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Whereat his horse did snort, as he
Had heard a lion roar,
As he had done before.
Went Gilpin's hat and wig:
For why? they were too big.
Her husband posting down
She pulled out half-a-crown; And thus unto the youth she said
That drove them to the Bell, “ This shall be yours, when you bring back
My husband safe and well.”
John coming back amain :
By catching at his rein;
And gladly would have done,
And made him faster run.
Went post-boy at his heels,
The lumbering of the wheels.
Thus seeing Gilpin fly,
They raised the hue and cry:
• Stop thief! stop thief !—a highwayman!”
Not one of them was mute;
Did join in the pursuit.
Flew open in short space;
That Gilpin rode a race.
For he got first to town;
He did again get down.
And Gilpin long live he:
May I be there to see!
ALEXANDER SELKIRK'S SOLILOQUY.
My right there is none to dispute ;
I am lord of the fowl and the brute.
That sages have seen in thy face?
Than reign in this horrible place.
I must finish my journey alone;
I start at the sound of my own,
The beasts that roam over the plain
My form with indifference see : They are so unacquainted with man,
Their tameness is shocking to me.
Society, friendship, and love,
Divinely bestowed upon man, O, had I the wings of a dove,
How soon would I taste you again! My sorrows I then might assuage
In the ways of religion and truth; Might learn from the wisdom of age,
And be cheered by the sallies of youth.
Religion ! what treasures untold
Reside in that heavenly word! More precious than silver and gold,
Or all that this earth can afford ! But the sound of the church-going bell,
These valleys and rocks never heard: Never sighed at the sound of a knell,
Or smiled when a Sabbath appeared.
Ye winds, that have made me your sport,
Convey to this desolate shore Some cordial endearing report
Of a land I shall visit no more! My friends-do they now and then send
A wish or a thought after me? O tell me I yet have a friend,
Though a friend I am never to see.
How fleet is the glance of the mind !
Compared with the speed of its flight, The tempest itself lags behind,
And the swift-winged arrows of light,
When I think of my own native land,
In a moment I seem to be there;
Soon hurries me back to despair.
The beast is laid down in his lair:
And I to my cabin repair.
And mercy, encouraging thought,
And reconciles man to his lot.
NIGHTINGALE AND THE GLOWWORM.
· BY COWPER.
• You would abhor to do me wrong,
The songster heard his short oration,
THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE.