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He passed his hours in peace. I'm grown so deaf, I could not hear.” But while he viewed his wealth increase, “Nay, then,” the spectre stern re While thus along life's dusty road
joined, The beaten track content he trod, “These are unjustifiable yearnings : Old Time, whose haste no mortal spares, If you are lame, and deaf, and blind, Uncalled, unheeded, unawares,
You 've had your three sutficient Brought on his eightieth year.
warnings; Aud now, one night, in musing mood, So come along, no more we 'll part." As all alone he sate,
He said, and touched him with his dart. The unwelcome messenger of Fate And now Old Dodson, turning pale, Once more before him stood.
Yields to his fate, so ends my tale. Half killed with anger and surprise, “So soon returned !" Old Dodson cries. “So soon, d'ye call it!" Death replies; “Surely, my friend, you 're but in jest! ANNA L. BARBAULD.
Since I was here before 'T is six-and-thirty years at least,
(1743 - 1825.] And you are now fourscore."
THE SABBATH OF THE SOUL. “So much the worse," the clown rejoined;
SLEEP, sleep to-day, tormenting cares,
From this celestial morn.
To-morrow will be time enough
To feel your harsh control; ings,
Ye shall not violate, this day, Which I have looked for nights and
The Sabbath of my soul. mornings; But for that loss of time and ease
Sleep, sleep forever, guilty thoughts; I can recover damages."
Let fires of vengeance die;
And, purged from sin, may I behold “I know," cries Death, “that at the
A God of purity! best I seldom am a welcome guest; But don't be captious, friend, at least: THE DEATH OF THE VIRTUOUS. I little thought you 'd still be able To stump about your farm and stable: Sweet is the scene when virtue dies ! Your years have run to a great length; When sinks a righteous soul to rest, I wish you joy, though, of your strength!" | How mildly beam the closing eyes,
How gently heaves the expiring breast ! “Hold,” says the farmer, “not so fast ! I have been lame these four years past.
So fades a summer cloud away, “And no great wonder,” Death replies : So sinks the gale when storms are o'er, “However, you still keep your eyes; So gently shuts the eye of day, And sure to see one's loves and friends So dies a wave along the shore. For legs and arms would make amends."
"Perhaps," says Dodson, “so it might, Triumphant smiles the vietor brow, But latterly I've lost my sight.”
Fanned by some angel's purplewing ;“ This is a shocking tale, 't is true; Where is, O grave! thy victory now? But still there's comfort left for you : And where, insidious death! thy Each strives your sadness to amuse ;
sting? 1 warrant you hear all the news.” “ There's none,” cries he ; and if there Farewell, conflicting joys and fears, were,
Where light and shade alternate dwell!
LIFE! I know not what thou art,
TO THE CUCKOO.
Life! we've been long together Through pleasant and through cloudy
weather; 'Tis hard to part when friends are dear,Perhaps 't will cost a sigh, a tear; — Then steal away, give little warning,
Choose thine own time;
Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove !
Thou messenger of spring!
And woods thy welcome sing.
Thy certain voice we hear;
Or mark the rolling year?
I hail the time of flowers,
From birds among the bowers.
wood To pull the primrose gay, Starts, the new voice of spring to hear,
And imitates thy lay.
Thou fliest thy vocal vale,
Another spring to hail.
Thy sky is ever clear;
No winter in thy year!
We'd make, with joyful wing,
Companions of the spring.
(1747 – 1794.)
WHAT AILS THIS HEART O MINE?
What ails this heart o' mine?
What ails this watery ee?
When I take leave othee?
Thou ’lt dearer grow to me; But change o' place and change o' folk
May gar thy fancy jee.
When I gae out at e'en,
Or walk at morning air, Ilk rustling bush will seem to say,
I used to meet thee there. Then I'll sit down and cry,
And live aneath the tree, And when a leaf fa's i' my lap,
I'll ca''t a word frae thee.
I 'll hie me to the bower
That thou wi' roses tied,
The banks were bonnie, Yarrow stream,
My kurtch I put upo' my head, The next line that he read, the tear And dressed mysel' fu' braw;
blindit his e'e; I trow my heart was dough and wae, But the last line that he read, he gart When Jamie gade awa'.
the table flee. Bit weel may the boatie row, And lucky be her part,
“Gar saddle the black horse, gar saddle And lightsome be the lassie's care
the brown; That yields an honest heart.
Gar saddle the swiftest steed e'er rade
frae a town": But lang ere the horse was drawn and
brought to the green, O, bonnie Glenlogie was twa mile his
When he came to Glenfeldy's door, little GLENLOGIE
mirth was there;
Bonnie Jean's mother was tearing her THREESCOKE o' nobles rade up the king's hair. ha',
“Ye're welcome, Glenlogie, ye 're welBut bonnie Glenlogie's the flower o' come," said she, them a';
“Ye're welcome, Glenlogie, your Jeanie Wi' his milk-white steed and his bonnie
to see. black e'e, Glenlogie, dear mither, Glenlogie for Pale and wan was she, when Glenlogie me!”
But red and rosy grew she, whene'er he “O), haud your tongue, daughter, ye'll she turned awa’ her head, but the smile
sat down; get better than he.” “O, say nae sae, mither, for that canna "O, binna feared, mither, I 'll may be no
was in her e'e, be;
dee." Though Doumlie is richer and greater
than he, Yet if I maun tak him, I'll certainly dee.
“Where will I get a bonnie boy, to win
JOHN DAVIDSON. hose and shoon, Will gae to Glenlogie, and come again John Davidson and Tib his wife soon?"
Sat toastin' their taes ae night, “O, here am I a bonnie boy, to win hose When somethin' started on the fluir and shoon,
An' blinked by their sight. Will gae to Glenlogie and come again soon.”
“Guidwife!" quo' John, “did ye see
Whar sorra was the cat?" When he gaed to Glenlogie, 't was “A mouse?” – “Ay, a mouse.” — “Na, “ Wash and go dine";
na, Guidman, 'T was “Wash ye, my pretty boy, wash It wasna a mouse, 't was a rat."
and yo dine." “0, 't was ne'er my father's fashion, and “Oh, oh! Guidwife, to think ye've been it ne'er shall be mine
Sae lang about the house To gar a lady's errand wait till I dine.
An' no to ken a mouse frae a rat!
Yon wasna a rat, but a mouse!” “But there is, Glenlogie, a letter for thee."
“I've see mair mice than you, Guido The first line that he read, a low laugh man, gave he;
An' what think ye o' that?