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• And many a message I have brought
" To families I cannot find; Long for John Goodman's have I sought,
To tell them Hal's not far behind.” My mother saw her catching sigh,
And hid her face behind the rock ; While tears swam round in all their eyes,
And not a single word was spoke. “O! does he live ?” my father cried ;
My mother did not stay to speak; My Jessy now I silent eyed,
Who throbbed as if her heart would break. “ He lives indeed ! this kerchief see,
“ At parting his dear Jessy gave; “ He sent it far, with love by me,
“ To shew he still escapes the grave." An arrow, darting from a bow,
Could not more quick the token reach : The patch from off my face I drew,
And gave my voice its well known speech. “My Jessy dear!” I softly said :
She gazed and answered with a sigh : My sisters looked as half afraid ;
My mnother fainted quite for joy. My father danced around his son;
My brothers shook my hand away ; My mother said, her glass might run,
She cared not now how soon that day. “ Hoot woman!” cried my father dear,
" A wedding first I'm sure we'll have: "I warrant we'll live a hundred year
“Nay, may be lass, escape the grave !"
ON FREEDOM, FAIR Freedom has a thousand charms to show, That slaves, howe'er contented, never know. The Mind attains beneath her happy reign The growth that Nature meant she should attain ; The varied fields of science, ever new, Opening and wider opening on her view, She ventures onward with a prosperous force, While no base fear impedes her in her course : Religion, richest favour of the skies, Stands most revealed before the freeman's eyes ; No shades of superstition blot the day, Liberty chases all that gloom away. The soul, emancipated,
unoppressed, Free to prove all things and hold fast the best, Learns much; and to a thousand listening minds Communicates with joy the good she finds; Courage in arms, and ever prompt to show His manly forehead to the fiercest foe; Glorious in war, but for the sake of peace, His spirits rising as his toils increase, Guards well what arts and industry have won, And Freedom claims him for her first-born son. Slaves fight for what were better cast awayThe chain that binds them, and a tyrant's sway; But they that fight for freedom, undertake The noblest cause mankind can have at stake:Religion, virtue, truth, whate'er we call A blessing freedom is the pledge of all. O Liberty ! the prisoner's pleasing dream, The poet's muse, his passion, and his theme ; Genius is thine, and thou art Fancy's nurse ; Lost without thee the ennobling powers of verse ; Heroic song from thy free touch acquires Its clearest tone, the rapture it inspires.
Place me where Winter breathes his keenest air,
THE CITY AND COUNTRY MOUSE. Once on a time (so runs the fable) A country mouse, right hospitable, Received a town mouse at his board, Just as a farmer might a lord. A frugal mouse, upon the whole, Yet loved his friend, and had a soul: Knew what was handsome, and would do't, On just occasion, “coûte qui coûten.” He brought him bacon, (nothing lean); Pudding that might have pleased a dean; Cheese, such as men in Suffolk make, But wished it Stilton for his sake; Yet, to his guest though no ways sparing, He ate himself the rind and paring, Our courtier scarce could touch a bit, But showed his breeding and his wit ; He did his best to seem to eat, And cried “ I vow you're mighty neat :
dear friend, this savage scene ! “ I pray you, come and live with men: "Consider, mice, like men, must die, “ Both small and great, both you and I; “Then spend your life in joy and sport; (This doctrine, friend, I learned at court.)".
The veriest hermit in the nation
I coute qui coûte; cost what it may.
Behold the place, where if a poet Shined in description, he might show it; Tell how the moon-beam trembling falls, And tips with silver all the walls; Palladian walls, Venetian doors, Grotesco roofs, and stucco floors: But let it (in a word) be said, The moon was up, and men a-bed, The napkins white, the carpet red : ) The guests withdrawn had left the treat, And down the mice sate, téte-d-téte.” 2 Our courtier walks from disla to dish, Tastes for his friend of fowl and fish; Tells all their names, lays down the law : " Que ca est bon! Ah, goutez ca !" :3 “That jelly's rich, this malmsey healing, “Pray, dip your whiskers and your tail in.” Was ever such a happy swain ! He stuffs and swills, and stuffs again. 6. I'm quite ashamed—'tis mighty rude “ To eat so much,—but all's so good “I have a thousand thanks to give " My lord alone knows how to live.” No sooner said, but from the hall Rush chaplain, butler, dogs, and all : " A rat, a rat! clap to the door." The cat comes bouncing on the floor. O for the heart of Homer's mice, Or gods to save them in a trice ! And when the mice at last had stole, With trembling hearts into a hole, “ An't please your honour," quoth the peasant, “ This same dessert is not so pleasant: Give me again my hollow tree, A crust of bread, and liberty!" 2 tête à tête; face to face. 3 Que ça est bon! Ah goutez ça! “How good that is! Just
taste this! " The poet is ridiculing the affectation of using French phrases in conversation.
THE MARINER'S DREAM. In slumbers of midnight the Sailor boy lay,
His hammock swung loose at the sport of the wind; But, watch-worn and weary, his cares flew away,
And visions of happiness danced o'er his mind. He dreamed of his home, of his dear native bowers,
And pleasures that waited on life's merry morn; While Memory stood side-ways, half-covered with
flowers, And restored every rose, but secreted the thorn. Then Fancy her magical pinions spread wide,
And bade the young dreamer in ecstacy rise ; Now, far, far behind him the green waters glide,
And the cot-of his forefathers blesses his eyes.
The jessamine clambers in flower o'er the thatch,
And the swallow sings sweet from her nest in the wall ; All trembling with transport he raises the latch,
And the voices of loved ones reply to his call. A father bends o'er him with looks of delight,
His cheek is impearled with a mother's warm-tear ; And the lips of the boy in a love-kiss unite
With the lips of the maid whom his bosom holds dear. The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast,
Joy quickens his pulse—all his hardships seem o'er; And a murmur of happiness steals through his rest,
Kind heaven has blest me, I ask for no more. Ah! whence is that fame which now bursts on his eye?
Ah! what is that sound that now larums his ear? Tis the lightning's red glare painting hell on the sky !
'Tis the crashing of thunders, the groan of the sphere !