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“But they are dead ; those two are dead !
THE HARE AND MANY FRIENDS. FRIENDSHIP, like love, is but a name, Unless to one you stint the flame. The child whom many fathers share, Hath seldom known a father's care ; 'Tis thus in friendships; who depend On many, rarely find a friend.
A Hare, who in a civil way,
As forth she went at early dawn,
What transport in her busom grew,
“ Let me," says she, “ your back ascend, “ And owe my safety to a friend ; “ You know my feet betray my flight; “To friendship every burden's light.
The horse reply'd,“ poor
honest puss, “ It grieves my heart to see thee thus; “ Be comforted, relief is near, “For all your friends are in the rear."
She next the stately Bull implor’d; And thus reply'd the mighty lord : “Since every beast alive can tell " That I sincerely wish you well, "I may, without offence, pretend " To take the freedom of a friend; “ Love calls me hence; a fav’rite cow “ Expects me near yon barley-mow; “ And when a lady's in the case, “ You know, all other things give place. “ To leave you thus might seem unkind ; “ But see the Goat is just behind.”
The Goat remark’d, her pulse was high, Her languid head, her heavy eye ; “My back," says she," may
harm; “ The Sheep's at hand, and wool is warm.'
The Sheep was feeble, and complain'd
She now the trotting Calf address'd,
“ Shall I,” says he “ of tender age, “In this important care engage ? “ Older and abler pass'd you by! “How strong are those ! how weak am I! “ Should I presume to bear you hence, “ Those friends of mine may take offence. “ Excuse me, then. You know my
heart; " But dearest friends, alas! must part: “ How shall we all lament! Adieu ! “ For see, the hounds are just in view.”
Keen and cold is the blast loudly whistling around:
As cold are the lips that once smiled upon me; And unyielding, alas ! as this hard frozen ground,
The arms once so ready my shelter to be. Both my parents are dead, and few friends I can boast, But few to console and to love me, if
any; And my gains are so small, a bare pittance at most
Repays the exertions of Fatherless Fanny. Once indeed I with pleasure and patience could toil,
But 'twas when my parents sat by and approved ; Then
laces to sell I went out with a smile, Because my fatigue fed the parents I loved. And at night, when I brought them my hardly-earn'd
gains, Though small they might be, still my comforts were
many; For my mother's fond blessing rewarded my pains,
My father stood watching to welcome his Fanny. But, ah! now that I work by their presence uncheer'd,
I feel 'tis a hardship indeed to be poor,
And sigh as I knock at the wealthy man's door.
No longer I boast that my comforts are many;
No pang to my breast, if kind friends I could see ; For the wealth I require is that of the heart,
The smiles of affection are riches to me.
To purchase my goods, though you do not buy any, If in accents of kindness you deign to deny,
You'll comfort the heart of poor Fatherless Fanny.
THE POET AND THE ROSE.
I hate the man who builds his name
As in the cool of early day,
stalk with vdour berids;
“ How happy should I prove, “ Might I supply that envy'd place,
“ With never-fading love! “There, phenix-like, beneath her eye, “ Involv'd in fragrance, burn and die.
Know, hapless flower ! that thou shalt find
“More fragrant Roses there : " I see thy withering head reclin'd,
“ With envy and despair ! “ One common fate we both must prove; “ You die with envy, I with love.
“Spare your comparisons," reply'd An angry Rose, who grew beside; " Of all mankind you should not flout us; " What can a Poet do without us? “ In every love-song Roses bloom ; “We lend you colour and perfume :
“ Does it to Chloe's charms conduce,
LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER.
A CHIEFTAIN, to the Highlands bound,
Cries, “ Boatman, do not tarry !
To row us o'er the ferry.”-
would cross Loch-Gyle, This dark and stormy water ?" “O! I'm the chief of Ulva's Isle,
And this Lord Ullin's daughter ;“ And fast before her father's men
Three days we've fled together, “ For should he find us in the glen,
My blood would stain the heather. " His horsemen hard behind us ride ;
Should they our steps discover, " Then who will cheer my bonny bride,
When they have slain her lover?”– Out spoke the hardy Highland wight,
“I'll go, my chief-I'm ready : “ It is not for your silver bright,
But for your winsome lady:
In danger shall not tarry ;
I'll row you o'er the ferry!"-
apace, The water-wraith was shrieking; And, in the scowl of heaven, each face
Grew dark as they were speaking.