When reposing that night on my pallet of straw,
By the wolf-scaring faggot, that guarded the slain,
At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw,
And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again.

Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array,
Far, far I had roam'd on a desolate track:
'Twas Autumn,—and sunshine arose on the way
To the home of my fathers, that welcom'd me back.

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;"
And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay ;-
But sorrow return'd with the dawning of morn,
And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away.

CAMPBELL.

104

THE GERMAN BALLAD SINGER.

89. THE GERMAN BALLAD SINGER.

LIKE a passing bird with a sweet wild song,
Thou hast come to my native land;
And amid the noisy crowded streets
Of the stranger thou dost stand:
And thou pourest forth a ballad lay

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 the proud high hearts of old ;,
Which thy mother, thine infant eyes to close,
At the gloamin' often told:

Of a craggy steep, and a castle strong-
Of a warder drunk with wine;

And a valorous knight and his ladye-love,-
By thine own beloved Rhine.

Proud singer! I see thy flashing eyes,-
Thou art thinking on that river;
The rush of its waters deep, and strong,
Shall dwell in thine ear for ever:

Thou art sitting in dreams by that stream afar,
And a fresh, bright wreath you twine

Of the happy flowers that for ever blow,
By thine own beloved Rhine.

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,
And thy sister, lov'd like mine;
O! they long for thee as thou for them
And thine own beloved Rhine.

Thy song is done—we are parted now,
And may never meet again;

But, wandering boy, thou hast touch'd a heart,
And thy song was not in vain.
God's blessings on thee, poor minstrel boy,
May a happy lot be thine!—

May thy heart go uncorrupted back
To thine own beloved Rhine!

105

NICOLL.

90. THE UNIVERSAL DANCE.

Look at the leaves, how they dance on the tree,
And the birds dance from spray to spray;
And look at the mighty waves of the sea,
How they dance and sport 'neath the sun's glad ray.

And look at the stars, how they dance in the sky,
To the "music of the spheres ;"

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.

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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,
These hoary locks proclaim my lengthened years;
And many a furrow in my grief-worn cheek,

Has been the channel to a stream of tears.

Yon house, erected on the rising ground,
With tempting aspect drew me from my road,

For plenty there a residence has found,

And grandeur a magnificent abode.

(Hard is the fate of the infirm and poor!)
Here craving for a morsel of their bread,
A pampered menial forced me from the door,
To seek a shelter in a humbler shed.

Oh! take me to your hospitable home,

Keen blows the wind, and piercing is the cold!
Short is my passage to the friendly tomb,
For I am poor, and miserably old.

Should I reveal the source of every grief,
If soft humanity e'er touched your breast,
Your hands would not withhold the kind relief,
And tears of pity could not be represt.

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