The Sailor's Mother. ÖNE morning (raw it was and wet, A foggy day in winter time) A woman on the road I met, Not old, though something past her prime : And like a Roman matron's was her mien and gait. The ancient spirit is not dead; Old times, thought I, are breathing there; Such strength, a dignity so fair : She begged an alms, like one in poor estate; I looked at her again, nor did my pride abate. When from these lofty thoughts I woke, "What treasure," said I, " do you bear, Beneath the covert of your cloak, Protected from the cold damp air?” She answered, soon as she the question heard, "A simple burthen, Sir, a little singing-bird." And, thus continuing, she said, And I have travelled weary miles to see If aught which he had owned might still remain for me. "The bird and cage they both were his : 'Twas my son's bird; and neat and trim He kept it: many voyages This singing-bird had gone with him; When last he sailed, he left the bird behind; From bodings, as might be, that hung upon his mind. "Ie to a fellow-lodger's care Had left it, to be watched and fed, And pipe its song in safety ;-there I found it when my son was dead ; And now, God help me for my little wit! I bear it with me, Sir, he took so much delight in it." The Daffodils. WANDER'D lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, A host of golden daffodils; Continuous as the stars that shine The waves beside them danced, but they In such a jocund company: I gazed-and gazed-but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought : For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, And then my heart with pleasure fills, Lucy Gray FT I had heard of Lucy Gray: No mate, no comrade Lucy knew ;· The sweetest thing that ever grew You yet may spy the fawn at play, "To-night will be a stormy night- And take a lantern, child, to light "That, father! will I gladly do; The minster-clock has just struck two, At this the father raised his hook, He plied his work ;-and Lucy took Not blither is the mountain roe: The storm came on before its time: The wretched parents all that night, At day-break on a hill they stood And thence they saw the bridge of wood, They wept—and, turning homeward, cried, "In Heaven we all shall meet : -When in the snow the mother spied Half breathless from the steep hill's edge They tracked the footmarks small ; And through the broken hawthorn hedge, And by the long stone wall; And then an open field they crossed: The marks were still the same; |