O'er rough and smooth she trips along That whistles in the wind. ANECDOTE FOR FATHERS, SHOWING HOW THE PRACTICE OF LYING MAY BE TAUGHT. I HAVE a boy of five years old; His limbs are cast in beauty's mould, One morn we strolled on our dry walk, My thoughts on former pleasures ran; A day it was when I could bear The green earth echoed to the feet Of lambs that bounded through the glade, From shade to sunshine, and as fleet Birds warbled round me-every trace My Boy was by my side, so slim "Now tell me, had you rather be," I said, and took him by the arm, "On Kilve's smooth shore, by the green sea, Or here at Liswyn farm?" 66 In careless mood he looked at me, 'Now, little Edward, say why so; My little Edward, tell me why.' "I cannot tell, I do not know."Why, this is strange," said I ; "For, here are woods, and green hills warm: There surely must some reason be 66 Why you would change sweet Liswyn farm For Kilve by the green sea." At this, my Boy hung down his head, He blushed with shame, nor made reply; And five times to the child I said, Why, Edward, tell me why ?" His head he raised-there was in sight, Then did the Boy his tongue unlock; O dearest, dearest Boy! my heart ALICE FELL; OR, POVERTY. THE post-boy drove with fierce career, Was smitten with a startling sound. As if the wind blew many ways, I heard the sound,—and more and more; At length I to the boy called out; The boy then smacked his whip, and fast Forthwith alighting on the ground, "My cloak!" no other word she spake, As if her innocent heart would break; "What ails you, child?"-she sobbed "Look here!" I saw it in the wheel entangled, A weather-beaten rag as e'er From any garden scare-crow dangled. There, twisted between nave and spoke, "And whither are you going, child, To-night along these lonesome ways?" "To Durham," answered she half wild"Then come with me into the chaise." Insensible to all relief Sat the poor girl, and forth did send Could never, never have an end. 66 My child, in Durham do you dwell?" "And I to Durham, Sir, belong." The chaise drove on; our journey's end Up to the tavern-door we post ; "And let it be of duffil grey, As warm a cloak as man can sell!" THE PET LAMB. A PASTORAL. THE dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink; A snow-white mountain Lamb with a Maiden at its side. |