THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 GIFT OF 
 Mrs. Thomas L. Brown 
 
 . 
 

o 
 
 88 
 
SELECT 
 
 YOUTH'S COMPANION. 
 
 COMPRISING A SELECTION OF THE WORKS OF SOME OF THE 
 MOST EMINENT MORAL WRITERS. 
 
 " How happy is the man who hears 
 
 Instruction's warning voice; 
 And who celestial Wisdom makes 
 His early, only choice." 
 
 PART I. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA : 
 A. I. DICKINSON, PRINTER AND PUBLISHER, 
 
 S. W. CORNER OF SIXTH AND CHERRV STREETS. 
 FOR SALE BY THE BOOKSELLERS GENERALLY- 
 
 1S38. 
 
OK1G1NAL POEMS, 
 
 YOUTHFUL MINDS. 
 
 ANN AND JANE TAYLOR, AND OTHERS, 
 
A TRUE STORY. 
 
 " Ah, look!" said the child, " at that carnage, marnrna, 
 
 All covered with varnish and gold, 
 Those ladies are riding so charmingly there, 
 
 While we have to walk in the cold." 
 
 Sf.e page 5* 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 A TRUE STORY. 
 
 LITTLE ANN and her mother were walking one d 
 Through London's fine city so fair ; 
 
 And business obliged them to go by the way 
 That led them through Cavendish Square. 
 
 And as they passed by the great house of a lord-, 
 
 A beautiful chariot there came, 
 To take some most elegant ladies abroad, 
 
 Who straightway got into the same. 
 
 The ladies in feathers 'and jewels were seen^ 
 
 The chariot was painted all o'er 
 The footmen ''behind were in silver and green, 
 
 And four horses galloped before. 
 
 Little Ann, by her mother walked silent and sad, 
 A tear trickled down from her eye ; 
 
 Till her mother said, Ann, I should be very glad 
 To know what it is makes you cry. 
 
 Ah, look ! said the child, at that carriage, mamma, 
 
 AH covered with varnish and gold, 
 Those ladies are riding so charmingly there, 
 
 While we have to walk in the cold. 
 
 You say, God is kind to the folks that are good ; 
 
 But surely it cannot be true; 
 Or else I am certain, almost, that he would 
 
 Give such a fine carriage to you. 
 
 Look-there, little girl, said her mother, and see 
 What stands at that very coach door ; 
 
6 ORIGINAL 
 
 A poor ragged beggar, and listen how she 
 A halfpenny stands to implore. 
 
 All pale is her face, and deep sunk is her eye, 
 Her hands look like skeleton's bones ; 
 
 She has got a few rags just about her to tie, 
 And her naked feet bleed on the stones. 
 
 Dear ladies, she cries, and the tears trickle down, 
 
 Relieve a poor beggar, I pray ; 
 I've wandered all hungry about this wide town, 
 
 And not ate a morsel to-day. 
 
 My father and mother are long ago dead, 
 
 My brother sails over the sea; 
 And I've not a rag or a morsel of bread, 
 
 As plainly I'm sure you may see. 
 
 A fever I caught which was terribly bad, 
 
 But no nurse or physic had I ; 
 An old dirty shed was the house that I had, 
 
 And only on straw could I lie. 
 
 And now that I'm better, yet feeble and faint, 
 And famished, and naked, and cold, 
 
 I wander about with my grievous complaint, 
 And seldom get aught but a scold. 
 
 Some will not attend to my pitiful call, 
 Some think me a vagabond cheat, 
 
 And scarcely a creature relieves me, of all 
 The thousands that traverse the street. 
 
 Then ladies, dear ladies, your pity bestow ; 
 Just then a tall footman came round, 
 
 And asking the ladies which way they would go, 
 The chariot turned off with a bound. 
 
 Ah ! see, little girl, then her mother replied, 
 
 How foolish it was to complain ; 
 * If you had but looked at the contrary side, 
 Your tears would have dried up again> 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. 7 
 
 Your house, and your friends, and your victuals, and 
 bed 
 
 'Twas God in his mercy that gave, 
 You did not deserve to be covered and fed, 
 
 And yet all these blessings you have. 
 
 This poor little beggar is hungry and cold, 
 
 No father nor mother has she ; 
 And while you can daily such objects behold, 
 
 You ought quite contented to be. 
 
 A coach and a footman, in gaudy attire, 
 Can't give true delight to the breast ; 
 . To be good is the thing you shoold chiefly desire, 
 And then leave to God all the rest, A. T, 
 
 THE BIRD'S NEST. 
 
 Now the sun rises bright and soars high in the air, 
 
 The trees smile around us in green ; 
 The svveet little birds to the meadows repair, 
 And pick up the moss, and the lamb's wool, and hair, 
 
 To make their nests soft, warm, and clean, 
 
 High up in some tree, far away from the town, 
 
 Where they think naughty boys cannot creep, 
 They build it with twigs, and they line it with down, 
 And lay their neat eggs, speckled over with brown, 
 And sit till the little ones peep. 
 
 Then come, little boy, let us go to the wood, 
 
 And climb up the very tall tree ; 
 And while the old birds are gone out to get food^ 
 We'll take down the nest, and the chirruping brood, 
 
 And divide them betwixt you and me, 
 
 But ah \ don't you think 'would be wicked and bad, 
 
 To take their poor nestlings away ; 
 And after the toil and the trouble they've had, 
 When they think themselves safe, and are singing so 
 glad, 
 
 To spoil all their work for our play V 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 Suppose that some monster, a dozen yards high* 
 
 Should stalk up at night to your bed ; 
 And out of the window along with you fly, 
 And stop not to bid your dear parents' good bye, 
 
 Nor care for a word that you said ; 
 
 And take you away not a creature knows where, 
 
 And fasten you down with a chain ; 
 And feed you with victuals you never could bear, 
 And hardly allow you to breathe the fresh air, 
 
 Or ever to come back again. 
 
 Oh ! how you would cry for your dearest mamma, 
 
 And long to her bosom to run; 
 And beat your poor head at your hard prison bar, 
 And hate the vile monster that took you so far, 
 
 For nothing at all but his fun. 
 
 Then say, little boy, shall we climb the tall tree? 
 
 Ah ! no, but this lesson we'll Jearn, 
 That 'twould just as cruel and terrible be, 
 As if a great monster should take away thee, 
 
 Not ever again to return 
 
 Then sleep little innocents sleep in your nest, 
 
 ^We mean not to take you away ; 
 And when the next summer shall wear her green , 
 
 vest, 
 And the woods in a robe of rich foliage be drest, 
 
 Your songs shall our kindness repay. 
 
 When the spring shall return, to the woodlands we'll 
 
 hie, 
 
 *And sit by yon very tall tree ; 
 And rejoice, as we hear your sweet carols on high, 
 With silken wings soaring amid the blue sky, 
 
 That we left you to sing and be free. Iderfa. 
 
ORIGINAL FOEMS. 
 
 THE HAND POST. 
 
 THE night was dark, the sun .was hid 
 Beneath the mountain gray ; 
 
 And not a single star appear'd, 
 To shoot a silver ray. 
 
 Across the Iieath the owlet flew, 
 And screanrd along the blast, 
 
 And onward, with a quicken'd step, 
 Benighted Henry past. 
 
 At intervals, amid the gleom, 
 A flash of light'ning play'd, 
 
 And show'd the ruts with water fill'd, 
 And the black hedge's shade. 
 
 Again, in thickest darkness plung'd, 
 
 He grop'd his way to find ; 
 And now he thought he spied beyond, 
 
 A form of horrid kind. 
 
 In deadly white it upward rose, 
 
 Of cloak or mantle bare, 
 And held its naked arms across, 
 
 To catch him by the hair. 
 
 Poor Henry felt his blood run cold 
 
 At what before him stood ; 
 But well, thought he, no Harm, I'm sure, 
 
 Can happen to the good. 
 
 So calling all his courage up, 
 
 He to the goblin went ; 
 And eager through the dismal gloom, 
 
 His piercing eyes he bent. 
 
 And when he came well nigh the ghost 
 That gave him such affright, 
 
 He clapt his hands upon his side, 
 And loudly laugh'd outright. 
 
For 'twas a friendly hand-post stood, 
 
 His wand'ring steps to guide ; 
 And thus he found that to the good 
 
 No evil should betide. 
 
 And well, thought he, one thing I've learnt, 
 
 Nor soon shall I forget, 
 Whatever frightens me again, 
 
 To march straight up to it. 
 
 And when I hear an idle tale 
 
 Of goblins and a ghost, 
 I'll tell of this my lonely walk, 
 
 And the tall' white Hand Post. Idem. 
 
 SPRING. 
 
 AH ! see how the ice is all melting away, 
 The rivers have burst from their chain ; 
 
 The woods and the hedges with verdure look gay, 
 And daisies enamel the plain. 
 
 The sun rises high, and shines warm o'er the dale, 
 The orchards with blossoms are white ; 
 
 The voice of the woodlark is heard in the vale, 
 And the cuckoo returns from her flight. 
 
 Young lambs sport and frisk on the sides of the hill, 
 The honey-bee wakes from her sleep, 
 
 The turtle-dove opens her soft cooing bill, 
 And snow-drops and the primrose peep. 
 
 AH nature looks active, delightful, and gay 
 
 The creatures begin their employ ; 
 Ah ! let me not be less industrious than they, 
 
 An idle, or indolent boy. 
 
 Now while in the spring of my vigour and bloom, 
 
 In the paths of fair learning I'll run ; 
 Nor let the best part of my being consume, 
 
 With nothing of consequence done. 
 
ORIGINAL POEJM3. 1 1 
 
 Thus while to my lessons with care 1 attend, 
 
 And store up the knowledge I gain, 
 When the winter of age shall upon me descend, 
 
 'Twill cheer the dark season of pain. Idem. 
 
 SUMMER. 
 
 THE heats of the summer come hastily on, 
 The fruits are transparent and clear ; 
 
 The buds and the blossoms of April are gone, 
 And the deep-colour'd cherries appear. 
 
 The blue sky above us is bright and serene, 
 
 No cloud on its bosom remains ; 
 And woods, and the fields, and the hedges are green, 
 
 And the hay-cock smells sweet from the plains. 
 
 Down fair in the valley where bubbles the spring, 
 Which soft through the meadow-land glides, 
 
 The lads from the mountain the heavy sheep bring, 
 And shear the warm coat from their sides. 
 
 Ah ! let me lie down in some shady retreat, 
 
 Beside the meandering stream, 
 For the sun darts abroad an unbearable heat, 
 
 And burns with his over-head beam. , 
 
 There all the day idle, my limbs I'll extend, 
 
 Fann'd soft to delicious repose ; 
 While around me a thousand sweet odours ascend, 
 
 From ev'ry gay wood-flow'r that blows. 
 
 But hark from the lowlands what sounds do 1 hear, 
 
 The voices of pleasure so gay ; 
 The merry young hay-makers cheerfully bear 
 
 The heat of the hot summer's day. 
 
 While some with bright scythe, singing shrill to the 
 stone, 
 
 The tall grass and butter weeds mow, 
 Some spread jt with rakes, and by.others 'tis thrown 
 
 Into sweet-smelling cocks in a row. 
 
12 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 Then since joy and glee with activity join, 
 
 This moment to labour I'll rise; 
 While the idle love best in the shade to recline, 
 
 And waste precious time as it flies. 
 
 To waste precious time we can never recall, 
 
 Is waste of the wickedest kind : 
 An instant of life has more value than all 
 
 The gold that in India they find. 
 
 Not di'monds that brilliantly beam in the mine, 
 For one moment's time should be giv'n ; 
 
 For gems can but make us look gaudy and fine, 
 But time can prepare us for heav'n. Idem. 
 
 .AUTUMN. ' 
 
 THE sun is far risen above the old trees, 
 
 His beams on the silver dew play ; 
 The gossamer tenderly waves in the breeze, 
 
 And the mists are fast rolling away. 
 
 Let us leave the warm bed, and the pillow of down, 
 
 The morning fair bids us arise, 
 Little boy for the shadows of midnight are flown, 
 
 And the sun beams peep into our eyes. 
 
 We'll pass by the garden that leads to the gate, 
 
 But where is its gaiety now 1 
 The Michaelmas daisy blows lonely and late, 
 
 And the yellow leaf whirls from the bough. 
 
 Last night the glad reapers their harvest home sung, 
 And stor'd the full garners with grain ; 
 
 Did you hear how the woods with their merry shouts 
 
 rung, 
 As they bore the last sheaf from the plain ? 
 
 But hark ! from the woodlands the sound of a gun 1 
 
 The wounded bird flutters and dies: 
 Ah ! surely 'tis wicked, for nothing but fun, 
 
 Tc shoot the poor thing as it flies. 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. 13 
 
 The timid hare too, in affright and dismay, 
 
 Runs swiftly through the brushwood and grass; 
 
 How she turns, how she winds, and tries every way, 
 But the cruel dog won't let her pass. 
 
 Ah ! poor little partridge, and pheasant, and hare, 
 
 I wish they would leave you to live ; 
 For my part I wonder how people can bear 
 
 To see all the torment they give. 
 
 When Reynard at midnight steels down to the farm, 
 And kills the poor chickens and cocks ; 
 
 Then rise farmer Goodman, there can be no harm 
 In killing a thief of a fox. 
 
 But the innocent hare, and the pheasant so sleek, 
 
 'Twere cruel and wicked to slay: 
 The partridge with blood never reddened her beak, 
 
 Nor hare stole the poultry away. 
 
 If folks would but think of the torture they give, 
 
 To creatures who cannot complain, 
 I think they would let the poor animals live, 
 
 Nor ever go shooting again. Idem, 
 
 WINTER. 
 
 BEHOLD the grey branches that stretch from the trees, 
 Nor blossoms nor verdure they wear ! 
 
 They rattle and shake to the northerly breeze, 
 And wave their long arms in the air. 
 
 The sun hides his face in a mantle of clouds, 
 
 Dark vapours roll over the sky ! 
 The wind through the wood halloes hoarsely and loud, 
 
 And sea-birds across the land fly. 
 
 Come in, little Charles, for the snow patters down, 
 
 No paths in the garden remain : 
 The streets and the houses are white in the town, 
 
 And white are the fields and the plain. 
 
14 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 Come in, little Charles, from this tempest of snow. 
 
 'Tis dark and the shutters we'll close; 
 We'll put a fresh faggot to make the fire glow, 
 
 Secure from the storm as it blows. 
 
 But how many wretches without house or home, 
 
 Are wandering naked and pale : 
 Obliged on the snow-covered common to roam, 
 
 And pierced by the pitiless gale. 
 
 No house for their shelter, no victuals to eat, 
 
 No bed for their limbs to repose; 
 Or a crust dry and mouldy, the best of their meat, 
 
 And their pillow a pillow of snows. 
 
 Be thankful, my child, that it is not your lo, 
 
 To wander an orphan and poor ; 
 A father,, and mother, and home you have got, 
 
 And yet you deserve them no more. 
 
 Be thankful, my child and forget not to pray, 
 
 Give thanks to that Father above, 
 Who gives you so many more blessings than they, 
 
 And crowns your whole life with his love. Idem. 
 
 TO A BUTTERFLY, ON GIVING IT LIBERTY. 
 
 POOR harmless insect, thither fly, 
 
 And life's short hour enjoy ; 
 'Tis all thou hast, and why should I 
 
 That little all destroy] 
 
 Why should my tyrant will suspend, 
 
 A life by wisdom given, 
 Or sooner bid thy being end, 
 
 Than was designed by heaven. 
 
 Lost to the joy which reason knows. 
 
 Ephemeral and frail, 
 'Tis thine to wander where the rose 
 
 Perfumes the cooling gale. 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. 125 
 
 'To bask upon the sunny bed, 
 
 The damask rose to kiss, 
 To range along the bending shade, 
 
 Is alfthy little bliss. 
 
 Then flutter still thy silken wings, 
 
 In rich embroidery drest, 
 And sport upon the gale that flings 
 
 Sweet odours from his vest. Idem. 
 
 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 SEE, the dark vapours cloud the sky, 
 The thunder rumbles round and round ; 
 
 The lightning's flash begins to fly, 
 Big drops of rain bedew the ground; 
 
 The frightened birds, with ruffled wing, 
 
 Fly through the air and cease to sing. 
 
 Now nearer rolls the mighty peal, 
 Incessant thunder roars aloud ; 
 
 Toss'd by the winds the tall oaks reel, 
 The forked lightning breaks the cloud : 
 
 Deep torrents drench the swimming plain, 
 
 And sheets of fire descend with rain. 
 
 Tis God who on the tempest rides, 
 And with a word directs the storms ; 
 
 'Tis at his nod the wind subsides, 
 Or heaps of heavy vapours form. 
 
 In fire and cloud he walks the sky, 
 
 And lets his stores of tempest fly. 
 
 Then why with childish terror fear; 
 
 What waits his will to do me harm 1 
 'The bolt shall never venture near, 
 
 Or give me cause for dire alarm, 
 If he directs the fiery ball, 
 And bid it not on me to fall. 
 
16 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 Yet though beneath his power divine, 
 
 I wait, depending on his care, 
 Each right endeavour shall be mine, 
 
 Of ev'ry danger I'll beware; 
 Far from the metal bell-wire stand, 
 Nor on the door-lock put my hand. 
 
 When caught amidst the open field, 
 I'll not seek shelter from a tree ; ^ 
 
 Though from the falling rain a shield, 
 More dreadful might the lightning be; 
 
 Its tallest boughs might draw the fire, 
 
 And I, with sudden stroke, empire. 
 
 Thus while with lawful care I try, 
 
 To shun each dangerous thing and place, 
 
 I'll lift to God and pray'rful eye, 
 And beg protection from his grace : 
 
 If spar'd to him the praise I'll give, 
 
 Or if I die, in heaven shall live. Idem 
 
 THE CHURCH-YARD. 
 
 THE moon rises bright in the east, 
 
 The stars with pure brilliancy shine ; 
 The songs of the woodlands have ceas'd, 
 
 And still is the low of the kine. 
 The men, from their work on the hill, 
 
 Trudge homeward, with pitchfork and flail 
 The buz of the helmet is still, 
 
 And the bat flaps his wings in the gale. 
 
 And see from those darkly green trees ; 
 
 Of cypress, and holly, and yew, 
 That wave their black arms in the breeze, 
 
 The old village church is in view, 
 The owl from her ivy'd retreat, 
 
 Screams hoarse to the winds of the night ; 
 And the clock, with its solemn repeat, 
 
 Has toll'd the departure of light. 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 child, let us wander alone, 
 When half the wide world is in bed, 
 And read o'er the mouldering stone, 
 That tells of the mouldering dead ; 
 And let us remember it well, 
 
 That we must as certainly die, 
 'For us too may toll the sad bell, 
 . And in the cold earth we must lie. 
 
 You are not so healthy and gay, 
 
 So young, and so active, and bright, 
 That death cartnot snatch you away, 
 
 Or some dreadful accident smite. 
 Here lie both the young and the old, 
 
 Confm'd in the coffin so small, 
 And the earth closes over them cold, 
 
 And the grave-worm devours them all. 
 
 In vain were the beauty and bloom, 
 
 That once o'er their bodies were spread^; 
 Now still, in the desolate tomb, 
 
 Each rest his inanimate head. 
 Their hands, once so active for play, 
 
 Their lips, which so merrily sung, 
 Now senseless and motionless lay, 
 
 And stiff is the chattering tongue. 
 
 Then seek not, my child, as the best, 
 
 Those things which so shortly must fade; 
 Let piety dwell in thy breast, 
 
 And all of thine actions pervade. 
 And then when beneath the green sod, 
 
 This active young body shall lie, 
 Thy soul shall ascend to its God, 
 
 To live with .the blest in the sky. Idem, 
 
 MORNING, 
 
 AWAKE, little girl, it is time to arise, 
 
 Come shake drowsy sleep from your eye; 
 
ORIGINAL POE.AiS. 
 
 lark is loud warbling his notes in the skies, 
 And the sun is far mounted on high. 
 
 O come, for the fields with gay flow'rs overflow,; 
 
 The dew-drop is trembling still, 
 The lowing herds gaze in the pasture below, 
 
 And the sheep-bell is heard from the hill. 
 
 O come, for the bee has flown out of his bed, 
 
 To begin his day's labours anew ; 
 The spider is weaving her delicate thread, 
 
 Which brilliantly glitters with dew. 
 
 O come, for the ant has crept out of her cell, 
 
 Her daily employment to seek ; 
 She knows the true value of moments too well, 
 
 To waste them in indolent sleep. 
 
 Awake, little sleeper, and do not despise 
 
 Of insects instruction to ask, 
 From your pillow with good resolutions arise, 
 
 And cheerfully go to your task. J. T 
 
 EVENING. 
 
 LITTLE girl, it is time to retire to rest, 
 
 The sheep are put into the fold, 
 The linnet forsakes us and flies to her nest, 
 
 To shelter her young from the cold. 
 
 The owl has flown out from his lonely retreat, 
 And screams through the tall shady trees ; 
 
 The nightingale takes on the hawthorn her seat, 
 And sings to the evening breeze. 
 
 The sun, too, now seems to have fmish'd his race> 
 
 And sinks once again to his rest ; 
 But though we no longer can see his bright face, 
 
 He leaves a gold streak in the west. 
 
 Little girl have you finish'd your daily employs 
 With industry, patience and care 1 
 
ORIGINAL POEMK 19 
 
 If so, lay your head on your pillow with joy, 
 No thorn to disturb shall be there. 
 
 The moon through your curtains shall cheerfully peep, 
 Her silver beam dance on your eyes ; 
 
 And mild ev'ning breezes shall fan you to sleep, 
 Till the bright morn bid you arise. J. T> 
 
 THE IDLE BOY. 
 
 THOMAS was an idle lad, 
 
 And loung'd about all day ; 
 And though he many a lesson had, 
 
 He minded nought but play. 
 
 He only car'd for top or ball, 
 Or marbles, hoop, and kite ; 
 
 But as for learning, that was all 
 Neglected by him quite. 
 
 In vain his mother's kind advice, 
 
 In vain his master's care : 
 He follow'd every idle vice, 
 
 And learnt to curse and swear ! 
 
 And think you, when he grew a mar.) 
 
 He prosper'd in his ways 1 
 No : wicked courses never can 
 
 Bring good and happy days. 
 
 Without a shilling in his purse, 
 
 Or cot to call his own, 
 Poor Thomas grew from bad to worse) 
 
 And harden'd as a stone. 
 
 And oh ! it grieves me much to write 
 
 His melancholy end ; 
 Then let us leave the dreadful sight, 
 
 And thoughts of pity send, 
 2 
 
ORIGINAL POEMfi. 
 
 But may we this important truth 
 
 Observe and ever hold, 
 " All those who're idle in their youth, 
 
 Will suffer when' they're old." J. T. 
 
 THE INDUSTRIOUS BOY. 
 
 IN a cottage upon the heath wild, 
 That always was cleanly and nice^ 
 
 Liv'd William, a good little child, 
 Who minded his parent's advice. 
 
 ^Tis true he lov'd marbles and kite, 
 And spin-top, and nine-pins, and ball, 
 
 But this I declare with delight, 
 His book he lov'd better than all. 
 
 In active and useful employ 
 His youth gaily glided away ; 
 
 While rational pleasure and joy 
 Attended his steps ev'ry day. 
 
 And now let us see him grown up; 
 , Still cheerfulness dwelt in his mind, 
 Contentment yet sweetened his cup, 
 For active he still was and kind. 
 
 His wife for gay riches ne'er sigh'd, 
 
 No princess so happy as she ; 
 While William would sit by her side-, 
 
 With a sweet smiling babe on his knee, 
 
 His garden well loaded with store, 
 His cot by the side of the green, 
 
 Where woodbines crept over the door, 
 And jessamines peep'd in between. 
 
 These fill'd him with honest delight, 
 And rewarded him well for his toil; 
 
 He went to bed cheerful at night; 
 And woke in the morn with a smile. 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. 21 
 
 t 
 
 Nor knew he the feelings of dread, 
 When infirmity brought him to die ; 
 
 While his grandchildren knelt round his bed, 
 And his dutiful sons clos'd his eye. 
 
 O then may I diligent be, 
 
 And as active as ever I can, 
 That I may be happy and free, 
 
 Like him when I grow up a man ! J. T. 
 
 THE LITTLE FISHERMAN. 
 
 THERE was a little fellow once, 
 And Harry was his name, 
 
 And many a naughty trick had he ; 
 I tell it to his shame. 
 
 He minded not his friends advice, 
 But followed his own wishes; 
 
 And one most cruel trick of his 
 Was that of catching fishes. 
 
 His father had a little pond, 
 Where often Harry went, 
 
 And in this most inhuman sport, 
 He many an evening spent. 
 
 One day he took his hook and bait, 
 And hurried to the pond, 
 
 And there began the cruel game, 
 Of which he was so fond. 
 
 And many a little fish he caught, 
 And pleas'd was he to look, 
 
 To see them writhe in agony, 
 And struggle on the hook. 
 
 At last when having caught enough, 
 
 And tired too himself, 
 He hastened home, intending there 
 
 To put them on a shelf. 
 
22 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 But as he jump'd to reach a dish 
 
 T^o put his fishes in, 
 A sharp meat-hook, that hung close by, 
 
 Did catch him by the chin. 
 
 Poor Harry kick'd and call'd aloud, 
 And scream'd and cry'd and roar'd, 
 
 While from his wound the crimson blood 
 In dreadful torrents pour'd. 
 
 The maids came running, frighten'd much 
 
 To see him hanging there, 
 And soon they took him from the hook, 
 
 And sat him in a chair. 
 
 The surgeon came and stopp'd the blood, 
 
 And up he bound his head ; 
 And then they carry'd him up stairs, 
 
 And laid him on his bed. 
 
 Conviction darted on his mind, 
 
 As groaning there he lay ; 
 He with remorse and horror thought 
 
 Upon his cruel play. 
 
 "And oh,", said he, " poor little fish, 
 What tortures they have borne ! 
 
 While I, well pleas'd, have stood to see 
 Their tender bodies torn ! 
 
 *' O what a wicked boy I've been, 
 
 Such torments to bestow ; 
 Well I deserve the pain I feel, 
 
 Since I could serve them so. 
 
 " But now I know how great the smart, 
 
 How terrible the pain ! 
 As long as I can feel myself 
 
 I'll never fish again. 
 
THE LITTLE FISHERMAN, 
 
 But as he jump'd to reach a dish 
 
 To put his fishes in, 
 A sharp meat-hook, that hung close by 
 
 Pid catch him by the chin. 
 
 See page %& 
 
I 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. 23 
 
 OLD AGE. 
 
 WHO is this that comes tott'ring along? 
 
 His footsteps are feeble and slow, 
 His beard is grown curling and long, 
 
 And his head is turned white as the snow. 
 
 His dim eye is sunk in his head, 
 
 And wrinkles deep furrow his brow ; 
 
 Animation and vigour are fled, 
 And yield to infirmity now. 
 
 Little stranger, his name is old age, 
 
 His journey will shortly be o'er, 
 He soon will leave life's busy stage, 
 
 To be torn by affliction no more. 
 
 Little stranger, though healthy and strong, 
 
 You now all adversity brave, 
 Like him you must totter ere long, 
 
 Like him you must sink to the grave. 
 
 Those limbs that so actively play, 
 
 That face, beaming pleasure and mirth, 
 
 Like his must drop into decay, 
 And moulder away in the earth. 
 
 Then ere that dark season of night, 
 When youth and its energies cease, 
 
 O ! follow, with zeal and delight, 
 
 Those paths that are pleasure and peace. 
 
 So triumph and hope shall be nigh, 
 
 When failing and fainting your breath ; 
 
 'Twill light a bright spark in your eye, 
 As it closes for ever in death. 
 
 THE APPLE TREE. 
 
 OLU John had an apple tree, healthy and green, 
 Which bore the best codlins that ever were seen, 
 
24 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 So juicy, so mellow, and red ; 
 And when they were ripe, as old Johnny was poor, 
 He sold them to children that passed by his door, 
 
 To buy him a morsel of bread. 
 
 Little Dick, his next neighbour, one often might see, 
 With longing eyes viewing this nice apple tree, 
 
 And wishing a codlin would fall. 
 One day as he stood in the heat of the sun, 
 He began thinking whether he might not take one, 
 
 And then he looked over the wall. 
 
 And as he again cast his eye on the tree, 
 
 He said to himself, "O how nice they would be, 
 
 So cool and refreshing to day ! 
 The tree is so full, and I'd only take one, 
 And old John won't see, for he is not at home, 
 
 And nobody is in the way." 
 
 But stop, little boy, take your hand from the bough, 
 Remember, though old John can't see you just now, 
 
 And no one to chide you is nigh, 
 There is ONE, who by night, just as well as by day, 
 Can see all you do, and can hear all you say, 
 
 From his glorious throne in the sky. 
 
 Oh then, little boy, come away from the tree, 
 Content, hot or weary, or thirsty to be, 
 
 Or any thing rather than steal ; 
 For the great God, who even through darkness can 
 
 look, 
 Writes down every crime we commit in his book, 
 
 However we think to conceal. J. T. 
 
 THE DISAPPOINTMENT. 
 
 IN tears to her mother poor Harriet came, 
 
 Let us listen to hear what she says ; 
 " Oh see, dear mamma, it is pouring with rain, 
 
 We cannot go out in the chaise. 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. 25 
 
 "All the week have I longed for the journey you 
 know, 
 
 And fancy'd the minutes were hours, 
 And now that I'm dress'd, and all ready to go, 
 
 O see, dear mamma, how it pours." 
 
 I'm sorry, my dear, her good mother replied, 
 
 The rain won't permit us to go ; 
 And I'm sorry to see for the sake of a ride, 
 
 That you cry and distress yourself so. 
 
 These slight disappointments and crosses you hate, 
 
 Are sent you your mind to prepare; 
 That you may with courage and fortitude wait 
 
 More serious distresses to bear. 
 
 O think not, my child, as you grow up in life, 
 
 That pleasures unceasing will flow ; 
 Disappointment, and trouble, and sorrow, and. strife, 
 
 Will follow wherever you go. 
 
 Though now the bright prospect seems opening fair, 
 
 And hope paints a scene of delight, 
 Too soon you will see it all vanish in air, 
 
 And leave you to darkness and night. 
 
 Ah, then, my dear girl, when those- sorrows appear, 
 
 And troubles flow in like a tide, 
 You'll wonder that ever you wasted a tear 
 
 On merely the loss of a ride. 
 
 But though this world's pleasures are fading and vain, 
 
 Religion is lasting and true ; 
 Real pleasure and joy in her paths you may gain, 
 
 Nor will disappointment ensue. J. T. 
 
 THE SHEPHERD BOY. 
 
 Upon a mountain's grassy side 
 
 Where many a tall fir grew, 
 Young Colin wandered with his flocks, 
 
 And many a hardship knew. 
 
26 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 No downy pillow for his head, 
 
 No sheltered home had he, 
 The green grass was his only bed, 
 
 Beneath some shady tree. 
 
 Dry bread and water from the spring, 
 Composed his temperate fare ; 
 
 Yet Colin ate with thankful heart, 
 Nor felt a murmur there. 
 
 A cheerful smile upon his face 
 
 Was ever seen to play, 
 He envied not the rich nor great; 
 
 More happy far than they. 
 
 While 'neath some spreading shade he sat, 
 
 Beside his fleecy flocks, 
 His soft pipe warbled through the wood, 
 
 And echoed from the rocks. 
 
 An ancient castle on the plain, 
 
 In silent grandeur stood, 
 And there the young lord Henry dwelt 
 
 The proud, but not the good. 
 
 And oft he wandered o'er the plain, 
 
 Or on the mountain's side, 
 And with surprise and envy too 
 
 The humble Colin eyed. 
 
 "And why," said he, "am I denied 
 
 That cheefulness and joy 
 That ever smiles upon the face 
 
 Of this poor shepherd boy ! 
 
 " Nor titles, honours, or estates, 
 
 Or wealth or power, has he; 
 And yet, though destitute and poor, 
 
 He seems more blest than me." 
 
 For this lord Henry did not know 
 That pleasure ne'er is found 
 
THE SHEPHARD BOY. 
 
 Colin though poor, was humble loo, 
 
 Benevolent and kind : 
 While passion, anger, rage, and pride, 
 
 Disturbed lord Henry's mind. 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. Z( 
 
 Where angry passions reign and rule. 
 
 And evil deeds abound. 
 Colin though j)oor, was humble too, 
 
 Benevolent and kind : 
 While passion, anger, rage, and pride, 
 
 Disturbed lord Henry's mind. 
 Thus Colin, though a shepherd boy, 
 
 Was ever glad and gay; 
 And Henry, though a noble lord, 
 
 To discontent a prey. J. T. 
 
 THE ROBIN. 
 
 Away, pretty Robin, fly home to your nest, 
 To make you my captive I still should like best, 
 
 And feed you with worms and with bread : 
 Your eyes are so sparkling, your feathers so soil, 
 Your little wings flutter so pretty aloft, 
 
 And your breast is all coloured with red. 
 
 But then 'twould be cruel to keep you, I know, 
 So stretch out your wings little Robin, and go, 
 
 Fly home to your young ones again; 
 Go listen again to the notes of your mate, 
 And enjoy the green shade in your lonely retreat, 
 
 Secure from the wind and the rain. 
 
 But when the leaves fall, and the winter winds blow> 
 And the green fields are covered all over with snow, 
 
 And the clouds in white feathers descend ; 
 When the springs are all ice, and the rivulets freeze, 
 And the long shining icicles drop from the frees, 
 
 Then, Robin, remember your friend. 
 
 When with cold and with hunger quite perished and 
 
 weak, 
 Come tap at my window again with your beak, 
 
 And gladly I'll let you come in ; 
 You shall fly to my bosom, or perch on my thumbs 
 Or hop round the table and pick up the crumbs, 
 
 And never be hungry agaiiis J. T. 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 JAMES AND THE SHOULDER OF MUTTON, 
 
 YOUNG Jem at noon return'd from school, 
 ' As hungry as could be, 
 He cried to Sue, the servant maid, 
 My dinner give to me. 
 
 Said Sue it is not yet come home, 
 
 Besides it is not late ; 
 No matter that, cries little Jem, 
 
 I do not like to wait. 
 
 Quick to the baker's Jemmy went, 
 
 And ask'd, " Is dinner done 1" 
 " It is," replied the baker's man. 
 
 "Then home I'll with it run." 
 
 Nay, sir," reply'd he prudently, 
 
 " I tell you 'tis too hot ; 
 * And much too heavy 'tis for you." 
 " I tell you it is not." 
 
 " papa, mama, are both gone out, 
 
 And I for dinner long ; 
 So give it me : it is all mine, 
 
 And baker' hold your tongue. 
 
 " A shoulder 'tis ofmutten nice! 
 
 And batter pudding too ; 
 I'm glad of that, it is so good : 
 
 How clever is our Sue !" 
 
 Now near his door young Jem was come, 
 
 He round the corner turn'd ; 
 But O, sad fate ! unlucky chance ! 
 
 The dish his fingers burn'd, 
 
 -Low in the kennel down fell dish, 
 
 And down fell all the meat ; 
 Swift went the pudding in the stream, 
 
 And sailed down the street. 
 
 The people laugh'd, and rude boys grinn'd, 
 At mutton's hapless fall ; 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. $ 
 
 But though asham'd, young- Jemmy cried, 
 "Better lose part than all." 
 
 The shoulder by the knuckel seiz'd, 
 
 His hands both grasp'd it fast, 
 And, deaf to all their jibes and cries, 
 
 He gain'd his house at last. 
 
 " Impatience is a fault," says Jem, 
 
 " The baker said too true ; 
 Tn future I will patient be, 
 
 And mind what says our Sue," Andelade* 
 
 FALSE ALARMS. 
 LITTLE Mary one day most loudly did call 
 
 " Mamma ! O mamma, pray come here ! 
 A fall I have had oh, a very sad fall." 
 
 Mamma ran in haste and in fear ; 
 Then Mary jump't up, and she laugh'd in great glee, 
 
 And cried "Why, how fast you can run ! 
 No harm has befalPn, I assure you to me ; 
 
 My screaming was only in fun." 
 
 Her mother was busy at work the next day, 
 
 She heard from without a loud cry ; 
 " The big dog has got me ! O help me ! O pray ? 
 
 He tears me he bites me I die !" 
 Mamma, all in terror, quick to the court flew, 
 
 And there little Mary she found : 
 Who' laughing, said, " Madam, pray how do you do '." 
 
 And curt'sied quite down to the ground. 
 
 That night little Mary, when long gone to bed, 
 Shrill cries, and loud shriekings were heard ; 
 " I'm on fire, O mamma ! come up, or I'm dead !" 
 
 Marnma she believed not a word. 
 Sleep, sleep, naughty child, she called out from below* 
 . How often have I been deceived ! 
 You're telling a story you very well know ; 
 Go to sleep, for you can't be believed. 
 '3* 
 
30 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 Yet still the child screamed now the house filPd with 
 smoke ; 
 
 That fire is above Jane declares ; , 
 Alas Mary's words they soon found were no joke, 
 
 When every one hastened up stairs. 
 All burnt and all seamed was her once pretty face, 
 
 And terribly marked are her arms, 
 Her features all scarred, leave a lasting disgrace, 
 
 For giving mamma false alarms. Idem. 
 
 THE CHILD'S MONITOR. 
 
 The wind blows down the largest tree, 
 And yet the wind I cannot see. 
 Playmates far of, that have been kind, 
 My thought can bring before my mind, 
 The past by it is present brought, 
 And yet I. cannot see my thought. 
 
 The charming rose perfumes the air, 
 Yet I can see no perfumes there. 
 Blithe Robin's notes how sweet, how clear ! 
 From his small bill they reach my ear : 
 And whilst upon the air they float. 
 I hear, yet cannot see a note. 
 
 When I would do what is forbid, 
 By something in my heart I'm chid ; 
 When good I think, then quick and pat, 
 That something says, " My child do that." 
 
 When I too near the stream would go, ^ 
 
 So pleased to see the waters flow, 
 That something says, without a sourid, 
 " Take care, dear child, you may be drown'J;' 5 
 And for the poor whene'er I grieve, 
 That something says, " A penny give." 
 Thus spirits good and ill there be, 
 Although invisible to me ; 
 Whate'er I do, they see me still, 
 But O, good spirits, guide my will ! Idem, 
 
ORIGIN AT, POINTS. 
 
 THE BUTTERFLY. 
 
 The butterfly, an idle thing, 
 
 Nor honey makes, nor yet can sing, 
 
 Like to the bee and bird ; 
 Nor does it, like the prudent ant, 
 Lay up the grain for times of want, 
 
 A wise and cautious hoard. 
 
 My youth is but a summer's day, 
 Then like the bee and ant, I'll lay 
 
 A store of learning by ; 
 And though from flower to flower I rove, % 
 My stock of wisdom I'll improve, 
 
 Nor be a butterfly. Idem. 
 
 THE BOYS AND THE APPLE TREE. 
 
 As Billy and Tommy were walking one day, 
 
 They came by a fine orchard side ; 
 They'd rather eat apples than spell, read or play, 
 
 And Tommy to Billy then cried 
 
 Oh brother look ! see ! what fine clusters hang there, 
 
 I'll jump and climb over the wall ; 
 I will have an apple, I will have a pear, 
 
 Or else it shall cost me a fal!. 
 
 Said Billy to Tommy, to steal is a sin, 
 
 Mamma has oft told this to tliee ; 
 I never yet stole, nor now will begin ; 
 
 So red apples hang on the tree. 
 
 You are a good boy, as you ever have been, 
 
 Said Tommy ; let's walk on my lad ! 
 We'll call on our school-fellow, little Bob Green, 
 
 And to see us I know he'll be glad. 
 
 The}" came to a house, ancftheyjrang at the gate, 
 And asked " Pray is Bobby at home '!" 
 
 But Bobby's good manners did not let them wait ; 
 He out of the parlour did come. 
 
S2 ORIGINAL POEM?. 
 
 Bob smiled and laughed, hnd he capered with joy* 
 
 His little companions to view 
 We called in to see you said each little boy ; 
 
 Said Bobby, I'm glad to see you. 
 
 Come walk in our garden, so large and so fine ; 
 
 You shall, for my father gives leave ; 
 And more, he insists that you'll stay here to dine ; 
 
 A rare jolly day we shall have ! 
 
 But when in the garden, they found 'twas the same ; 
 
 They saw as they walked in the road ; 
 And near the high wall, when these little boys came, 
 
 They started as if from a toad. 
 
 That large ring of iron, which lies on the ground, 
 
 With terrible teeth like a saw, 
 Said Bobby, the guard of our garden is found ; 
 
 It keeps wicked robbers in awe. 
 
 The warning without, if they should set at nought, 
 
 This trap tears their legs O so sad ! 
 Said Billy to Tommy, so you'd have been caught, 
 
 A narrow escape you have had. 
 
 Cried Tommy, I'll mind what my good mamma sa)^s, 
 
 And take the advice of a. friend ; 
 I never will steal to the end of my days ; 
 
 I've been a bad boy, but I'll mend. Idem. 
 
 THE WOODEN DOLL, AND THE WAX DOLL. 
 
 THERE were two friends, a charming little pair ; 
 Brunette the Brown "and Blanchidine the fair ; 
 This child to love Brunette did still incline. 
 And much Brunette loved sweet Blanchidine. 
 Brunette in dress was neat yet wondrous plain, 
 But Blanchidine of finery was vain. 
 
 Now Blanchidine a new acquaintance made, 
 A little miss, most splendidly arrayed ; 
 Feathers and laces beauteous to behold, 
 And Indian frock, with spots of shining gold. 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 Said Blanchidine, a miss so richly dressed, 
 Most sure deserves by all to be caressed ; 
 'To play with me if she will condescend, 
 Henceforward she shall be my only friend. 
 'For this new miss, so dressed and so adorned, 
 Her poor Brunette was slighted, left, and scorned. 
 
 Of Blanchidine's vast stock of pretty toys, 
 A wooden doll her every thought employs ; 
 Its neck so white, so smooth, its cheeks so red, 
 She'd kiss, she'd hug, she'd take it to her bed. 
 
 Mamma now brought her home a doll of flax. 
 Its hair in ringlets white and soft as wax 
 Its eyes could open, and its eyes could shut, 
 And on it with much taste its clothes were put. 
 My dear wax doll! sweet Blanchidine would cry: 
 Her doll of wood was thrown neglected by. 
 
 One summer's day, 'twas in the month of June, 
 'The sun blazed out in all the heat of noon ; 
 My waxen doll, she cried, my dear, my charm! 
 Tou feel quite cool ; but you shall soon be warm. 
 She placed it in the sun, misfortune dire ! 
 The wax run down as if before the fire. 
 Each beauteous feature quickly disappeared, 
 And melting, left a blank all soiled and smeared.- 
 She stared, she screamed with horror and dismay. 
 You odious fright ! she then was heard to say 
 For you my silly heart I have estranged, 
 From my sweet wooden doll that never changed, 
 Just so may change my "new acquaintance fine, 
 For whom I left Brunette, that friend of mine. 
 No more by outside show will I be lured, 
 Of such capricious whims I think I'm cured ; 
 To plain old friends my heart shall still be true, 
 Nor change for ev'ry face because 'tis new. 
 Her slighted wooden tfoll resumed its charms, 
 .And wronged Brunette she clasped within her arms. 
 
 Idem, 
 
34 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 THE RED BREAST. 
 
 The Thrush sings nobly on the tree, 
 In strength of voice excelling me, 
 
 Whilst leaves and fruits are on ; 
 Think how poor Robin sings for you, 
 When nature's beauties bid xidiue, 
 
 And leaves and fruits are gone. 
 Ah, then to me some crumbs of bread, O fling ! 
 And through the year my grateful thanks I'll sing, 
 W'hen winter's winds blow loud and rude, 
 And birds retire in sullen mood, 
 
 And snows make white the ground ; 
 I sing, your drooping hearts to charm, 
 And sure that you'll not do me harm, 
 
 I hop your window round. 
 Ah, then to me some crumbs of bread, O fling, 
 And through the year my grateful thanks I'll sing, 
 ^ince, fiiond;3, in you I put my trust, 
 As you enjoy you should be just, 
 
 A'vl 'or your music pay; 
 And \vi)on t . find a traveller dead, 
 My bill with leaves the corpse shall spread, 
 
 And sing his passing lay. 
 
 Ah, then, to me some crumbs of bread, O fling, 
 And through the year my grateful thanks I'll sing. 
 
 Idem, 
 
 IDLE DICKY AND THE GOAT. 
 
 JOHN BRO^VN is a man without houses or lands, 
 Himself he supports by the work of his hands; 
 He brings home his wages each Saturday night, 
 To his wife and his children a very good sight. 
 
 His eldest boy Dicky, on errands when sent, 
 To loiter and chatter was ..very much bent; 
 The neighbours all called him an odd little trout 
 His shoes they were broke, and his toes they peeped 
 out 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. OO 
 
 To see such old shoes all their sorrows were rife ; 
 John Brown he much grieved, and so did his wife. 
 He kissed his boy Dicky, and stroked his white 
 
 head 
 
 You shall have a new pair my dear boy then he said ; 
 I've here twenty shillings, and money has wings ; 
 Go first get this note changed, I want other things. 
 
 Now here comes the mischief; this Dicky would stop 
 At an ill looking, mean looking, green grocer's shop ; 
 For here Jived a chattering dunce of a boy ; 
 To prate with this urchin gave Dicky great joy. 
 
 And now in his boasting he shows him the note, 
 And now to the green stall up marches a goat ; 
 They laughed, for it was this young nanny-goat's 
 
 way, 
 With those who passed by her to gambol and play. 
 
 All three they went intc the frolicksome bouts, 
 Till Dick dropped the note on a bunch of green sprouts ; 
 Now what was Dick's wonder! to see the vile goat, 
 In munching the green sprouts, eat up his bank note. 
 He crying ran back to John Brown with the news : 
 By stopping to idle he lost his new shoes, Idem. 
 
 THE NIGHTINGALE. 
 
 THY plaintive notes, sweet Philomel, 
 All other melodies excel ! 
 
 Deep in the grove retired, 
 Thou seem'st thyself and song to hide, 
 Nor dost thou boast, or plume with pride, 
 
 Nor wish to be admired. 
 
 So if endued with power and grace, 
 And with that power my will keep pace, 
 
 To act a gen'rous part ; 
 Hence paltry ostentatious show ! 
 Nor let my lib'ral action know, 
 
 A witness but my heart. Idem' 
 
36 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 NEVER PLAY WITH FIRE. 
 
 MY prayers I said, I went to bed 
 
 And soon I fell asleep ; 
 But soon I woke, my sleep was broke :, 
 
 I through my curtains peep. 
 
 I heard a noise of men and boys, 
 
 The watchman's rattle too ; 
 And fire they cry and then cried I, 
 
 O dear, what shall I do 1 
 
 A shout aloud came from the crowd, 
 , Around, above, below ; 
 And in the street the neighbours meet, 
 Who would the matter know. 
 
 Now down the stairs run threes and pairs r 
 
 Enough to break their bones, 
 The firemen swear, the engines tear, 
 
 And thunder o'er the stones, 
 
 The roof and wall, and stairs and all, 
 
 And rafters tumble in, 
 Red flames and blaze, now all amaze, 
 
 And make a dreadful din ! 
 
 And horrid screams, when bricks and beams 
 
 Came tumbling on their heads ; 
 And some are smashed, and some are dashed ; 
 
 Some leap on feather beds, 
 
 Some burn, some choak, with fire and smoke ! 
 
 And oh, what was the cause ? 
 My heart's dismay'd, last night I played 
 
 With Tommy, lighting straws ! Idem.. 
 
 THE LARK. 
 
 FROM his humble grassy bed, 
 See the warbling lark arise ! 
 
 By his grateful wishes led 
 
 Through those regions of the skies. 
 
OniGlNAL 
 
 Song of thanks and praise he pours, 
 
 Harmonizing airy space, 
 Sings and mounts, and higher soars, 
 
 Towards the throne of heavenly grace. 
 
 Small his gifts compared to mine, 
 Poor my thanks with his compared; 
 
 I've a soul almost divine, 
 
 Angels' blessings with me shared. 
 
 'W r ake my soul ! to praise aspire, 
 
 Reason, every sense accord, 
 Join in pure seraphic lire, 
 
 Love, and thank, and praise the Lord ! Idem, 
 
 THE TRUANT BOYS. 
 
 THE month was June, and the morning cool, 
 
 When Hal and Ned, 
 To walk together to the neighbouring school, 
 
 Rose early from their bed. 
 
 When reach'd the school, Hal said, "Why con your 
 task, 
 
 Demure and prim 1 
 Ere we go\i, let me one question ask ; 
 
 Ned, shall we go and swim 1 
 
 Fearless of future punishment or blame, 
 
 Away they hied, 
 Through many a verdant field, until they came 
 
 Unto the river side. 
 
 The broad stream narrowed in its onward course, 
 
 And deep and still, 
 It silent ran, and yet with rapid force, 
 
 To turn a neighb'ring mill. 
 
 Under the mill an arch gaped wide, and seemed 
 
 The jaws of death ! 
 Through this the smooth deceitful water teemed, 
 
 On dreadful wheels beneath, 
 4 
 
38 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 They swim the river wide ; nor think, nor care;, 
 
 The waters flow ; 
 And by the current strong they carried are 
 
 Into the mill stream now. 
 
 Through the swift waters, as young Ned was rolled 
 
 The gulf when near, 
 On a kind brier by chance he laid fast hold, 
 
 And stopped his dread career. 
 
 But luckless Hal was by the mill-wheel torn, 
 
 A warning sad 1 
 And the untimely death, all friends now mourn, 
 
 Of this poor truant lad. Idem, 
 
 GEORGE AND THE CHIMNEY SWEEPER. 
 His petticoats now George cast off, 
 
 For he was four years old ; 
 His trowsers were nankeen so fine 
 
 His buttons bright as gold. 
 
 " May I," said little George, "go out, 
 
 My pretty cloths to show 1 
 May I papa 1 may I mamma 1 " 
 
 The answer was "no, no. 
 
 Go run below, George in the court, 
 
 But go not in the street, 
 Lest naughty boys should play some tricks,. 
 
 Or gypsies you should meet " 
 
 Yet, though forbad, George went unseen, 
 
 The little boys to see, 
 And all admired him when he lisped, 
 
 " Now who so fine as me 1" 
 
 But whilst he strutted to and fro, 
 
 So proud, as I've heard tell, 
 A sweep boy passed, whom to avoid, 
 
 He slipped and down he fell. 
 
 The sooty lad was kind and good 
 To little George he ran, 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 He raised him up, and kissing said, 
 "Hush, hush, my little man!" 
 
 He rubbed and wiped his clothes with care, 
 
 And hugging said, "don't cry! 
 Go home, as quick as you can go.! 
 
 Sweet little boy, good bye." 
 
 Poor George looked down, and lo ! his dress 
 
 Was blacker than before ; 
 All over soot, and mud, and dirt, 
 
 He reached his father's door. 
 
 He sobbed, and wept, and looked ashamed. 
 
 His fault he did not hide ; 
 And since so sorry for his fault, 
 
 Mamma, she did n6t chide. 
 
 That night when he had gone to bed, 
 
 He jumped up in his sleep, 
 And cried and sobbed, and cried again 
 
 " I thought I saw the sweep !" Idem. 
 
 SOPHIA'S FOOL'S-CAP. 
 
 SOPHIA was a little child, 
 Obliging good, and very mild ; 
 Yet, lest of dress she should be vain, 
 Mamma still dress'd her well but plain. *- 
 Her parents, sensible and kind, 
 Wished only to adorn her mind ; 
 No other dress when good, had she, 
 But useful neat simplicity. 
 
 Though seldom, yet when she was rude, 
 Or ever in a naughty mood, 
 Her punishment was this disgrace, 
 A large fine cap adorned with lace, 
 With feathers and with ribbons too ; 
 The work was neat, the fashion new ! 
 Yet, as a fool's-cap was its name, 
 'She dreaded much to wear the same. 
 
40 ORIGINAL 
 
 A lady, fashionably gay, 
 
 Did to mamma a visit pay. 
 
 Sophia stared, then wisp'ring said, 
 
 " Why, dear mamma, look at her head 
 
 To be so tall and wicked too, 
 
 The strangest thing I ever knew ; 
 
 What naughty tricks, pray, has she done, 
 
 That they have put the fool's-cap on 1" 
 
 WASHING AND DRESSING. 
 
 AH, why will my dear little girl be so cross, 
 
 And cry, and look sulky, and pout? 
 To lose her sweet smile is a terrible loss, 
 
 1 can't even kiss her without. 
 
 You say you don't like to be washed and be drest ; 
 
 But would you be dirty and foul ? 
 Come, drive that long sob from your dear little breast, 
 
 And clear your sweet face from its scowl. 
 
 If the water is cold and the comb hurts your head, 
 
 And the soap has got into your eye, 
 Will the water grow warmer for all that you've said J 
 
 And what good will it do you to cry 1 
 
 It is not to tease you and hurt you, my sweet, 
 
 But only from kindness arid care, 
 That I wash you, and dress you, and make you look 
 neat, 
 
 And comb out your tanglesome hair. 
 
 I don't mind the trouble, if you would not cry, 
 
 But pay me for all with a kiss ; 
 That's right, take the towel and wipe your wet eye,, 
 
 I thought you'd be good after this. Ann. 
 
 THE PLUM CAKE. 
 
 O, I've got a plum cake, and a rare feast I'll make, 
 I'll eat and I'll stuff and I'll cram : 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. 41 
 
 Morning, noontime, and night, it shall be my delight, 
 What a happy young fellow I am. 
 
 Thus said little George, and beginning to gorge, 
 
 With zeal to his cake he applied ; 
 While fingers and thumbs for the sweetmeats and 
 plums 
 
 Were hunting and digging beside. 
 
 But woful to tell, a misfortune befel, 
 
 Which ruined this capital fun, 
 After eating his fill, he was taken so ill, 
 
 That he trembled for what he had done. 
 
 As he grew worse and worse, the doctor and nurse, 
 
 To cure his disorder -were sent, 
 And rightly you'll think, he had physic to drink 
 
 Which made him his foHy repent. 
 
 And while on his bed he rolled his hot head, 
 
 Impatient with sickness and pain, 
 He could not but take this reproof from his cake, 
 
 "Don't be such a glutton again." ANN. 
 
 ANOTHER PLUM CAKE. 
 
 "0 ! I've got a plum cake, and a feast let us make, 
 
 Come school-fellows, come at my call; 
 I assure you 'tis nice, and we'll each have a slice, 
 
 Here's more then enough for us all." 
 Thus cried little Jack, as he gave it a smack, 
 
 And sharpened his knife for the job 1 
 While round him a troop formed a clamorous group, 
 
 And hailed him the king of the mob. 
 With masterly strength, he cut through at length, 
 
 And gave to each playmate a share ; 
 Dick, William, and James, and many more names, 
 
 Partook his benevolent care, 
 ^nd when it was done, and they'd finished their fim ? 
 
 To marbles or hoop they went back, 
 
4% ofuuxAr. I'ui'.K?: 
 
 And each little boy, felt it always a joy, 
 To do a good turn for good Jack. 
 
 In his task and his book, his best pleasures lie took, 
 
 And as he thus wisely tiegan 
 Since he's been a man grown, he has constantly shown, 
 
 That a good boy will make a good man. ANN, 
 
 FOR A NAUGHTY LITTLE GIRL 
 
 My sweet little girl should be cheerful and mild,- 
 
 And should not be fretful and cry ! 
 Oh, why is this passion 1 remember, my child, 
 
 God sees you, who lives in the sky. 
 
 That dear little face, which I like so to kiss, 
 
 How frightful and sad it appears ! 
 Do you think I can love you, so naughty as this : 
 
 Or kiss you all wetted with tears ? 
 
 Remember, though God is in heaven, tny love, 
 
 He sees you, within and without, 
 And always looks down from his glory above, 
 
 To notice what you are about. 
 
 If I am not with you, or if it be dark, 
 
 And nobody is in the way, 
 His eye is as able your doings to mark; 
 
 In the night as it is in the day. 
 Then dry up yours tears, and look smiling again 
 
 And never do things that are wrong, 
 For I'm sure you must feel it a terrible pain 
 
 To be naughty and crying so long. 
 
 We'll pray then that God may your passion forgive? 
 
 And tt ach you from evil to fly ; 
 And then you'll be happy as long as you live, 
 
 And happy whenever you die. ANN. 
 
 HONEST OLD TRAY. 
 
 O ! don't hurt the dog, poor honest old tray, 
 Wfcat good will it do you to drive him away ? 
 
HONEST OLD TRAY. 
 
 O \ don't hurt the dog, poor honest old tray, 
 What good will it do you to drive him away ? 
 
 Kind usage is justly his right ; 
 Remember how faithful he is to his charge, 
 And barks at the rogues when wo set him at large, 
 
 And guards us by day and by night. 
 
 See page 42- 
 
POEMS. Id 
 
 Kind usage is justly his right ; 
 Remember how faithful he is to his charge, 
 And barks at the rogues when we set him at large, 
 
 And guards us by day and by night. 
 
 Though you, by and by, will grow up to a man, 
 And tray is a dog, let him grow as he can 
 
 Remember, my good little lad, 
 A dog that is honest, and faithful, and mild, 
 Is not only better than is a bad child, 
 
 But better than men that are bad. 
 
 If you are a boy, and Tray is but a beast, 
 I think it should teach you one lesson at least 
 You ought to act better than he ; 
 And if without reason, or judgment, or sense, 
 Tray does as we bid him, and gives no offence, 
 How diligent Richard should be ! 
 
 If I do but just whistle, as often you've seen, 
 He seems to say " Master, what is it you mean 1 
 
 My courage and duty are tried ;" 
 And see, when I throw my hat over the pale, 
 .He fetches it back, and comes wagging his tail, 
 
 and lays it down close by my side. 
 
 Then honest old Tray, let him sleep at his ease, 
 While you from him learn to endeavour to please, 
 
 And obey me with spirit and joy ; 
 Or else we shall find (what wouhl grieve me to say,) 
 That Richard's no better than honest old Tray ! 
 
 And a brute has more sense v than a boy ! ANN. 
 
 TO A LITTLE GIRL THAT HAS TOLD A LIE S 
 
 And has my darling told a lie ; 
 Did she forget that God was by 1 
 That God who saw the thing she did, 
 From whom no action can be hid ; 
 Did she forget that God could see, 
 And hear wherever she might be ? 
 
44 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 He made your eyes and can discern, 
 Which ever way you think to turn ; 
 He made your ears and he can hear, 
 When you think nobody is near ; 
 In every place, by night or day, 
 He watches all you do and say. 
 
 You thought because you were alone, 
 Your falsehood never could be known ; 
 But liars always are found out, 
 Whatever ways they wind about ; 
 And always be afraid, my dear, 
 To tell a lie for God can' hear. 
 
 I wish my dear, you'd always try, 
 To act as shall not need a lie ; 
 And when you wish a thing to do, 
 That has been once forbidden you, 
 Remember that, nor ever dare 
 To disobey for God is there ! 
 
 Why should you fear to tell me true ? 
 Confess, and then I'll pardon you ; 
 Tell me you're sorry, and will try 
 To act the better by and by, 
 And then what'er your crime has been. 
 It wont be half so great a sin. 
 
 But cheerful, innocent, and gay, 
 As passes by the smiling day, 
 You'll never have to turn aside, 
 From any one your faults to hide ; 
 Nor heave a sigh, nor have a fear, 
 That either God, or I should hear. ANN. 
 
 THE TWO GARDENS. 
 
 * 
 
 WHEN Harry and Dick had been striving to please, 
 Their father (to whom it was known) 
 
 Made two little gardens, and stocked them with trees, 
 And gave one to each, for his own. 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. 45 
 
 Harry thanked his papa, and with rake, hoe, and 
 spade, 
 
 Directly began his employ ; 
 And soon such a neat little garden was made, 
 
 That he panted with labour and joy. 
 
 There was always some'bed, or some border to mend, 
 Or somthing to tie or to stick; , 
 
 And Harry rose early his garden to tend, 
 While snoring lay indolent Dick. 
 
 The tulip, the rose, and the lily so white, 
 
 United their beautiful bloom ; 
 And often the honey-bee stopped from its flight, - 
 
 To sip delicious perfume. 
 
 A neat row of peas in full blossom were seen, 
 French beans were beginning to shoot ; 
 
 And his gooseb'ries and currants, though yet they 
 
 were green, 
 Foretold him a plenty of fruit. 
 
 But Richard loved better in bed to repose, 
 And snug as he curled himself round, 
 
 Forgot that no tulip, nor lily, nor rose, 
 Nor plant in his garden was found. 
 
 Rank weeds, and tall nettles disfigured his beds, 
 
 Nor cabbage, nor lettuce was seen, 
 The slug and the snail showed their mischievous 
 heads, 
 
 And eat every leaf that was green. 
 
 Thus Richard the idle, who shrunk from the cold, 
 
 Beheld his trees naked and bare ; 
 While Harry the active was charmed to behold, 
 
 The fruit of his patience and care. Ann. 
 
16 
 
 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 MY MOTHER 
 
 WHO fed me from her gentle breast, 
 And hushed me in her arms to rest, 
 And on my cheek sweet kisses prest 1 
 
 My mother. 
 
 When sleep forsook my open eye, 
 Who was it sang sweet hushaby, 
 And rocked me that I should not cry 1 
 
 My mother. 
 
 Who sat and watched my infant head, 
 When sleeping on my cradle bed] 
 And tears of sweet affection shed 1 
 
 My mother. 
 
 When pain and sickness made me cry, x 
 Who gazed upon my heavy eye, 
 And wept lor fear that I should die 1 
 
 My mother. 
 
 Who dressed my doll in clothes so gay, 
 And taught me pretty how to play, . 
 And minded all I'd got to say ] 
 
 My mother. 
 
 Who ran to help me when I fell, 
 And would some pretty story tell, . 
 Or kiss the place to make it well ! 
 
 My mother. 
 
 Who taught my infant lips to pray, 
 
 And love God's holy book and day, 
 And walk in wisdom's pleasant way? 
 
 My mother. 
 
 And can I ever cease to be 
 Affectionate and kind to thee, 
 Who wast so very kind to me ] 
 
 My mother. 
 
ORIGINAL POE31S. 47 
 
 Ah ! no, the thought I cannot bear, 
 And if God please my life to spare, 
 I hope I shall reward thy care, 
 
 My mother. 
 
 When thou art feeble, old, and gray, 
 My healthy arm shall be thy stay, 
 And I will sooth thy pains away. 
 
 My mother. 
 
 And when I see the hang thy head, 
 'Twill be my turn to watch thy bed, 
 And tears of sweet affection shed, 
 
 My mother. 
 
 For God, who lives above the skies, 
 Would look with vengeance in his eyes 
 If I should ever dare despise 
 
 My mother. 
 Ann. 
 
 ^ MY FATHER. 
 
 WHO took me from my mother's arms, 
 
 And, smiling at her soft alarms, 
 
 Show'd me the world and nature's charms 1 
 
 My father. 
 
 Who made me feel and understand, 
 
 The wonders of the sea and land, 
 
 And mark, through all, the Maker's hand 1 
 
 My father. 
 
 Who climb'd with me, the mountain's height, 
 And watch'd my look of dread delight, 
 While rose the glorious orb of light] 
 
 My father. 
 
 Who, from each flower, and verdant stalk, 
 Gather'd a honey'd store of talk, 
 To fill the long, delightful walk! 
 
 My father. 
 
48 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 Not on an insect would he tread ; 
 Nor strike the stinging nettle dead : 
 Who taught at once my heart and head? 
 
 My father. 
 
 Who wrote upon that heart the lin$ 
 Religion grav'd on Virtue's shrine, 
 To make the human race divine 1 
 
 My father. 
 
 Who taught my early mind to know 
 * The God from whom all blessings flow, 
 Creator of all things below 1 
 
 My father. 
 
 Who, now, in pale and placid light 
 Of mem'ry gleams upbn my sight, 
 Bursting the sepulchre of night? 
 
 My father. 
 
 O! teach me still the Christian plan ! 
 Thy practice with thy precept ran : 
 Nor yet desert me now a man, 
 
 My father. 
 
 Still let thy scholar's heart rejoice, 
 With charms of thy angelic voice, 
 Still prompt the motive and the choice, 
 
 My father. 
 
 For yet remains a little space, 
 Till I shall meet thee face to face : 
 And not, as now, in vain embrace, 
 
 My father. 
 
 Soon, and before the Mercy-seat 
 Spirits made perfect we shall meet ! 
 Thee with what transport shall I greet, 
 
 My father ! 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 THE PALACE AND COTTAGE, 
 HIGH on a mountain's haughty steep 
 
 Lord Hubert's palace stood ; 
 Before it rolled a river deep, 
 
 Behind it waved a wood. 
 
 Low in an unfrequented vale, 
 
 A peasant built his cell ; 
 Sweet flow'rs perfumed the cooling gale, 
 
 And graced his garden well. 
 
 Loud riot through Lord Hubert's hall 
 
 In noisy clamours ran; 
 He scarcely closed his eyes at all, 
 
 Till breaking day began. 
 
 In scenes of quiet and repose 
 Young William's life was spent ; 
 
 WithTmorning's early beam he rose, 
 And whistled as he went. 
 
 On sauces rich and .viands fine, 
 
 Lord Hubert daily fed ; 
 His goblet filled with sparkling wine ; 
 
 His board with dainties spread. 
 
 Warm from the sickle or the plough, 
 
 His heart as light as air, 
 His garden ground, and dappled co\r 
 
 Supplied young William's fair 
 
 On beds of down, beset with gold, 
 
 With satin curtains drawn. 
 His fev'rish limbs Lord Hubert rolled, 
 
 From midnight's gloomt o morn. 
 
 Stretched on a hard and flocky be< 
 
 The cheerful rustic lay ; 
 And sweetest slumber lulled his head, 
 
 From eve to break of day. 
 
 Fever and gout, and aches and pains, 
 Destroyed Lord Hubert's rest ; 
 
>U 01UG1NAL POEMS, 
 
 Disorder burnt in all his veins, 
 And sickened in his breast. 
 
 A stranger to the ills of wealth, 
 
 Behind his rugged plough, 
 The cheek of William glowed with health, 
 
 And cheerful was his brow. 
 
 No gentle friend to 'sooth his pain, 
 
 Sat near lord Hubert's bed : 
 His friends and servants, light and vain* 
 
 From scenes of sorrow fled. 
 
 But when on William's honest head 
 
 Time scattered silver hairs, 
 His wife and children round his bed, 
 
 Partook and soothed his cares. 
 
 The solemn hearse, the waving plume. 
 
 A train of mourners grim, 
 Carried lord Hubert to the tomb, 
 
 But no one cared for him. 
 
 No weeping eye no gentle breast, 
 
 Lamented his decay, 
 . Nor round his costly coffin prest,' 
 To gaze upon his clay. 
 
 But when upon his dying bed 
 
 Old William came to lie, 
 When clammy sweats had chilled his heady 
 
 And death had dimmed his eye 
 
 Sweet tears of fond affection dropped 
 
 From many an eyelid, fell ; 
 And many a lip, by anguish stopped, 
 
 Half spoke the sad farewell. 
 
 No marble pile, nor costly tomb, 
 Describes where William sleeps ;. 
 
 But there wild thyme, and cowslips bloom, 
 And there affection weeps. ANN. 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. f 1 
 
 BAtt. 
 
 MY good little fellow don't throw your ball there, 
 You'll break neighbour's windows, I know : , 
 
 On the end of the house, there is room and to spare; 
 
 Go round, you can have a delightful game there, 
 Without fearing for where you may throw. 
 
 Harry thought he might safely continue his play 
 
 With a little more care than before ; 
 So, forgetful of all that his father could say, 
 .As soon as he saw he was out of the way, 
 
 He. resolved to have fifty throws more. 
 
 Already 'as far as to forty he rose, 
 
 And no mischief happened at all; 
 One more and one more, he successfully throws, 
 But when, as he thought, just arrived at the close, 
 
 In hopped his unfortunate ball. 
 
 Poor Harry stood frightened, and turning about, 
 
 Was gazing at what he had done; 
 As the ball hopped in, so neighbour hopped out, 
 And with a good horsewhip he beat him about, 
 
 Till Harry repented his fun. 
 
 When little folks think they know bettter than great, 
 
 And what is forbidden them do ; 
 We must always expect to see, sooner or late, 
 That such wise little fools, have a similar fate, 
 
 And that one of the fifty go through. ANN. 
 
 THE FOX AND THE CROW. 
 
 THE fox and the crow, 
 
 In prose, I well know, 
 Many good little girls can rehearse ; 
 
 Perhaps it will tell, 
 
 Pretty nearly as well, 
 If we try the same fable in verse. 
 
 In a dairy a crow 
 Having ventured to sro, 
 
5'2 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 Some food for her young ones to seek, 
 Flew up in the trees, 
 With a fine piece of cheese, 
 
 Which she joyfully held in her beak. 
 
 A fox who lived nigh, 
 
 To the tree saw her fly, 
 And to share in the prize made a vow ! 
 
 For having just dined 
 
 He for cheese felt inclined, 
 So he went and sat under the bough. 
 
 She was cunning he knew, 
 
 But so was he too, 
 And with flatt'ry adapted his plan ; 
 
 For he knew if she'd speak 
 
 It must fall from her beak ; 
 So bowing politely, began : 
 
 " Tis a very fine day ; 
 
 (Not a word did she say ;) 
 The wind, I believe, ma'am, is south ; 
 
 A fine harvest for peas ;" 
 
 He then looked at the cheese, 
 But the crow did not open her mouth. 
 
 Sly Reynard, not tir'd, 
 
 Her plumage admired, 
 " How charming ! how brilliant its hue ! 
 
 The voice must be fine, 
 
 Of a bird so divine, 
 Ah ! let me just hear it pray do. 
 
 Believe me I long 
 
 To hear a sweet song." 
 The silly crow foolishly tries 
 
 She scarce gave one squall, 
 
 When the cheese she let fall, 
 And the fox ran away with the prize. 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. 5^ 
 
 MORAL 
 
 Ye innocent fair, 
 
 >O. coxcombs beware, 
 To flattery never give ear ; 
 
 Try well each pretence, 
 
 And keep to plain sense, 
 And then you have little to fear. LITTLEB 
 
 THE MOTHER'S WISH. 
 
 MAY cloudless beams of grace and truth 
 Adorn my daughter's opening youth ; 
 Long happy in her native home, 
 Among its fragrant groves to roam. 
 May choicest blessings her attend, 
 Blest in her parents, sisters, friend ! 
 May no rude wish assail her breast, 
 To love this world, by all confest 
 As only given us to prepare 
 For one eternal, bright, and fair. 
 This world shall then no force retain; 
 Its syren voice shall charm in vain ; 
 Religion's aid, true peace will bring ; 
 Her voice with joy shall praises sing 
 To him whose streams of mercy flow, 
 To cheer the heart overcharged with wo ; 
 And whilst retirement's sweets we prove, 
 For ever praise redeeming love. 
 
 Written at Banning* 
 
 TO MARIA. 
 
 How happy the days of your youth, 
 Instructed in virtue and truth, 
 
 By the parents you love and revere: 
 Your dwelling is healthy and neat 
 Of sisters so dear the retreat, 
 
 And of neighbours abundance are nenr. 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 Oh think whence these blessings arise, 
 From a being so gracious and wise: 
 
 And should they by him be withdrawn ; 
 Should ever degree of distress, 
 My dearest of daughters oppress, 
 
 When torn from the sweet verdant lawn , 
 
 From what must she then seek relief, 
 When her mind is disturbed with grief, 
 
 But from God who but chastens to bless; 
 Fine garments, rich food, and bright wine, 
 With which the voluptuous dine, 
 
 Enervate beyond all redress. 
 
 In the sad sober moments of wo, 
 Which each mortal is destined to know, 
 
 With joy will a Christian perceive, 
 That life as a vision recedes, 
 That faith, rendered bright by good deeds, 
 
 A blessed reward will receive. 
 
 Should you as a mother or wife, 
 Be called on to act in this life, 
 
 Oh ! striv.e every virtue to trace ! 
 On the minds you may have to attend ; 
 Join at once the kind mother and friend, 
 
 And pray for their virtue and grace. 
 
 Written at Barming, 
 
 THE SNAIL. 
 
 snail, how he creeps slowly over the wall, 
 He seems not to make any progress at all, 
 
 Almost where you leave him you find him ; 
 His long shining body he stretches out well, 
 And drags along with him his round hollow shell, 
 
 And leaves a bright pathway behind him. 
 
 Do look, said young Tom, at the lazy old snail, 
 He's almost an hour crawling over a pale, 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. 50 
 
 Enough all one's patience to worry ; 
 Now, if I were he, I would gallop away, 
 Half over the world twenty miles in a day, 
 
 And turn business off in a hurry. 
 
 Well, Tom, said his Father, but as I'm afraid 
 That into a snail you can never be made, 
 
 But still must remain a young master ; 
 As such sort of wishes can nothing avail, 
 Take a hint for yourself from your jokes on the snail, 
 
 And do your own work rather faster. J. T. 
 
 THE HOLIDAYS. 
 
 AH ! don't you remember 'tis almost December,- 
 
 And soon will the holidays come ? 
 Oh ! 'twill be so funny, I've plenty of money, 
 
 I'll buy me a sword and a drum. 
 
 Thus said little Harry, unwilling to tarry, 
 
 Impatient to hurry from school; ' 
 But we shall discover this holiday lover 
 
 Spoke both like a child and a fool. 
 
 For when he alighted, so highly delighted, 
 
 Away from his sums and his books, 
 'Tho' playthings surrounded, and sweetmeats abound 
 ed, 
 
 Chagrin still appeared in his looks. 
 
 Though first they delighted, his toys were now 
 slighted, 
 
 And thrown away out of his sight; 
 He spent every morning with stretching and yawning, 
 
 Yet went to bed weary at night. 
 
 He had not that treasure which really makes pleasure, 
 
 (A secret discovered by few:) 
 You'll take it for granted, more playthings he wanted, 
 
 O no ; it was something to do. 
 
56 ORIGINAL POEM?. 
 
 He found that employment created enjoyment, 
 
 And passed the time cheerful away ; 
 That study and reading, by far were exceeding 
 
 His cakes, and his toys, and his play. 
 
 To school now returning, to study and learning, 
 
 With pleasure did Harry apply ; 
 He felt no aversion to books, 'twas diversion, 
 
 And caused him to smile, not to sigh, J. T. 
 
 OLD SARAH. 
 
 WITH haggard eye, and wrinkled face, 
 Old Sarah goes, with tott'ring pace, 
 
 From door to door to beg ; 
 . With gipsy hat and tattered gown, 
 And petticoat of dirty brown ; 
 
 And many-coloured leg. 
 
 No blazing fire, no cheerful home ; 
 She wanders comfortless and lone, 
 
 While winds and tempests blow ; 
 And every traveller passing by, 
 She follows with a doleful cry 
 
 Of poverty and wo. 
 
 But see ! her arm no basket bears, 
 With laces gay and wooden wares; 
 
 And garters blue and red ; 
 To stroll about and drink her gin, 
 She loves far better than to spin, 
 
 Or work to earn her bread. 
 
 Old Sarah every body knows, 
 Nor is she pitied as she goes, 
 
 A melancholy sight ; 
 For people do not like to give 
 Their alms to those who idle live, 
 
 And wont work when they miofbt. J. T. 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. 57 
 
 OLD SUSAN. 
 
 OLD Susan, in a cottage small, 
 
 Though low the roofj and mud the wall, 
 
 And goods a scanty store, 
 Enjoys within her peaceful shed, 
 Her wholesome crust of barley bread, 
 
 Nor does she covet more. 
 
 Though old and feeble" she must feel, 
 She daily plies her spinning wheel, 
 
 Within her cottage gate : 
 And thus with industry and care, 
 Though low her purse, and hard her fare, 
 
 She envies not the great. 
 
 A decent gown she always wears, 
 Though many an ancient patch it bears, 
 
 And many a one that's new : 
 No dirt is seen within her door, 
 Red sand she sprinkles on the floor, 
 
 As tidy people do. 
 
 Old Susan every body knew, 
 And every one respected too, 
 
 Her industry and care ; 
 And if in sickness or in wo, 
 Her neighbours gladly would bestow, 
 
 The little they could spare. J. T. 
 
 THE GLEANER. 
 
 BEFORE the bright sun rises over the hill, 
 In the cornfields poor Mary is seen, 
 
 Impatient her little blue apron to fill, 
 
 With the few scattered ears she can glean. 
 
 She never leaves off, or runs out of her place, 
 
 To play, or to idle and chat, 
 Except now and then, just to wipe her hot face, 
 
 And fan herself with her broad jhat. 
 
f>8 ORIGINAL 1'OEMS. 
 
 " Poor girl, hard at work in the heat of the sun, 
 
 How tired and hot you must be; 
 Why dontt you leave off, as the others have don. 
 
 And sit with them under the tree 1" 
 
 " Oh no ! for my mother lies ill in her bed, 
 
 Too feeble to spin or 'to knit, 
 And my poor little brothers are crying for bread, 
 
 And yet we can't give them a bit ! 
 
 "Then could I be merry, and idle, and play, 
 
 While they are so hungry and ill ? 
 O no, I had rather work hard all the day, 
 
 My little blue apron to fill." 
 
 SNOW. 
 
 COME to the window, dear brother and see 
 What mischief was done in the night ; 
 
 The snow has quite covered the nice apple tree, 
 And the bushes are sprinkled with white. 
 
 The spring in the grove is beginning to freeze, 
 
 The pond is hard frozen all o'er ;' 
 Long icicles hang in bright rows from the trees, 
 
 And drop in odd shapes from the door. 
 
 The old mossy thatch, and the meadow so green, 
 
 Are covered all over with white ; 
 The snow-drop and crocus no more can be seen, 
 
 The thick snow has covered them quite. 
 
 And see the poor birds, how they fly to and fro, 
 They are come for their breakfast again ; 
 
 But the little worms all are hid under the snow, 
 They hop about chirping in vain. 
 
 Then open the window, I'll throw them some bread, 
 I've some of my breakfast to spare; 
 
 1 wish they would come to my hand to be fed ; 
 - But they're all flown away, I declare. 
 
THE PIGS. 
 
 " But when a great boy, such as you my dear Dick, 
 
 Does nothing but eat all the day, 
 And keeps sucking gocd things till he makes himself sick 
 
 What a glutton ! indeed, we may say. 
 
 See page 59. 
 
 * 
 
. ORIGINS L POEMS. 59 
 
 Nay, now pretty birds, don't be frightened I pray; 
 
 You shall not be hurt I'll engage ; 
 I'm not come to catch you and force you away, 
 
 And fasten you up in a cage ; 
 
 I wish you could know you've no cause for alarm ; 
 
 From me you have nothing to fear; 
 Why, my little fingers could do you no harm, 
 
 Although you came ever so near. J. T. 
 
 THE PIGS. 
 
 " Do look at those pigs, as they lay in the straw," 
 
 Little Richard said to his papa; 
 " They keep eating longer than ever I saw ; 
 
 What nasty fat gluttons they are !" 
 
 " I see they are feasting," his father replied, 
 
 " They eat a great deal I allow ; 
 But let us remember, before we deride, 
 
 Tis the nature, my dear, of a sow. 
 
 " But when a great boy, such as you, my dear Dick, 
 
 Does nothing but eat all the day, 
 And keeps sucking good things till he makes himself 
 sick, 
 
 What a glutton ! indeed, we may say. 
 
 " When plumcake and sugar for ever he picks, 
 And sweetmeats, and comfits, and figs, 
 
 Pray let him get rid of his own nasty tricks, 
 
 And then he may laugh at the pigs." J. T. 
 
 FINERY. 
 
 IN a frock richly trimmed with beautiful lace, 
 And hair nicely dressed hanging over her face. 
 Thus decked, Harriet went to the house of a friend, 
 With, a large little party the evening<to spend, 
 
 Ah ! how they will all be delighted, I guesss 
 And stare with surprise at my elegant dress ; 
 
GO ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 Thus said the vain girl, and her little heart beat, 
 Impatient the happy young party to meet. 
 
 But alas ! they were all too intent on their fun, 
 To observe the gay clothes this fine lady had,on ; 
 And thus all her trouble quite lost its design, 
 For they saw she was proud, but forgot she was fine. 
 
 'Twas Lucy, though only in simple white clad, 
 (Nor trimmings, nor laces, nor jewels she had,) 
 Whose cheerful good nature delighted the more, 
 Than all the fine garments that Harriet wore. 
 
 'Tis better to have a sweet smile on one's face 
 Than to wear a rich frock with an elegant lace, 
 For the good-natured girl is loved best in the main, 
 If her dress is but decent/though ever so plain. 
 
 J.T. 
 
 CRAZY ROBERT. 
 
 POOR Robert is crazy, his hair has turned gray, 
 His beard is grown long, and hangs down to his 
 breast ; 
 
 Misfortune has taken his reason away, 
 
 His heart has no comfort, his head has no rest. 
 
 Poor man, it would please me to soften thy woes, 
 To sooth thy affliction, and yield the support : 
 
 But see, through the village, wherever he goes, 
 The cruel boys follow and turn him to sport. 
 
 'Tis grievous to see how the pitiless rnob, 
 
 Run round him and mimic his mournful complaint,. 
 
 And try to provoke him, and call him old Bob, 
 And hunt him about till he is ready to faint. 
 
 But ah ! wicked children ; I fear they forget 
 ' That God does their cruel diversions behold ; 
 And that in his book dreadful curses are writ, 
 For those who shall mock at the poor and the old. 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 61 
 
 Poor Robert, thy troubles will shortly be o'er, 
 Forgot in the grave thy misfortunes will be ; 
 
 But God will his vengeance assuredly pour 
 On those wicked children who persecute thee. 
 
 J.T. 
 
 EMPLOYMENT. 
 
 WH'OLL come and play with me here under the tree,. 
 
 My sisters have left me alone ; 
 My sweet little sparrow come hither to me, 
 
 And play with me while they are gone. 
 
 O no, little lady, I can't come indeed, 
 
 I've no time to idle away, 
 I've got all my dear little childreen to feed, 
 
 And my nest to new cover with hay. 
 
 Pretty bee, do not buz about over the flower, 
 But come here and play with me, do ; 
 
 The sparrow won't come and stay with mean hour,. 
 But say, pretty bee, will not you! 
 
 no, little lady, for do not you see, 
 
 Those must work who would prosper and thrive ; 
 If I play they would call me a sad idie bee, 
 And perhaps turn me out of the hive. 
 
 Stop ! stop! little ant, do not run off so fast, 
 Wait with me a little and play ; 
 
 1 hope I shall find a companion at last, 
 
 You are not so busy as they. 
 
 no, little lady, I can't stay with you, 
 We're not made to play, but to labour ; 
 
 1 always have something or other to do, 
 
 If not for myself, for a neighbour. 
 
 What then, have they all some employment but me, 
 Who lay lounging here like a dunce? 
 
 O then, like the ant, and the sparrow, and bee, 
 I'll go to my lesson at once. j. T. 
 
 r, 
 
62 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 THE FIGHTING BIRDS. 
 
 Two little birds in search of food, 
 
 Flew o'er the fields and skimmed the flood, 
 
 At last a worm they spy ; 
 But who should take the prize they strove, 
 Their quarrel sounded through the grove, 
 
 In notes both shrill and high. 
 
 But now a hawk whose piercing sight, 
 
 Had marked his prey, and watched their fight, 
 
 With certain aim descended ; 
 And pouncing on their furious strife, 
 He stopped their battle with their life, 
 
 And so the war was ended. 
 
 Thus, when in discord brothers live, 
 And frequent blows of anger give, 
 
 With hate their bosoms rending ; 
 In life with rogues perchance they meet, 
 To take advantage of their heat, 
 
 Their lives in sorrow ending. J. T. 
 
 CREATION. 
 
 COME, child, look upwards to the sky, 
 
 Behold the sun and moon, 
 Th' expanse of stars that sparkle high, 
 
 To cheer the midnight gloom. 
 
 Come, child, and now behold the earth 
 
 In varied beauty stand : 
 The product view of six: days' birth, 
 
 How wondrous and how grand! 
 
 The fields, the meadows, and the plain, 
 
 The little laughing hills, 
 The waters too, the mighty main, 
 
 The rivers and the rill. 
 
 Come,, then, behold them all, and say; 
 " How came these things to be, 
 
ORiGrNAL POEMS. Od 
 
 That stand before, which ever way 
 I turn myself to see T' 
 
 'Twas God, who made the earth and sea, 
 
 To whom the angels bow ; 
 Twas God who made both thee and me 
 
 The God who sees us now. J. T. 
 
 THIS TEMPEST. 
 
 HARK ! 'tis the tempest's hollow sound, 
 The bursting thunder and the rain, 
 
 While dense and heavy clouds unbound, 
 In torrents fall upon the plain. 
 
 See too the lightnings' vivid flash, 
 In quick succession fire the sky; 
 
 All form a universal crash , 
 Of elements at enmity. 
 
 The solid earth, as if with fear, 
 
 Trembles beneath the mighty war; 
 
 The waters, too, in mountains rear, 
 Loosed from the yoke of nature's law. 
 
 Behold the bellowing herds, the heath 
 Forsake with haste, for shelter fled ; 
 
 While shepherds fly, with panting breath, 
 In equal speed and greater dread. 
 
 And see yon ancient massy oak, 
 The forest's pride, for ages stood, 
 
 Its sturdy stem in shivers broke, 
 
 Its head driven downwards in the flood. 
 
 Tossed by the waves the wretched bark, 
 
 Alternate see it sink and rise ; 
 Now fixed on rocks, a shattered mark 
 
 For furious winds and billows, lies, 
 
 In vain the drowning sailors cry, 
 
 Their shriek is lost, while thunders roar ; 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 In vain their moans, no>help is nigh, 
 Or ship or hospitable shore. 
 
 And does this tempest rage in vnin ? 
 
 And does no power, with potent arm, 
 Its fury suffer or restrain, 
 
 From injuring hold, or guide the harm? 
 
 Ah ! yes, a power indeed presides, 
 Yes, there's a potent being reigns ; 
 
 Above the storm th' Almighty rides ; 
 These awful scenes 'tis he ordains. 
 
 Then calm each 'fear, and silent stand 
 To learn his wisdom and his care, 
 
 The flash unloosed from out his hand, 
 
 Proclaims in thunder God is there. J. T, 
 
 ADDRESS TO AN INFANT. 
 
 WELCOME, happy little stranger, 
 To this busy world of care ! 
 
 Nothing can thy peace endanger, 
 Nothing now thy steps ensnare. 
 
 Precious babe ! thou art excluded 
 From all thought of trouble near ; 
 
 No distress has yet intruded, 
 Keen remorse, nor restless fear. 
 
 Innocence and peace attend thee ! 
 
 Balmy slumbers now are thine ; 
 Every change to thee is friendly ; 
 
 Love and joy around thee shine. 
 
 Yet, alas ! behind the curtain, 
 Tribulation veils her form; 
 
 Disappointment's stamp is certain; 
 Virtue, only, shields from harm. 
 
 Now a mother's care is wanted ; 
 All thy cravings are supplied ; 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 All thy infant claims are granted, ' 
 Nor one comfort is denied. 
 
 How her bosom pants with pleasure J 
 All her feelings are awake ; 
 
 Gladly would she, little treasure, 
 All thy pains and sufferings take. 
 
 May'st thou, if designed by Heaven, 
 Future days and years to see, 
 
 Sooth her, make her passage even, 
 Let her heart rejoice in thee ! 
 
 May her anxious care and labours, 
 
 Be repaid by filial love;- 
 And thy soul be crown'd with favours, 
 
 From the boundless source above. 
 
 TURNIP TOPS. 
 
 WHILE yet the white frost sparkles over the ground, 
 And daylight just peeps from the misty blue sky, 
 
 In yonder green fields, with my basket I'm found ; 
 Come buy my nice turnip tops turnip tops, buy. 
 
 Badly cold are my fingers, all drenched with the 
 
 dew, 
 
 For the sun had scarce risen in the meadows to dry, 
 And my feet have goij wet with a hole in my shoe, 
 Come hasten then, buy my sweeet turnip tops, 
 buy. 
 
 While you are asleep, with your bed curtains drawn, 
 On pillows of down, in your chamber so high, 
 
 I trip with the first rosy beam of the morn 
 
 To cull the green tops, come my turnip tops buy. 
 
 Then, with the few halfpence or pence I can earn, 
 A loaf for my poor mother's breakfast I'll buy ; 
 
 And to-morrow again, little Ann shall return 
 
 With her turnip tops, green and fresh gathered, to 
 cry. 
 
60 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 THE VULGAR LITTLE LADY. 
 
 ' BUT mamma, now," said Charlotte, " pray don't you 
 believe, 
 
 That I'm better than Jenny my nurse 1 
 Only see my red shoes and lace on my sleeves ; 
 
 Her clothes are a thousand times worse. 
 
 " I ride in a coach, and have nothing to do, 
 And the country folks -stare at me so; 
 
 And nobody dares to control me but you, 
 Because I'm a lady, you know. 
 
 " The. servants are vulgar, and I am genteel, 
 They are creatures that nobody knows, 
 
 So I'm sure now mamma, that I'm better a deal, 
 Than maids and such people as those." 
 
 " True gentility, Charlotte," her mother repli'd, 
 
 " Is confined to no station or place ; 
 And nothing's so vulgar as folly and pride, 
 
 Though drest in red slippers and lace. 
 
 " Not all the fine things that fine ladies possess, - 
 Should teach them the poor to despise, 
 
 For 'tis in good manners, and not in good dress, 
 That the truest gentility lies." 
 
 THE HORSE. 
 
 A HORSE, long used to bit and bridle, 
 But always much disposed to idle, 
 Had often wished that he was able 
 To steal unnoticed from the stable. 
 
 He panted, from his inmost soul, 
 To be at nobody's control ; 
 Go his own pace, slower or faster, 
 In short, do nothing like his master. 
 
 But yet he ne'er had got at large. 
 If Jack (who had him in his charge) 
 
.Rlf.INAL POEM.-. 
 
 "Had not, as many have before, 
 Forgot to shut the stable door. 
 
 Dobbin, with expectation swelling, 
 Now rose to quit his present dwelling,; 
 But first peep'd out, with cautious fear, 
 T' examine if the coast was clear. 
 
 At length he ventured from his station, 
 And with extreme self-approbation. 
 As if deliver'd from a load, 
 He gallop'd to the public road, 
 
 And here he stood awhile debating, 
 (Till he was almost tired of wating) 
 Which way he'd please to bend his course, 
 Now there was nobody to force. 
 
 At last, nncheck'd by bit or rein, 
 He saunter'd down a pleasant lane, 
 And neighed forth many a jocund song 
 In triumph, as ha pass'd along. 
 
 But when dark night bagan t'appear, 
 In vain he sought some shelter near, 
 And he was sure he could not bear 
 To sleep out in the open air. 
 
 The grass felt very damp and raw 
 Much colder than his master's straw, 
 Yet. on it he was forced to stretch, 
 A poor, cold melancholy wretch. 
 
 The night was dark, the country hilly, 
 Poor Dobbin felt extreme!} 7 " chilly ; 
 Perhaps a feeling like remorse, 
 Just now might sting the gentle horse. 
 
 As soon as day began to dawn, 
 Dobbin, with long and weary yawn. 
 Arose from this his sleepless night, 
 But in low spirits and bad plight 
 
If this (thought he) is all I get, 
 A bed unwholesome, cold, and wet; 
 And thus forlorn about to roam, 
 I think I'd better be at home. 
 
 'Twas long e'er Dobbin could decide, 
 Betwixt his wishes and his pride, 
 Whether to live in all this danger, 
 Or go back sneaking to the manger. 
 
 At last his struggling pride gave way; 
 The thought of savory oats and hay 
 To hungry stomach', was a reason 
 Unanswerable at this season. 
 
 So off he set, with look profound, 
 
 Right glad that he was homeward bound; 
 
 And trotting fast as he was able, 
 
 Soon gained once more his master's stable. 
 
 Now Dobbin, after this disaster, 
 Never again forsook his master, 
 Convinced 'twas best to let him mount, 
 Than travelling on his own account. 
 
 MEDDLESOME MATTY. 
 
 O, HOW one ngly trick has spoiled . 
 
 The swetest and the best ! 
 Matilda though a pleasant child, 
 
 One ugly trick possessed, 
 Which, like a cloud before the skies, 
 Hid all her better qualities. 
 
 Sometimes she'd lift the tea-pot lid, 
 To peep at what was in it ; 
 
 Or tilt the kettle if you did 
 But turn your back a minute. 
 
 In vain you told her not to touch, 
 
 Her trick of meddling grew so much. 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 Her grandmamma went out one day, 
 
 And by mistake she laid 
 Her spectacles and snuff-box gay, 
 
 Too near the little maid ; 
 Ah ! well, thought she, I'll try them on, 
 As soon as grandmamma is gone. 
 
 Forthwith she plac'd upon her nose 
 
 The glasses, large arid wide ; 
 And looking round, as I suppose, 
 
 The snuff-box too she spied ; 
 
 what a pretty box is this, 
 I'll open it, said little miss. 
 
 1 know that grandmamma would say, 
 
 Don't meddle with it dear ; 
 But then she's far enough away, 
 
 And no one else is near; 
 Beside, what can their be amiss, 
 In opening such a box as this ] 
 So thumb and finger went to work 
 
 To move the stubborn lid ; 
 And presently a mighty jirk, 
 
 The mighty mischief did; 
 For all at once, ah ! woeful case 
 The snuff came puffing in her face ! 
 Poor eyes, and nose, and^mouth, and chin, 
 
 A dismal sight presented ; > 
 And as the snuff got further in, 
 
 Sincerely she repented : 
 In vain she ran about for ease, 
 She could do nothing else but sneeze ! 
 She dashed the spectacles away, 
 
 To wipe her tingling eyes; 
 And as in twenty bits they lay, 
 
 Her grandmamma she spies. 
 Hey day! and what's the matter now? 
 *Cried grandmamma with lifted brow. 
 
ORKtlNAl, ron.Yi.-. 
 
 Matilda smarting wit!) the pain, 
 And tingling still and sore, 
 
 Made many a promise to refrain 
 From meddling evermore ; 
 
 And 'tis a fact, as I have heard, 
 
 She ever since has kept 'her word. 
 
 THE LAST DYING SPEECH AND CONFESSION OF 
 POOR PUSS. 
 
 KIND masters and misses, whoever you be, 
 Do stop for a moment, and pity poor me ! 
 While here on my death-bed I try to relate 
 My many misfortunes, and miseries great. 
 
 My dear mother, Tabby, I've often heard say, 
 
 That I have been a very fine cat in my day, 
 
 But the sorrows in which my whole life has been 
 
 passed, 
 Have spoiled all my beauty, and killed me at last 
 
 Poor thoughtless young thing ! if I recollect right, 
 I was kittened in March, on a clear frosty nisrht; 
 And before I could see, OF was half a week odd, 
 I nearly had perished, the barn was so cold. 
 
 But this chilly springH got pretty well over, 
 And moused in the hay-loft, or played in the clover; 
 And when this displeased me, or mousing was stale, 
 I used to run round and round after my, tail. 
 
 But ah! my poor tail, and my pretty sleek ears; 
 The farmer's boy cut them all off with his* shears ; 
 And little I thought when I licked them so clean, 
 I should be such a figure not fit to be seen. 
 
 Some time after this, when my sores where all healed, 
 As I laid in the sun sound asleep, in a field, 
 Miss Fanny crept slily, and gripping me fast, 
 Declared she had caught the sweet creature at last. 
 
POOR PUS& 
 
 But kicking, and beating, arid starving, and that., 
 I've borne with a spirit becoming a cat ; 
 There was but one thing which I could not sustain* 
 !o great was ray sorrow, so hopeless my pain. 
 
 See page 71 . 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. 71 
 
 Ah me ! how I strugeled my freedom to gain, 
 But alas! all my kicking and scratching were vain; 
 For she held me so tight, in her pin-a-fore tied, 
 That before she had got home, I had like to have died. 
 
 From this dreadful morning my sorrows arose; 
 Wherever I went I was followed with blpws ; 
 Some kicked me for nothing, while quietly sleeping, 
 Or flogged me, for daring the pantry to peep in : 
 
 And then the great dog! I shall never forget him; 
 Plow many's the time master Jackey would set him: 
 And while I stood terrified all of a quake, 
 Cried ' hey cat ! and seize her boy, give her a shake. 
 
 Sometimes, when so hungry I could Hot forbear 
 Just taking a scrape, that I thought they could spare, 
 Oh ! what I have suffered with beating and banging, 
 Or starved for a fortnight, or threatened with hanging. 
 
 But kicking, and beating, and starving, and that, 
 I've borne with a spirit becoming a cat ; 
 There was but one thing which I could not sustain, 
 So great was my sorrow, so hopeless my pain. 
 
 One morning, safe hid in a warm little bed, 
 That down in the stable I'd carefully spread, 
 Three sweet little kittens as ever you saw, 
 I concealed as I thought in some trusses of straw. 
 
 I was never so happy, T think, nor so proud, 
 I. mewed to my kittens, and purred out loud ; 
 And thought with delight of the merry carousing 
 We'd have, when I first took them with me a mousing. 
 
 But how shall I tell you the sorrowlul ditty; 
 I'm sure it would melt even Growler to pity : 
 For the very next nlornig, my darlings I found* 
 Lying dead by the horse pond, all mangled and 
 drowned ! 
 
72 ORIGINAL POEMS* , 
 
 Poor darlings ! I dragged them along to the stable.-. 
 And did ail to warm them a mother was able ; 
 But alas ! all my licking and mewing were vain, 
 And I thought 1 should ne'er have been happy again,. 
 However, time gave me a little relief, 
 And mousing diverted the thoughts of my grief, 
 And at last I began to be gay arid contented, 
 Till one dreadful morning, for ever repented. 
 Miss Fanny was fond of a favourite sparrow, 
 And'often I longed for a taste of its marrow; 
 So not having eaten a morsel all day, 
 I flew -to the cage, and tore it away. 
 
 Now tell me, kind friends, was the like ever heard, 
 That a cat should be killed for just catching a bird I 
 And I'm sure not the slightest suspicion I had, 
 But that catching a mouse was exactly as bad. 
 
 Indeed, I can say with my paw on my heart, 
 I would not have acted a mischievous part; 
 Put as dear mother Tabby was often repeating, 
 I thought birds and mice were on purpose for eating. 
 
 Be this as it may, with the noise of its squeaking, 
 Miss Fanny camein, while my whiskers were reeking, 
 An-.'l on my poor back with the hot poker flying, 
 She gave me those bruises of which 1 am dying. 
 
 But I feel that my breath grows shorter apace, 
 And cold clammy sweats trickle down from my face: 
 
 I forgive little Fanny this bruise on my side 
 
 She' stopped, gave a sigh, and a struggle, and died. 
 
 DAY. 
 
 THE sun rises bright in the air, 
 The dews of the morning are dry, 
 
 Men and beasts to their labours repair, < 
 And the lark wings his way to the sky. 
 
 Nor fresh from his moss dappled shed, 
 The husbandman trudges along.. 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. / 
 
 And like the Jark over his head, 
 Begins the new day with a song. 
 
 Just now all around was so still, 
 
 Not a bird drew his head from his wing 
 Not an echo was heard from the hill, 
 
 Nor a water-fly dipt in the spring; 
 Now every thing wakes from its sleep, 
 
 The shepherd boy pipes to his flock, 
 The common is speckled with sheep, 
 
 And cheerfully clamours the cock. 
 
 Now winding along on the road, 
 
 Half hid by the hedges so gay, 
 The wagon drags slow with its load, 
 
 And its bells tinkle, tinkle, away. 
 The husbandman follows his plough. 
 
 Across the brown fallow-field's slope, 
 And toils in the sweat of his brow, 
 
 Repaid by the pleasures of hope. 
 The city so noisy and wide, 
 
 Begins to look smoky and gray ; 
 Now bus'ness, and pleasure and pride, 
 
 March each in a different way. 
 My lord, and my lady so fair, 
 
 The merchant with dignified look, 
 And all to their bus'ness repair, 
 
 From the nobleman down to his cook. 
 
 For the dews of the morning are flown, 
 
 And the sun rises bright in the sky ; 
 Alike in the field and the town, 
 
 Men and beasts to their labour apply. 
 Now idle no hand must remain, 
 
 Nor eye sink in slumber so dark, 
 For evening is coming again, 
 
 And the night, in which no man can work, 
 
 And what is our life but a day 1 
 A short one that soon will be o'er; 
 
74 , ORIGINAL I'OBMS. 
 
 Without stopping it gallops away, 
 And will never return any more ! 
 
 Then while its bright beamings we have>. 
 Let us keep its grand bus'ness in view, 
 
 Before our sun sets in the grave, 
 
 Which we know not how soon it may dov 
 
 NIGHT. 
 
 No longer the beautiful day, 
 
 Shines over the landscape so light ; 
 The shadows of evening gray 
 
 Are closed in the darkness of night ; 
 The din of employment is o'er, 
 
 Not a sound, not a whisper is heard,. 
 The wagon bell tinkles no more, 
 
 And still is the song of the bird. 
 
 The landscape, once blooming so fair, 
 
 With a garment of flowers o'erspread; 
 The landscape indeed is still there, 
 
 But all its fair colours are fled. 
 . The sun, sinking under the hill, 
 
 No longer shoots bright to the earth ; 
 The bustle of bus'ness is still, 
 
 And hushed is the clamour of mirth. 
 
 The busy hand, busy no more, 
 
 Is sunk from its labour to rest ; 
 Closed tight every window and door 
 
 Where once the gay passengers prest 
 The houses of frolic and fun, 
 
 Are empty, and dreary, and dark ; 
 The din of the coaches is done, 
 
 And the tired horse rest from his work. 
 
 Just such is the season of death, 
 Which comes upon each of us fast; 
 
 The bosom can't flutter with breath, 
 When life's little day-time is past 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 The blood freezes cold in its vein, 
 The heart sinks for ever to rest ; 
 
 Not a fancy flits over the brain, 
 
 Nor a sigh find its way from the breast 
 
 The tongue stiff and silent is grown, 
 
 The pale lips move never again ; 
 The smile and the dimple are flown, 
 
 And the voice doth of pleasure and pain. 
 Clay cold the once feverish head, 
 
 The bright eye is sullen and dark ; 
 For death's gloomy shadows have spread 
 
 That night in which no man can work. 
 But as from the stillness and gloom, 
 
 Another gay morning shall rise, 
 So, bursting awake from the tomb, 
 
 We shall mount far away to the skies. 
 And those, who with meekness and prayer, 
 
 In the paths of religion have trod, 
 Shall worship all glorious there, 
 
 Among the arch-angels of God. 
 
 DEAF MARTHA. 
 
 POOR Martha is old, and her hair is turned gray, 
 And her hearing has left her this many long years^, 
 
 Ten to one if she knows what it is that you say; 
 Tho' she puts her poor withered hand close to 
 her ear. 
 
 I've seen naughty children run after her fast, ' 
 And cry, " Martha run, there's a bullock so bold ;" 
 
 And when she was frightened, laugh at her at last, 
 Because she believed the sad stories they told. 
 
 I've seen others put their mouths close to her ear, 
 And make signs, as if they had something to say : 
 
 And when she said, " Master I'm deaf and can't hear/ 1 
 Point at her, and rnock her, and scamper, away. 
 
Ah ! wicked the children poor Martha to tease, 
 As if she had not enough else to endure ; 
 
 They rather should try her affliction to ease, 
 And sooth a disorder that nothing can cure. 
 
 One day, when those children themselves are grown 
 
 old, 
 
 And one may be deaf, and another be lame : 
 Perhaps they may find that some children as bold, 
 May tease them, and mock them, and serve them 
 the same. 
 
 Then, when they reflect on the days of their youth* 
 They'll think of poor Martha and all that they said, 
 And remember, with shame and repentance, the truth, 
 " That all wicked actions are surely repaid." 
 
 THE PIN, 
 
 " DEAR me, what signifies a pin, 
 Wedged in a ratten board? 
 
 I'm certain that I won't begin 
 At ten years old, to hoard ! 
 
 I never will be called a miser, 
 
 That I'm determined,' 5 said Eliza. 
 
 So onward tript the little maid. 
 
 And left the pin behind, 
 Which very snug 1 and quiet laid, 
 
 To its hard fate resigned : 
 Nor did she think (a careless chit) 
 'Twas worth her while to stoop for it 
 
 Next day a party was to ride, 
 
 To see an air balloon ; 
 And all the company beside, 
 . Were drest and ready soon ; 
 But she a woful case was in, 
 For want of just a single pin ! 
 
ORIGINAL POLM-?, 77 
 
 In vain her eager eye she brings 
 
 To every darksome crack, 
 There was not one ! and all her things 
 
 Were dropping off her back ; 
 She cut her pincushion in two, 
 But no ! not one had slidden through,, 
 
 At last as hunting on the floor, 
 
 Over a crack she lay, 
 The carriage rattled to the door, 
 
 Then tattled fast away ; 
 But poor Eliza was not in, 
 For want of just a single pin?. 
 
 There's hardly any thing so small, 
 
 So trifling or so mean, 
 That we may never want at all, 
 
 For service unforeseen. 
 And wilful waste, depend upon't 
 Is, almost always, woful want ! 
 
 THE LITTLE BIRD'S COMPLAINT TO HIS 
 
 MISTRESS. ' 
 HERE, in the wiry prison, where I sing, 
 
 And thintf of sVveet green woods, and long to fly; 
 Unable once to stretch my feeble wing, 
 Or wave my feathers in the clear blue sky. 
 
 Day after day the selfsame things I see, 
 
 The cold white ceiling, and this wiry house, 
 Ah ! how unlike my healthy native tree, 
 
 Rocked by the winds that whistled through the 
 
 bough*. 
 Mild spring returning, strews the ground with flowers. 
 
 And hangs sweet May-buds on the hedges gay ; 
 But no wann sunshine cheers my gloomy hours, ' 
 
 Nor kind companion twitters on the spray ! 
 
 Oh ! how I long to stretch my -weary wings, 
 And fly away as far as eye can see : 
 
7S ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 And from the topmost bough where Robin sings, 
 Pour my wild songs, and be as blithe as he. 
 
 Why was I taken from my waving nest, 
 
 From flowery fields, wide woods, and hedges 
 green 1 
 
 Torn from my tender mother's downy breast, 
 In this sad prison-house to die unseen ! 
 
 Why must I here, in summer evenings fine, 
 A thousand happier birds in merry choirs'? 
 
 And I, poor lonely I, forbid to join, 
 
 Caged by these wooden walls and golden wires'! 
 
 Kind mistress come, with gentle, pitying hand, 
 Unbar my prison door, and set me free ; 
 
 Then on the white-thorn bush I'll take my stand, 
 And sing sweet songs to freedom and to thee. 
 
 THE MISTRESS'S REPLY TO HER LITTLE 
 
 BIRD 
 DEAR little bird, don't make this piteous cry; 
 
 My heart will break to hear thee thus complain i 
 Gladly, dear little bird, I'd let the fly, 
 
 If that were likely to relieve thy pain. 
 
 Sad was the boy who climb'd the tree so high, 
 And took thee bare and shiv'ring from thy nest ; 
 
 But know, dear little bird, it was not I, 
 
 There's more of soft compassion in my breast. 
 
 But when I saw thee gasping wide for breatn, 
 Without one feather on thy callow skin, 
 
 ,1 begged the cruel boy to spare thy death, 
 Paid for thy little life, and took thee in. 
 
 Fondly I fed thee, with the tenderest care, 
 , And filled thy gaping beak with nicest food ; 
 Gave thee new bread and butter from my share, 
 And then with chick-w r eed green thy dwelling 
 strewed. 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. ?5i 
 
 Soon downy feathers drest thy naked wing, 
 Smoothed by thy little beak with beauish care ; 
 
 And many a summer's evening wouldst thou sing, 
 And hop from perch to perch with merry air. 
 
 But if I now should loose thy prison door, 
 And let thee out into the world so wide 
 
 Unused to such a wondrous place before, 
 
 Thou'dst want some friendly shelter where to hide. 
 
 Thy brother birds would peck thy little eyes, 
 And fight the stranger from their woods away ; 
 
 Fierce hawks would chase thee trembling thfo' the 
 
 skies, 
 Or crouching pussy mark thee for her prey. 
 
 Sad on the lonely black-thorn, wouldst thou sit, 
 Thy mournful song unpitied and unheard ; 
 
 And when the wintry wind and driving sleet, 
 Came sweeping o'er, they'd kill my pretty bird 
 
 Then do not pine, my favourite, to be free: 
 Plume up thy wings, and clear that sullen eye; 
 
 I would not take thee from thy native tree ; 
 But now t' would kill thee soon to let thee fly. 
 
 THE TRUE HI STORY OF A POOR LITTLE MOUSE, 
 A POOR little mouse had once made him a nest, 
 As he fancied, the warmest, and safest, and best 
 
 That a poor little mouse could enjoy ; 
 So snug, so convenient, so out of the way, 
 This poor little mouse and his family lay, 
 
 They feared neither pussy nor boy. 
 
 It was in a stove, that was seldom in use, 
 
 Where shavings and papers wear scattered in looser 
 
 That this poor little mouse made his hole ; 
 But alas ! Master Johnny had seen him one day, 
 As in a great fright he had scampere'd away* 
 
 With a piece of plum-pudding he stole. 
 
80 GIUGJN.Vi, POEMS. 
 
 As soon as young Jonny (who, wicked and bad, 
 No pitiful thoughts for dumb animals had) 
 
 Descried the poor fellow's retreat, 
 He crept to the shavings and set them alight, 
 And before the poor mouse could run off in its fright, 
 
 It was scalded to death in the heat. 
 
 Poor mouse, ho\v it squeak'd I cant bear to relate, 
 Nor how its poor little ones hopp'd in the grate, 
 
 And died, one by one, in the flame! 
 I should not much wonder to hear that one night 
 This wicked boy's bed curtains catching alight, 
 
 He suffer'd exactly the same. 
 
 THE CHATTER BOX. 
 
 FROM morning till night it was Lucy's delight 
 To chatter and talk without stopping; 
 
 There was not a day but she rattled away, 
 Like water for ever a dropping ! 
 
 As soon as she rose while she put on her clothes, 
 'Twas vain to endeavour to still her; 
 
 Nor once did she lack to continue her clack, 
 Till again she laid down on her pillow. 
 
 You'll think now perhaps, that there would have been 
 gaps, 
 
 If she had not been wonderful clever ; 
 That her sense was so great, and so witty her pate. 
 
 That it would be forth coming for aver. 
 
 But that's quite absurd ; for have you not heard, 
 That much tongue and few brains are connected'! 
 
 That they arc supposed to think least who talk most, 
 And their wisdom is always suspected ? 
 
 While Lucy was young, if she'd bridled her tongue, 
 With a little good sense and exertion, 
 
 Who knows but she might, now have been our delight, 
 Instead of our jest and aversion ? 
 
OlilrjtNAL POEMS. 81 
 
 THE SNOW DROP. 
 I SAW a snow-drop on the bed, 
 
 Green taper leaves among ; 
 Whiter than driven snow, its head 
 
 On the siim stalk was hung. 
 
 The wintry wind came sweeping o'er 
 1 A bitter tempest blew ; 
 The snow-drop faded never more 
 To glitter with the dew. 
 
 I saw a smiling infant, laid 
 
 In its fond mother's arms : 
 Around its rosy cheek there play'd 
 
 A thousand dimpling charms. 
 
 A bitter pain was sent to take 
 
 The smiling babe away; 
 How did its little bosom shake, 
 
 As in a fit it lay ! 
 
 Its beating heart was quickly stopped ; - 
 
 And in the earth so cold, 
 I saw the little coffin dropped, 
 
 And covered up with mould. 
 
 Dear little children, who may read 
 
 This mournful story through, 
 Remember death may come with speed, 
 
 And bitter pains for you. 
 
 THE YELLOW LEAF. 
 I SAW a leaf come tilting down, 
 
 From a bare withered bough ; 
 The leaf was dead, the branch was brown* 
 
 No fruit was left it now. 
 
 4 But much the rattling tempest blew, 
 
 The naked boughs among ; 
 And here and there, came whirling through, 
 A leaf that loosely hung. 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 This leaf they tell me once was green, 
 Washed by the showers soft ; 
 
 High on the topmost bough was seen, 
 And flourished up aloft. 
 
 I saw an old man totter slow, 
 Wrinkled, and weak and gray ; 
 
 He'd hardly strength enough to go 
 Ever so short a way. 
 
 His ear was deaf, his eyes was dim, 
 
 He leaned on crutches high, 
 But while I staid to pity him, 
 
 I saw him gasp and die. 
 This poor old man, was once as gay 
 
 As rosy health could be ; 
 Yes, and the youngest head must lay 
 
 Ere long, as low as he ! 
 
 POOR POMPEY'S COMPLAINT. 
 
 STRETCHED out on a dunghill, all covered with snow, 
 While round him blew many a pitiless blast ; 
 
 His breath short and painful, his pulse beating low, 
 Poor honest old Pompey lay breathing his last. 
 
 Bleak whistled the wind, and loud bellowed the storm, 
 Cold pelted upon him the half frozen rain ; - 
 
 And amid the convulsions that shattered his form, 
 Thus honest old Pompey was heard to complain : 
 
 " Full many a winter I've weatherd the blast, 
 
 And plunged for my master through brier or bog ; 
 
 And in my old age, when my vigour is past, 
 'Tis cruel, I think, to forsake his poor dog^ 
 
 "I've guarded his dwelling by day and by night. 
 
 Impatient the roost-robbing gipsy to spy, 
 And the roost-robbing gipsy turned pale with affright, 
 
 When the flash of resentment shot fierce from my 
 eye. 
 
ORIGINAL I'OEMS. 83 
 
 " On the heath and the mountain I've followed his 
 flocks, 
 
 And kept them secure whilst he slept in the sun ; 
 Defended them safe from the blood-thirsty fox, 
 
 And asked but a bone when my labour was done, 
 
 " When he worked in the corn-field, with brawny 
 hot back, 
 
 I watched by his waistcoat 'beneath the tall tree ; 
 And wo to the robber that dared to attack, 
 
 The charge that iny master committed to me. 
 
 " When jogging from market with bags full of gold, 
 No moon to enliven his perilous way ; 
 
 Nor star twinkling bright through the atmosphere 
 
 cold, 
 'Twas I kept the slow creeping robber at bay. 
 
 " One night, when with cold overcome and opprcst, 
 He sunk by the way side, benumbed in the snow, 
 
 I stretched my warm belly along on his breast, 
 And moaned to let kind-hearted passengers know. 
 
 " Yes long have I served him with courage and zeal, 
 Till my shaking old bones are grown brittle and 
 
 dry, 
 
 And 'tis an unkindness I bitterly feel, 
 ,To be turned' out of doors on a dunghill to die ! 
 
 " I crawled to the kitchen with pitiful moan , 
 
 And showed my poor ribs that were cutting my 
 skin ; 
 
 And looked at my master and begged for a bone ; 
 But he said I was dirty and must not come in ! 
 
 " But 'tis the last struggle ! my sorrows are o'er, . 
 
 'Tis death's clammy hand that is glazing my eye; 
 The keen gripe of hunger shall pinch me no more, 
 
 Nor hard-hearted master be deaf to my cry !" ANN. 
 
84 ORIGINAL 
 
 THE POND. 
 
 THERE was a round pond, and a pretty pond too, 
 About it white daisies and butter flowers grew, 
 And dark weeping willows, that stooped to the ground,, 
 Dipped in their long branches and shaded it round. 
 
 A party of Ducks to this pond would repair, 
 
 To feast on the green water- weeds that grew there : 
 
 Indeed, the assembly would frequently meet 
 
 To talk o'er affairs in this pleasant retreat. 
 
 Now the subject on which they were wont to con verse, 
 I'm sorry I cannot include in my verse ; 
 For though I've oft listened in hopes of discerning, 
 I own 'tis a matter that baffles my learning. 
 One day, a young chicken, who lived thereabout, 
 Stood 'watching to see the ducks pass in and out ; 
 Now standing tail upwards, now diving below, 
 She thought of all things she would like to do so. 
 
 So this foolish chicken bepan to declare, 
 <4 I've really a great mind'to venture in there ; 
 My mother oft told me I must not go nigh, 
 But really, for my part, I cannot tell why. 
 
 *' Ducks have wings and feathers, and so have I too, 
 And my feet what's the reason that they will not do) 
 Though my beak it is pointed, and their beaks are 
 
 round, 
 Is that any reason that I should be drown'd 1 
 
 " So why should I not swim as well as a duck? 
 Suppose, then, I venture and e'en try my luck ; 
 For," said she (spite of all that her mother had taught 
 
 her) 
 
 "I'm really remarkably fond of the water." 
 So in this poor ignorant animal flew, 
 And soon found her dear mother's cautions were true, 
 She splashed, and she dashed, and she turned herself 
 
 round, 
 And heartily wished herself safe on the ground. 
 

 THE POND. 
 
 "So why should I not swim as well as a duck? A . 
 Suppose, then, I venture and e'en try my luck ; 
 For," said she (spite of all that her mother had taught her) 
 " I'm really remarkably fond of the water," 
 
 ^^ 
 
ORIGINAL I-uEMri, 85, 
 
 But now 'twas too late to begin to repent, 
 The harder she struggled the deeper she went ; 
 And when every effort she vainly had tried, 
 She slowly sunk down to the bottom, and died! 
 
 The ducks, I perceived, began loudly to quack, 
 When they saw the poor fowl floating dead on its 
 
 back, 
 
 And by their grave looks, it was very apparent, 
 They discoursed on the sin of not minding a parent, 
 
 THE ENGLISH GIRL. 
 
 SPORTING on the village green, 
 The pretty English girl is seen ; 
 Or beside the cottage neat, 
 Knitting on the garden seat. 
 
 Now within her humble door, 
 Sweeping clean the kitchen floor, 
 Where upon the wall so white, 
 Hang her coppers polished bright. 
 
 Mary never idle sits, 
 She either sews, or spins, or knits, 
 Hard she labours all the week, 
 With sparkling eye, and rosy cheek, 
 
 And on Sunday Mary goes, 
 Neatly dress'd in decent clothes, 
 Says her prayers, (a constant rule,) 
 And hastens to the Sunday school. 
 
 O how good should we be found, 
 Who live on England's happy ground ! 
 Where rich and poor, and wretched, may 
 All learn to walk in wisdom's way. 
 
 THE SCOTCH LADDIE. ^ 
 
 COLD blows the north wind o'er the mountains so bare, 
 foor Sawny benighted is travelling there ; . 
 
 8 
 
86 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 His plaid-cloak around him he carefully binds, 
 And holds on his bonnet, that's blown by the winds. 
 
 Long time has he wandered his desolate way, 
 That wound him along by the banks of the Tay ; 
 Now o'eu this cold mountain poor Sawny must roam, 
 Before he arrives at his little dear home. 
 
 Barefooted he follows the path he must go, 
 The print of his footsteps he leaves in the snow ; 
 And while the white sleet patters cold on his face, 
 He thinks of his home, and he quickens his pace. 
 
 But see from afar he discovers a light, 
 
 That cheerfully gleams on the darkness of night ; 
 
 And O, what delights in his bosom arise ! 
 
 He knows 'tis his dear little home that he spies. 
 
 And now, when arrived at his father's own door, 
 His fears, his fatigues, and his dangers are o'er; 
 His brothers and sisters press round with delight, 
 And welcome him in from the storms of the night. 
 
 For in vain from the north the keen winter winds 
 
 blow, 
 
 In vain are the mountain tops covered with snow ; 
 The cold of his country can never control, 
 The affection that glows in a Highlander's soul. 
 
 THE WELCH LAD. 
 
 OVER the mountain and over the rock, 
 Wanders young Taffy to follow his flock, 
 While far above him he sees the wild goats, 
 Gallop about in their shaggy warm coats. 
 
 Sometimes they travel in frolicksome crowds, 
 
 To the mountain's high top that is lost in the clouds ; 
 
 Then they descend to the valley again, 
 
 Or scale the black rocks that hang over the main, 
 
 Now when young Taffy's day's labour is o'er, 
 He cheerfully sits at his own culture door; 
 
B7 
 
 While all his brothers and sisters around, 
 
 Sit in a circle upon the bare ground. 
 
 Then their good father, with spectacled nose, 
 
 Reads the Bible aloud, ere he takes his repose ; 
 
 While the pale moon rises over the hill, 
 
 And the birds are asleep and all nature is still. 
 
 Now with his harp old Llewellyn is seen, 
 
 And joins the gay party that sits on the green ; 
 
 He leans in the door-way, and plays them a tune, 
 
 And the children all dance by the light of the moon. 
 
 How often the wretch, in a city so gay, 
 Where pleasure and luxury follow his way, 
 When health quite forsakes him, and cheerfulness fails, 
 Might envy a lad on the mountains of Wales ! 
 
 IRISH BOY. 
 
 YOUNG Paddy is merry and happy, but poor, 
 His cabin is built in the midst of the moor ; 
 No pretty green meadows about it are found, 
 But bogs in the middle and mountains around. 
 
 This wild Irish lad, of all lads the most frisky, 
 Enjoys his spare meal of potatoes and whiskey, 
 As he merrily sits, with no care on his mind, 
 At the door of his cabin and sings to the wind. 
 
 Close down at his feet lies his shaggy old dog, 
 Who has plunged with his master through many a bog, 
 While Paddy sings "Liberty long shall reign o'er us" 
 Shag catches his ardour, and barks a loud chorus. 
 
 Young Paddy indeed, is not polished or mild, 
 But his soul is as free as his country is wild ; ' 
 And though unacquainted with fashion or dress, 
 His heart ever melts at the sound of distress. 
 
 Then let us not laugh at his bulls and his blunders, 
 His broad native brogue, or his ignorant wonders; 
 Nor will we by ridicule ever destroy, 
 The honest content of a wild Irish boy. 
 
88 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 And thus while I sing of the wild Irish lad, 
 
 'The Welch boy, the Scotch, with his waistcoat of plaid, 
 
 I earnestly pray that I never may roam, 
 
 From England, dear England, my own native home* 
 
 GREEDY RICHARD. 
 
 " I THINK I want some pies this morning," 
 Said Dick, stretching himself and yawning ; 
 So down he threw his slate and books, 
 And sauntered to the pastry cook's. 
 
 And there he cast his greedy- eyes, 
 Round on the jellies and the pies, 
 So to select with anxious care, 
 The very nicest that was there. 
 
 At last the point was thus decided, 
 As his opinion was divided, * 
 
 'Tvvixt pie and jelly, he was loath 
 Either to leave, so took them both. 
 
 Now Richard never could be pleased 
 ^To eat till hunger was appeased ; 
 But he'd go on to cram and stuff 
 Long after he had got enough. 
 
 " I sha'nt take any more," said Dick, 
 '" Dear me I feel extremely sick ; 
 I cannot eat this other bit ; 
 I wish I had not tasted it." 
 
 'Then slowly rising from his seat, 
 He threw the cheese-cakes in the street, 
 And left the tempting pastry cook's 
 With very discontented looks. 
 
 Just then a man with wooden leg 
 Met Dick, and held his hat to beg ; 
 And while he told his mournful case, 
 Looked at him with imploring face. 
 
ORIGINAL FOE.MS. 89 
 
 Dick wishing to relieve his pain, 
 
 His pockets searched, but searched in vain ; 
 
 And so at last he did declare 
 
 He had not got a farthing there. 
 
 The beggar turned with face of grief, 
 And look of patient unbelief. 
 While Richard now completely tamed, 
 Felt inconceivably ashamed. 
 
 " I wish," said he (but wishing's vain,) 
 "I'd got my money back again, 
 And had not spent my last to pay 
 For what I only threw away. 
 
 '< Another time I'll take advice, 
 
 And not buy things because they're nice ! 
 
 B;it rather save my little store 
 
 To give poor folks, who want it more." 
 
 DIRTY JCAK. 
 
 THERE was one little Jack ! 
 
 Not very long back, 
 And 'tis said, to his lasting disgrace, 
 
 That he never was seen, 
 
 With his hands at all clean, 
 Nor yet ever clean was his face. 
 
 His friends were much hurt, 
 
 To see so much dirt, 
 And often and well did they scour, 
 
 But all was in vain, 
 
 He was dirty again, 
 Before they had done it an hour. 
 
 When to wash he was- sent, 
 
 Ke reluctantly went, 
 With water to splash himself o'er; 
 
 But he left the black streaks 
 
 All over his cheeks, 
 
 And made them look worse than before. 
 8* 
 
90 ORIGINAL POEM?. 
 
 The pigs in the dirt, 
 
 Could not be more expert, 
 Then he was, at grubbing about : 
 
 And people have thought, 
 
 This gentleman ought, 
 To be made with four legs and a snout. 
 
 The idle and bad, 
 
 May like to this lad, 
 Be dirty, and black to be sure ; 
 
 But good boys are seen, 
 
 To be decent and clean, 
 Although they are ever so poor. 
 
 THE FARM. 
 
 BRIGHT glows the east with blushing red, 
 While yet upon their wholesome bed, 
 
 The sleeping lab'rers rest ; 
 And the pale moon and silver star, 
 Grow paler still, and wand'ring far, 
 
 Sink slowly to the west. 
 
 And see behind the sloping hill, 
 
 The morning clouds grow brighter still, 
 
 And all the shades retire, 
 Slowly the sun with golden ray, 
 Breaks forth above the horizon grey, 
 
 And gilds the distant spire. 
 
 And now at nature's cheerful voice, 
 The hills and vales, and woods rejoice, 
 
 The lark ascends the skies ; 
 And soon the cock's shrill notes alarm, 
 The sleeping people at the farm, 
 
 And bid them all arise. 
 
 Then to the dairy's cool retreat, 
 
 The busy maids together meet, 
 
 The careful mistress sees ; 
 
Some tend with skilful hand the churns, 
 Where the quick cream to butter turns, 
 And some the curdling cheese. 
 
 And now comes Thomas from the house, 
 With well known cry to call the cows, 
 
 Still sleeping on the plain ; 
 They, quickly rising, one and all, 
 Obedient to the daily call, 
 
 Wind slowly through the lane. 
 
 And see the rosy milk-maid now, 
 Seated beside the horned cow, 
 With milking stool and pail ; 
 The patient cow. with dappled hide, 
 Stands still, unless to lash her side 
 With her convenient tail. 
 And then the poultry (Mary's charge) 
 Must all be fed and let at large, 
 
 To roam about again ; 
 Wide open swings the great barn door. 
 And out the hungry creatures pour, 
 
 To pick up the scattered grain. 
 Forth plodding to the-heavy plough, 
 The sun-burnt lab'rer hastens now, 
 
 To gide with skillful arm ; 
 'Thus all is industry around ; 
 ,No idle hand is ever found, 
 Within the busy farm. 
 
 READING. 
 
 " AND so you do not like to spell. 
 Mary, my dear ; O very well ; 
 'Tis dull and troublesome, you say, 
 And you had rather be at play. 
 
 " Then bring me all your books again : 
 Nay, Mary why do you complain 1 
 For as you do not choose to read, 
 You shall not have your books, indeed. 
 
ORIGINAL POEM3. 
 
 " So, as you wish to be a dunce, 
 Pray go and fetch me them at once; 
 For as you will not learn to spell, 
 'Tis vain to think of reading well. 
 
 "Now don't you think, you'll blush to own, 
 When you become a women grown, 
 Without one good excuse to plead, 
 That you have never learnt to read ?" 
 
 ' O dear mamma," (saicl Mary then) 
 *' Do let me have my books again ; 
 I'll not fret any more indeed, 
 If you will let me learn to read." 
 
 IDLENESS. 
 
 SOME people complain they have nothing to do, 
 
 And time passes slowly away ; 
 They saunter about with no object in view, 
 
 And long for the end of the day. 
 
 In vain are their riches, or honours, or birth, 
 
 They nothing can truly enjoy ; 
 They're the wretchedest creature that live on the earth 
 
 For want of some pleasing employ. 
 
 When people have no need to work for their bread, 
 
 And indolent always have been, 
 It never so much as comes into their head, 
 
 That wasting their time is a sin. 
 
 But man was created for useful employ, 
 
 From earth's first creation till now, 
 And 'tis good for his health, and his comfort, and joy, 
 
 To live by the sweat of his brow. 
 
 And those who of riches are fully possest, 
 
 Are not for that -reason exempt, 
 If they give themselves up to an indolent rest, 
 
 They are objects of real contempt. 
 
93 
 
 The pleasure that constant employments create, 
 
 By them cannot be understood ; 
 And though they may rank with the rich and the great) 
 
 Thcy never can rank with the good. 
 
 THE GOOD NATURED GIRLS. \, 
 
 Two good little girls, Marianne and Maria, 
 
 As happily lived as good girls could desire : 
 
 And though they were neither grave, sullen, nor mute, 
 
 They seldom or never were heard to dispute. 
 
 If one wants a thing that the other could get, 
 They don't go to scratching and righting for it ; 
 But each one is willing to give up her right, 
 For they'd rather have nothing than quarrel and fight. 
 
 If one of them happens to have something nice, 
 Directly she offers her sister a slice ; 
 And not like to some greedy children I've known, 
 Who would go in a corner to eat it alone. 
 
 When papa or mamma had a job to be done, 
 These good little girls would immediately run, 
 And not stand disputing to-which it belonged, 
 And grumble and fret, and declare they were 
 
 wronged. 
 
 Whatever occurred, in their work or their play, 
 They were willing to yield and give up their own 
 
 way; 
 
 Then let us all try their example to mind, 
 And always, like them, be obliging and kind. 
 
 MISCHIEF. 
 
 LET those who're fond of idle tricks, 
 Of thro wing stones and breaking bricks, 
 
 And all that sort of fun, 
 Now hear a tale of idle Jim, 
 That they may warning take by him, 
 
 Nor do as he has done. 
 
S4 GfUGlNAL POEMS. 
 
 In harmless sport or healthful play, 
 He never past his time away, 
 
 He took no pleasure in it ; 
 For mischief was his only joy, 
 Nor book, nor work, nor even toy, 
 
 Could please him for a minute. 
 
 A neighbour's house he'd slily pass, 
 And throw a stone to break the glass, 
 
 And then enjoy the joke ; 
 Or if a window open stood, 
 He'd throw in stones, or bits of wood, 
 
 To frighten all the folk. 
 
 If travellers passing chanced to stray, 
 Of idle Jim to ask the way, 
 
 He never told them right : 
 And then, quite harden'd in his sin, 
 Rejoice to see them taken in, 
 
 And laugh with all his might. 
 
 He'd tie a string across the street, 
 So to entangle people's feet, 
 
 And make them tumble down ; 
 Indeed, he was dislik'd so much, 
 'That no good boy would play with such 
 
 A nuisance to the town. 
 
 At last the neighbours, in despair, 
 Could all these tricks no longer bear, 
 
 In short (to end the tale) 
 The lad was cured of all his ways 
 One time, by spending a few days 
 
 Inside the county jail. 
 
 THE SPIDER. 
 
 4 ' O LOOK at that great ugly spider," said Ann, 
 And screaming, she knocked it away with her fan 
 M 'Tis a great ugly creature, as ever can be, 
 I wish that it would not come crawling on me, 
 
OK1GTNAL POEAI3. 95 
 
 : Indeed." said her mother, " I'll venture to say, 
 'Twill take care next time not to come in your way, 
 For after the fright and the fall and the pain, 
 I'm sure it has much the most cause to complain. 
 
 "Now why should you hurt the poor insect, my dear T 
 If it hurt you there'd be some excuse for your fear; 
 But if it had known where it was going to, 
 'T would have hurried away and not crawled upon 
 
 you. 
 
 "For them to fear us, is but natural and just, 
 Who in less than a moment could tread them to dust ; 
 But certainly we have no cause for alarm, 
 For if they should try, they could do us no harm. 
 
 " Now look, it has got to its home do you see, 
 What a fine curious web it has wove in the tree ; 
 Now this, my dear Ann, is a lesson for you : 
 Only see what industry and patience can do. 
 
 " So, when at your business you idle and play, 
 Recollect what you've seen of this insect today 
 For fear it should even be found to be true, 
 That a poor little spider is better than you." 
 
 THE COW AND THE ASS. 
 HARD by a green meadow a stream used to flow, 
 So clear one might see the white pebbles below ; 
 To this cooling stream the warm cattle would stray, 
 To stand in the shade on a hot summer's day. 
 
 A cow quite oppressed with the heat of the sun, 
 Came here to refresh as she often had done ; 
 And standing stock still, leaning over the stream, 
 Was musing perhaps, or perhaps she might dream. 
 
 But soon a brown ass, of respectable look, 
 Came trotting up also to taste of the brook, 
 And to nibble a few of the daisies and grass , 
 "How d' ye do?" said the cow, "how d' ye do ?" 
 said the ass. 
 
'JO ORIGINAL 1'OElMrf. 
 
 " Take a seat,' 5 cried the cow, gently waving her hand,, 
 "By no means, dear madam, " said he, " while you 
 
 stand ;" 
 
 Then stooping to drink with a complaisant bow, 
 * Ma'am your health," said the ass, " thank you sir," 
 
 said the cow. 
 
 When a few of these compliments more had been past, 
 They laid themselves down on the herbage at last ; 
 And waiting politely (as gentlemen must) 
 The ass held his tongue that the cow might speak 
 first. 
 
 Then with a deep sigh she directly began, 
 " Don't you think, Mr, Ass. we are injured by man I 
 'Tis a subject that lays with a weight on my mind ; 
 We certainly are much oppressed by mankind. 
 
 Now what is the reason* (I see none at ail) 
 
 That 1 always must go when Suke chooses to call] 
 
 Whatever I'm doing ('tis certainly hard) 
 
 At once I must go and be milked in the yard. 
 
 " I've no will of my own, but must do as they please, 
 And give them my milk to make butter and cheese ; 
 I've often a vast mind to knock down the pail, 
 Or give Suke a box of the ears with my tail." 
 
 " But ma'am" said the ass, " not presuming to teach 
 
 dear, I beg pardon, pray finish your speech: 
 
 1 thought you had done ma'am indeed, (said the swain), 
 Go on, and I'll not interrupt you again," 
 
 " Why sir, I was only a going to observe, 
 
 I'm resolved that these tyrants no longer I'll serve ; 
 
 But leave them for ever to do as they please, 
 
 And look somewhere else for their butter and cheese."* 
 
 Ass waited a moment to see if she'd done, 
 And then, " not presuming to teach" he begun 
 '* With submission, dear madam, to your better wit., 
 ! own I am not quite convinced by it yet. 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 97 
 
 4i That you are of great service to them is quite true ; 
 But surely they are of some service to you: 
 Tis their nice green meadows in which you regale, 
 They feed you in winter when grass and weeds fail. 
 
 *' 'Tis under their shelter you snugly repose, 
 When without it, dear ma'am, you perhaps might be 
 
 froze 
 
 For my own part, I know I receive much from man, 
 And for him, in return, I do all that I can." 
 
 The cow upon this cast her eyes on the grass. 
 Not pleased at thus being reproved by an ass ; 
 Yet, thought she, I'm determined I'll benefit by't, 
 For 1 really believe that the fellow is right. Jane. 
 
 THE BLIND SAILOR. 
 
 A SAILOR with a wooden leg, 
 
 A little charity implores ; 
 He holds his tattered hat to beg, 
 
 Come, Jet us join our little stores. 
 Poor Sailor ! we ourselves might be 
 As wretched and as poor as thee. 
 
 A thousand thanks, my lady kind, 
 
 A thousand blessings on your head ;, 
 
 A flash of lightning struck me blind, 
 Or else I would not beg my bread. 
 
 I pray that you may never be 
 
 As wretched and as poor as me. 
 
 I watched amid the stormy blast, 
 
 While horrid thunders rent the clouds ; 
 
 A flash of lightning split the mast, 
 
 And danced among the bellowing shrouds., 
 
 That moment to the deck I fell, 
 
 A poor unhappy spectacle ! 
 
 From that tremendous awful night, 
 I've never seen tb,e light of day : 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS, 
 
 No, not a spark of glimmering light 
 
 Has shone across my darksome way ; 
 That light I valued not before, 
 Shall bless these withered eyes no more. 
 
 My little dog, a faithful friend, 
 
 Who with me crossed the stormy main, 
 Doth still my weary path attend, 
 
 And comforts me in all my pain : 
 He guides me from the miry bog : 
 My poor, half famished, faithful dog. 
 
 With this companion at my side, 
 
 I travel on my lonely way ; 
 And God Almighty will provide 
 
 A crust to feed us day by day. 
 Weep not for me, my lady kind, 
 Almighty God protects the blind. 
 
 THE WORM. 
 
 No, little worm, you need not slip 
 Into your hole, with such a skip ; 
 Drawing the gravel as you glide, 
 On to your smooth and slimy side ; 
 I'm not a crow, poor worm, not I, 
 Peeping about your holes to spy, 
 And fly away with you in the air, 
 To give my little ones each a share. 
 No, and I'm not a rolling stone, 
 Creaking along, with hollow groan ; 
 Nor am I of the naughty crew, 
 Who don't care what poor worms go through, 
 But trample on them as they lay, 
 Rather than step the other way ; 
 Or keep them dangling on a hook, 
 Choked in a dismal pond or brook, 
 'Till some poor fish comes swimming past, 
 And finishes their pain at last. 
 
ORIGINAL POEM:;. 
 
 For my part I could never bear, 
 Your tender flesh to hack and tear, 
 Forgetting that poor worms endure 
 As much as I should, to be sure, 
 If any giant should come and jump, 
 On to my back and kill me plump, 
 Or run my heart through with a scythe, 
 And think it fun to see me writhe ? 
 
 O no, I'm only looking about, 
 To see you wriggling in and out, 
 And drawing together your slimy rings, 
 Instead of feet like other things , 
 So little worm, don't slide and slip 
 Into your hole with such a skip. 
 
 - 
 
 FIRE. 
 
 WHAT is it that shoots from the mountains so high, 
 
 In many a beautiful spire? 
 What is it that blazes and curls to the sky 7 
 
 This beautiful something is fire. 
 
 Loud noises are heard in the caverns to groan, 
 
 Hot cinders fall thicker than snow ; 
 Huge stones to a wonderful distance are thrown, 
 
 For burning fire rages below. 
 
 When Winter blows bleak, and loud bellows the 
 storm, 
 
 And frostily twinkles the stars ; 
 Then bright burns the fire in the chimney so warm, 
 
 And the kettle sings shrill on the bars. 
 
 Then call in the poor traveller cover'd with snow, 
 
 And warm him with charity kind ; 
 Fire is not so warm as the feelings that glow 
 
 In the friendly, benevolent mind. 
 
 By fire rugged metals are fitted for use, 
 
 Iron, copper, gold, silver and tin; 
 Without its assistance we could not produce 
 
 So much as a minikin pin. 
 
100 
 
 ORIGINAL I'OE-MS. 
 
 Fire rages with fury wherever it comes ; 
 
 If only one spark should be dropt, 
 Whole nouses and cities sometimes it consumes 
 
 Where its violence cannot be stopt. 
 And when the great morning of judgment shall rise, 
 
 Flow wide will its blazes be curled ! 
 With heat, fervent heat, it shall melt down the skies, 
 
 And burn up this beautiful world. 
 
 AIR. 
 
 WHAT is it that winds about over the world, 
 
 Spread thin like a covering fair] 
 'Into each crack and crevice 'tis artfully curled ; 
 
 This sly little fluid is air. 
 In summer's still ev'ning how peaceful it floats, 
 
 When not a leaf moves on the spray ; 
 And no sound is heard but the nightingale's notes, 
 
 And merry gnats dancing away. 
 
 The village bells glide on its bosom serene, 
 
 And steal in sweet cadence along-; 
 The shepherd's soft pipe warbles over the green, 
 
 And the cottage girls join in the song. 
 
 But when winter blows, then it bellows aloud, 
 
 And roars in the northerly blast; 
 With fury drives onward the snowy blue cloud, 
 
 And cracks the tall tapering mast. 
 The sea rages wildly and mounts to the skies 
 
 In billows and fringes of foam, 
 And the sailor in vain turns his pitiful eyes 
 
 Towards his dear peaceable home. 
 When fire lays and smothers, or gnaws thro' the beam' 
 
 Air forces it fiercer to glow ; 
 And engines in vain in cold torrents may stream, 
 
 Unless the wind ceases to blow. ^ 
 
 In the forest it tears up the sturdy old oak, 
 
 That many a tempest had known ; 
 
ORIGINAL POEM?. 101 
 
 The tall mountain pine into splinters is broke, 
 And over the precipices blown. 
 
 And yet though it rages with fury so wild, 
 
 On the solid earth, water or fire, 
 Without its assistance the tenderest child 
 
 Would struggle, and gasp, and expire. 
 
 Pure air, pressing into the curious clay, 
 
 Gave life to these bodies at first ; 
 And when in the bosom it ceases to play 
 
 We crumble again into dust. 
 
 EARTH. 
 
 WHAT is it that's covered so richly with green, 
 
 And gives to the forest its birth 1 
 A thousand plants bloom on its bosom serene ; 
 
 Whose bosom 1 the bosom of earth. 
 
 Hidden deep in its bowels the emerald shines, 
 
 The ruby, and amethyst blue ; 
 And silver and gold glitter bright in the mines 
 
 Of Mexico rich, and Peru. 
 
 Large quarries of granite and marble are spread, 
 
 In its wonderful bosom, like bones ; 
 Chalks, gravels, and coals, salt, sulpher, and lead, 
 
 And thousands of beautiful stones. 
 
 Beasts, savage and tame, of all colours and forms, 
 
 Either stalk in its deserts, or creep ; 
 White bears sit and growl to the northerly storms, 
 
 And shaggy goats bound from the steep. 
 
 The oak, and the snow-drop, the cedar, and rose, 
 
 Alike on its bosom are seen ; 
 The tall fir of Norway, surrounded with snows, 
 
 And the mountain-ash scarlet and green. 
 
 Fine grass and rich mosses creep over its hills, 
 A thousand flowers breathe in the gale ; 
 
 9* 
 
102 R WIN AL POEMS. 
 
 Tall water-weeds dip in its murmuring rills, 
 And harvests wave bright in the vale. 
 
 And when this poor body is cold and decayed, 
 And this warm throbbing heart is at rest, 
 
 My head upon thee, mother Earth, shall be laid-; 
 To find a long home in thy breast. 
 
 WATER. 
 
 WHAT is it that glitters so clear and serene, 
 
 Or dances in billows so white ] 
 Ships skimming along on its surface are seen 
 
 'Tis water that glitters so bright. 
 
 Sea-weeds wind about in its cavities wet, 
 
 The pearl-oyster quietly sleeps ; 
 A thousand fair shells, yellow, amber, arid jet, 
 
 And coral, glow red in its deeps. 
 
 Whales lash the white foam in their frolicksome wrath, 
 While hoarsely the winter wind roars ; 
 
 And shoals of green mackerel stretch from the north, 
 And wander along by our shores. 
 
 When tempests sweep over its bosom serene, 
 
 Like mountains its billows arise ; 
 The ships now appear to be buried between, 
 
 And now carried up to the skies. 
 
 It gushes out clear from the side of the hill, 
 And sparkles right down from the steep ; 
 
 Then waters the valley, and roars through' the mill, 
 And wanders in many a sweep. 
 
 The traveller that crosses the desert so wide, 
 
 Hot, weary, and stifled with dust, 
 Longs often to stoop at some rivulet's side, 
 
 To quench in its waters his thirst. 
 
 The stately white swan glides along on its breast, 
 Nor ruffles its surface serene ; 
 
103 
 
 And the duckling unfledged waddles out of his nest 
 To dabble in ditch-water green. 
 
 The clouds blown about in the chilly blue sky, 
 
 Vast cisterns of water contain ; . 
 Like snowy white feathers in winter they fly, 
 
 In summer stream gently in rain. 
 
 When sun-beams so bright on the falling drops shine, 
 
 The rainbow enlivens the shower, 
 And glows in the heavens, a beautiful sign 
 
 That water shall drown us no more. 
 
 TIT FOR TAT. 
 T&T for tat is a very bad word, 
 
 As frequently people apply it ; 
 It means, as I've usually heard, 
 
 They intended to revenge themselves by it. 
 There is but one place where its proper and pat, 
 And then I permit them to say, ' tit for tat.' 
 
 Poor Dobbin, that toils with his load, 
 
 Or gallops with master or man, 
 Don't lash him so fast on the road, 
 You see he does all that he can ; 
 How long he has served you ; do recollect that, 
 And treat him with kindness ; 'tis but ' tit for tat.' 
 
 Poor Brindle, that lashes her tail, 
 
 And trudges home morning and night, 
 Till Dolly appears with her pail, 
 
 To milk out the fluid so white ; 
 Don't kick her poor haunches, or beat her and that, 
 To be kind to poor Brindle is but 'tit for tat.' 
 
 Gray Donkey, the sturdy old ass, 
 
 That jogs with his panners so wide, 
 And wants but a mouthful of grass, 
 Or perhaps a green thistle beside : 
 Don't load him so heavy, he can't carry that ; 
 Poor Donkey, I'm sure they forget ' tit for tat.* 
 
104 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 There's honest old Tray in the yard, 
 
 What courage arid zeal lias he shown 
 T would surely be cruelly hard, 
 
 Not to cast the poor fellow a bone. 
 How fiercely he barks at the robbers, and that 
 I'm sure that to starve him is not, ' tit for tat.' 
 
 Poor Puss that runs mewing about, 
 
 Her white belly sweeping the ground ; 
 The mother abused and kick'd out, 
 
 And her innocent little ones drowned : 
 Whenever she catches the mischievous rat, 
 Be kind to poor Pussy, 'tis but tit for tat.' 
 
 Whatever shows kindness to us, 
 
 With kindness we ought to repay, 
 Bridle, Donkey, Tray, Dobbin, and Puss, 
 
 And every thing else in its way ; 
 In cases like these, it is proper and pat, 
 To make use of this maxim, and say * tit for tat. 
 
 JANE AND ULIZA. 
 
 THERE were two little girls neither handsome nor plain* 
 
 One's name was Eliza, the other was Jane; 
 
 They were both of one height, as I've heard people 
 
 say, 
 And both of one age, I believe, to a day. 
 
 'Twas thought by most people, who slightly had seen 
 
 them, 
 
 There was not a pin to be chosen between them 
 But no one for long in this notion persisted, 
 So great a distinction there really existed. 
 
 Eliza knew well, that she could not be pleasing, 
 While fretting and fuming, while sulky or teazing : 
 And therefore in company artfully tried, 
 Not to break her bad habits, but only to hide. 
 
ORIGINAL I'OEMS. 
 
 So when she was out, with much labour and pain, *'< 
 She contrived to look almost "as pleasing as Jane ; 
 But I'm sure you'd have laugh'd, to have known all 
 the while, [smile. 
 
 How her mouth would oft ache while she forced it to 
 
 But in spite of her care, it would sometimes befal, 
 That some cross evept happened to ruin it all ; [worst. 
 And because it might chance that her share was the 
 Her temper broke loose, and her dimples dispersed. 
 
 But Jane, who had nothing she wanted to hide, 
 And therefore these troublesome arts never tried, 
 Had none of the care or fatigue of concealing, 
 But her face always showed what her bosom was 
 feeling. 
 
 The smiles that upon her sweet countenance were, 
 At home'or abroad, they were constantly there, 
 And Eliza worked hard but could never obtain, 
 The affection that freely was given to Jane. 
 
 ELIZA AND JANE. 
 
 CHEER up my young friends, I have better news now, 
 Eliza has driven the scowl from her brow ; 
 And finding she paid to get nothing, so dearly, 
 Determined at last to be good-natured really. 
 
 'Twas a great deal of trouble at first, I confess: 
 Her temper would rise, and 'twas hard to repress ; 
 But being a girl of some sense and discerning, 
 She would not be stopped by the trouble of turning. 
 
 Ten times in a day she'd her work to begin, 
 When passion or fretfulness begged to come in : 
 But determined to see their vile faces no more, 
 She sent them off packing and bolted the door. 
 
 Sometimes she would kneel in her chamber and pray, 
 That God in his mercy would take them away ; 
 
106 tfRIGIXAL POEMS. 
 
 And God, who is pleased with a penitent's cry, 
 Bowed down in compassion and helped her to try, 
 
 The smiles that now beam on her countenance fair, 
 At home and abroad they are constant]}' 1 there ; ^ 
 And Eliza no longer is found to complain, 
 Thai she is not belov'd like her play-fellow Jane, 
 
 THE BABY. 
 
 SAFE sleeping on its mother's breast, 
 
 The smiling babe appears, 
 Now sweetly sinking into rest, 
 
 Now washed in sudden tears. 
 Hush, hush, my little baby dear, 
 There's nobody to hurt thee here 
 
 Without a mother's tender care, * 
 
 The little thing must die ; 
 Us chubby hands too feeble are 
 
 One service to supply ; 
 And not a tittle does it know 
 What kind of world 'tis come into. 
 
 The lamb sports gaily on the grass 
 
 When scarcely born a day ; 
 The foal, beside his mother ass, 
 
 Trots frolicksome away ; 
 And not a creature tame or wild, 
 Is half so helpless as a child. 
 
 To nurse a doll so gaily drest 
 
 And stroke its flaxen hair, 
 Or ring the coral at its waist, 
 
 With silver bells so fair, 
 Is all the little creature can, 
 That is so soon to be a man. 
 
 Full many a summer's sun must glow 
 Arid lighten up the skies., 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. 107 
 
 Before its tender limbs can grow- 
 To any thing of size ; 
 And all the while the mother's eye 
 Must every little want supply. 
 
 Then surely when each little limb 
 
 Shall grow to healthy size, 
 And youth and manhood strengthen him 
 
 For toil and enterprise, 
 His mother's kindness is a debt, 
 He never, never will forget 
 
 THE POOR OLD MAN. 
 
 AH ! who is it totters along, 
 
 And leans on the top of his stick ? 
 His wrinkles are many and long, 
 
 And his beard is grown silver and thick ; 
 No vigour enlivens his frame, 
 
 No cheerfulness beams in his eye, 
 His limbs are enfeebled and lame, 
 
 And I think he is going to die. 
 
 They tell me he once was as young, 
 
 As gay and as cheerful as I ; 
 That he danced the green wood-walks among, 
 
 And carolled his songs to the sky ; 
 That he clambered high over the rocks, 
 
 To search where the sea-bird had been, 
 And followed his frolicksome flocks, 
 
 Up and down, on the mountain so green. 
 
 But now what a change there appears ! 
 
 How altered his figure and face ! 
 Bent low with a number of years, 
 
 How feeble and slow is his pace ! 
 He thought a few winters ago, 
 
 Old age was a great while to come, 
 And it seems but as yesterday now, 
 
 That he frolicked in vigour and bloom. 
 
108 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 He thought it was time enough yet, 
 
 For death and the grave to prepare, 
 And seemed all his life to forget 
 
 How fast time would carry him there. 
 He sported in spirits and ease, 
 
 And religion thought troublesome stuffy 
 Till all in a hurry he sees, 
 
 That he has not got half time enough, 
 
 Now weak with disorder and years, 
 
 And tottering into the dust, 
 He wishes with penitent tears, 
 
 He had minded religion at first ; 
 He weeps, and he trembles, and prays, 
 
 And wishes his life to return, 
 But alas ! he has wasted the blaze, 
 
 And now it no longer will burn. 
 j^ ' 
 
 /THE NOTORIOUS GLUTTJpN. 
 A DUCK, who had'got such a habit of stuffing, 
 That all the day long she was panting and puffing;, 
 And by every creature who did her great crop see, 
 Was thought to be galloping fast for a dropsy. 
 One day, after eating a plentiful dinner, 
 With full twice as much as there should have been in 
 
 her, 
 
 While up to her eyes in the gutter a roking, 
 Was greatly alarmed by the symptoms. of choking. 
 
 Now there was an old fellow much famed for 
 
 discerning 
 
 (A drake who had taken a liking for learning) 
 And high in repute with his feathery friends, 
 Was called Dr. Drake, for this doctor she sends. 
 
 In a hole of the dunghill was Dr. Drake's shop, 
 Where he kept a few simples for curing the crop ; 
 Some gravel and pebbles, to help the digestion, 
 And certain famed plants of the doctor's selection 
 
POEMS. 1 
 
 So taking a handful of comical things, 
 And brushing his topple and pluming his wings, 
 And putting his feathers in apple-pie order, 
 Set out to prescribe for the lady's disorder. 
 
 *' D^ar sir," said the duck, with a delicate quack, 
 Just turning a little way round on her back, 
 And leaning her head on a stone in the yard, 
 " My case, Dr. Drake, is excedingly hard. 
 
 41 1 feel so distended with wind, and opprest, 
 
 So squeamish and faint such a load at my chest ; 
 
 And day after day, I assure you, it is hard, 
 
 To suffer with patfcnce these pains in my gizzard." 
 
 *' Give me leave," said the doctor, with medical look, 
 
 As her flabby cold paw in his finders he took ; 
 
 " By the feel of your pulse, your complaint I've been 
 
 thinking, 
 Is caused by your habits of eating and drinking." 
 
 " Oh no, sir, believe me," the lady replied, 
 (Alarmed for her stomach, as well as her pride,) 
 " I am sure it arises from nothing 1 eat, 
 For 1 rather suspect, I got wet in my feet. 
 
 I've only been rakin/r a bit in the gutter, 
 
 Where the cook had been pouring some cold melted 
 
 butter, 
 
 And a slice of green cabbage, and scraps of cold meat, 
 Just a trifle or two, that I thought I could eat." 
 
 The doctor was just to his business proceeding, 
 By nentJe emetics, a blister and bleeding, 
 When all on a sudden she rolled on her side, 
 Gave a horrible quackle, a struggle, and died ! 
 
 Her remains were interred in a neighbouring swamp, 
 By her friends, with a great deal of funeral pomp; 
 But I've heard this inscription her tombstone was put 
 
 on, 
 
 Here lies Mrs. Duck, the notorious glutton." 
 10 
 
110 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 And all the young ducklings are brought by their 
 
 friends. 
 To learn the disgrace in which gluttony ends. 
 
 THE LITTLE CRIPPLE'S COMPLAINT. 
 
 I'M a helpless crippled child. 
 
 Gentle Christians pity me ; 
 Once in rosy health 1 smiled, 
 
 Blithe and gay as you can be ; 
 And upon the village green, 
 First in every sport was seen. 
 
 Now, alas ! I'm weak and low, 
 
 Cannot either work or play ; 
 Tottering on my crutches slow, 
 
 Drag along my weary way : 
 Now, no longer dance and sing, 
 Gaily in the merry ring. 
 
 Many sleepless nights I live, 
 
 Turning on my weary bed; 
 Softest pillows cannot give 
 
 Slumbers to my aching head ; 
 Constant anguish makes it fly, 
 From my wakeful, heavy eye. 
 
 And when morning beams return, 
 
 They no comfort bring to me ; 
 Still my limbs with fever burn, 
 
 Painful shoots rny crippled knee ; 
 And another tedious day 
 Passes slow and sad away. 
 
 From the chamber windows high, 
 
 Lifted to my easy chair, 
 I the village green can spy 
 
 Once I used to follow there, 
 March, or beat my new-brought drum- 
 Happy times no more to come. 
 
ORIGINAL 1'OEMS. 
 
 There I see my fellows gay, 
 Sporting on the daisied turf, 
 
 And amidst their cheerful play, 
 Stopped by many a merry laugh; 
 
 But the sight I cannot bear, 
 
 Leaning on my easy chair. 
 
 Let not then the scoffing rye, 
 Laugh my twisted leg to see ; 
 
 <*entle Christian, passingby, 
 Stop awhile and pity me, 
 
 And for you I'll breathe a prayer, 
 
 Leaning in my easy chair. 
 
 POOR DONKEY'S EPITAPH, 
 
 Down in this ditch poor Donkey lies, 
 Who jogged with many a load ; 
 
 And till the day death dosed his eyes. 
 Browsed up and down this road. 
 
 JVo shelter had he for his head, 
 Whatever winds might blow ; 
 
 A neighbouring common was his bed, 
 Though drest in sheets of snow. 
 
 In this green ditch he often strayed, 
 
 To nip the dainty grass ; 
 And friendly invitation brayed 
 
 To some more hungry ass. 
 
 Each market day he jogged along 
 Beneath the gard'ner's load, 
 
 And snored out many a donkey's song 
 To friends upon the road. 
 
 A tuft of grass, a thistle green, 
 
 Or cabbage leaf so sweet, 
 Were all the dainties he was 
 
 For twenty years to eat. 
 
 Ill 
 
GIMGKUf. POEMS. 
 
 And as for sport, the sober sou! 
 
 Was such a steady Jack, 
 He only HOW and then would roll,. 
 
 Heels upwards, on his back. 
 
 But all hrs sport and dainties too, 
 And labours, now are o'er : 
 
 Last night so bleak a tempest blew 
 He could withstand no more. 
 
 He felt his feeble limbs benumb'd, 
 His blood was freezing slow ; 
 
 And presently he tumbled plump, 
 Stone dead upon the snow. 
 
 Poor Donkey! travellers passing by 
 Thy cold remains shall see ; 
 
 And 'twould be well, if all who die 
 Had worked as hard as thee. ANNU 
 
 THE ORPHAN. 
 MY father and mother are dead, 
 
 No friend or relation I have ; 
 And now the cold earth is their bed, 
 
 And daisies grow over their grave. 
 
 I cast my eyes into the tomb, 
 The sight made me bitterly cry ; 
 
 I said, and is this the dark room 
 
 Where my father and mother must lie 
 
 I cast my eyes round me again, 
 In hopes v some protector to see ; 
 
 Alas ! but the search was in vain, 
 For none had compassion on me. 
 
 I cast my eyes up to the sky, 
 
 I groaned, though I said not a word ; 
 
 Yet God was not deaf to my cry; 
 The friend of the fatherless heard. 
 
POEMS, 
 
 'O J w and he graciously smiled, 
 And bid me on him to depend ; 
 
 He whispered fear not little child, 
 For I am thy father and friend. JANE. 
 
 RISING IN THE MORNING. 
 
 THRICE welcome to my opening eyes 
 The morning beam, which bids me rise 
 
 To all the joys of youth ; 
 For thy protection whilst I slept, 
 O Lord, my humble thanks accept 
 
 And bless my Hps with truth. 
 
 Like cheerful birds, as I begin 
 
 This day, O keep my soul from sin 
 
 Arid all things shall be well. 
 Thou gav'st me health, and clothes, and food? 
 Preserve me innocent and good, 
 
 Till evening curfew* bell. 
 
 GOING TO BED AT NIGHT. 
 
 HECEIVE my body, pretty bed ; 
 Soft pillow, O receive my head ; 
 
 And thanks, my parents kind, 
 Those comforts who for me provide, 
 Their precepts still shaH be my guide, 
 
 Their love I'll keep in mind. 
 
 My hours mispent this day, I rue, 
 My good things done how very few ; 
 
 Forgive my faults, O Lord ! 
 This night if in thy grace I rest, 
 To morrow I may rise refreshed, 
 
 To keep thy holy word. 
 
 "* Curfew Bell was crdcrec] by King- William to be rung at 
 'clock at night, at The sound of which all fire and light 
 was to be extinguished. Curfew comes from the French couwre, 
 to cover, aud/eu, fire. 
 
 18* 
 
114 CRIGiNAL FOLilS. 
 
 FRANCES KEEPS HKR PROMISE, 
 
 MY Fanny, 1 have news to tell ; 
 
 Your diligence quite pleases me, 
 You've worked so neatly, read so well, 
 
 With cousin Jane you may drink tea. 
 
 But pray, my dear, remember this 
 Although to stay you should incline, 
 
 Though warmly pressed by each kind miss, 
 I wish you to return by nine. 
 
 W r ith many thanks the little child 
 
 Assured mamma she would obey; 
 When washed and dressed, ahe kissed and smiled, 
 
 And with the maid she went away. 
 
 When reached her cousin's she was shown 
 To where her little friends were met, 
 
 And when her coming was made known, 
 Around her flocked the cheerful set. 
 
 They dance, they p'ay, and sweetly sing, 
 In every sport each child partakes; 
 
 And now the servants sweetmeats bring, 
 With wines and jellies, fruit and cakes. 
 
 In comes papa, and says ** My dears, 
 
 The Magic Lantern if you'd see, 
 And that which on the wall appears, 
 
 Leave off your play, and follow me. 9 * 
 
 While Frances too enjoyed the sight, 
 .Where moving figures all combine 
 
 To raise her wonder and delight, 
 
 She hears the parlour clock strike nine. 
 
 The boy walks in, " Miss Ann is come :" 
 " O dear how soon !" the children- cry ; 
 
 They press, but Fanny will go home, 
 And bids her little friends good bye. 
 
ORIGINAL POEMff. 
 
 **My dear mamma, am I not good ]" 
 ** You arc indeed," mamma replies ; 
 
 "But when you said, I knew you would 
 Return, and thus you've won the prize. 
 
 This way, my love, and see the man 
 Whom I desired at nine to call." 
 
 Down stairs young Frances swiftly ran, 
 And found him waiting in the hall. 
 
 " Here, miss, are pretty birds to buy, 
 
 A parrot or macaw so gay ; 
 A speckled dove with scarlet eye, 
 
 But quickly choose, I cannot stay. 
 
 " Would you a Java sparrow love 1" 
 " No, no, I thank you," said the child ; 
 
 " Til have a beautious cooing dove, 
 So harmless, innocent and mild !" 
 
 " Your choice, my Fanny, I commend, 
 No bird can with the dove compare ; 
 
 But lest it pine without a friend, 
 
 You may, my dear, choose out a pair." 
 
 115 
 
 MY OLD SHOES. 
 
 YOU'RE now too old for me to wear, poor shoes, 
 And yet I will not sell you to the Jews; 
 Yon wand'ring little boy must barefoot go 
 Through mud and rain, and nipping frost and snow ; 
 And as he walks along the road or street, 
 The flint is sharp, and cuts his tender feet. 
 My shoes though old might save him many a pain, 
 And should I sell them, what might be my gain 1 
 A sixpence, that would buy some foolish toy 
 No, take these shoes, poor shiv'ring barefoot boy. 
 
 TO GEORGE PULLING BUDS. 
 DON'T pull that bud, it yet may grow 
 As fine a flower as this ; 
 
116 ORIGINAL POB^lfl. 
 
 Had it been plucked a month ago, 
 
 We should its beauties miss. 
 You are yourself a bud, my blooming boy, 
 Weigh well the consequence ere you destroy, 
 Lest for the present paltry sport, you kill a future joy. 
 
 A NEW YEAR'S GIFT. 
 
 A CHARMING present comes from town, 
 
 A baby house quite neat; 
 With kitchen, parlour, dining-room 
 
 And chambers all complete. 
 
 A gift to Emma and to Rose, 
 
 From grand-papa it came; 
 'Till little Rosa smiled delight, 
 
 And Emma did the same. 
 
 They eagerly examined all 
 
 The furniture was gay ; 
 And in the rooms they placed their dolls, 
 
 When dressed in fine array. 
 
 At night their little candles lit, 
 
 Ami as they must be fed, 
 To supper down the dolls were placed, 
 
 And then were put to bed. 
 
 Thus Rose and Emma passed each hour, 
 
 Devoted to their play ; 
 And long were cheerful, happy, kind, 
 
 No cross disputes had they 
 
 'Till Rose in baby-house would change 
 
 The chairs which were below 
 " This carpet they will better suit ; 
 
 I think I'll have it so." 
 
 " No, no, indeed," her sister said, 
 
 " I'm older R.-se than you ; 
 And I'm the pet the house is mine 
 
 Miss, what I say is true/ 1 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. 1 17 
 
 The quarrel grew to such a height, 
 
 Mamma she heard the noise, 
 And coming in, beheld the floor ' 
 
 AJ1 strewed with broken toys. 
 
 " O fie, my Emma ! naughty Rose ! 
 
 Say, why this suik and pout? 
 Remember this is New- Year's day, 
 
 And both are going out." 
 Now Betty calls the little girls ; 
 
 Ho ! come up stairs and dress ; 
 They still revile with threats and taunts, 
 
 And angry rage express. 
 But just prepared to leave the room, 
 
 Persisting yet in strife, 
 Rose sickening fell on Betty's lap, 
 
 As void of sense or life. 
 Mamma appeared at Betty's call 
 
 John for the doctor goes ; 
 The measles, he begins to think, 
 
 Dread symptons all disclose. 
 "But though I stay, my Emma you 
 
 May go and spend the day." 
 " O no, mamma," replied the child, 
 
 "Do suffer me to stay. 
 " Beside my sister's bed I'll sit. 
 
 And watch her with such care, 
 No pleasure can I e'er enjoy, 
 
 'Till she my pleasure share. 
 " How silly now seems our dispute, 
 
 Not one of us she knows ; 
 How pale she looks, how hard she breathes ; 
 
 Poor pretty little Rose !" 
 
 THE CRUEL THORN. 
 A BIT of wool sticks here upon this thorn : 
 Ah ! cruel thorn, to tear it from the sheep ! 
 
118 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 And yet, perhaps, with pain its fleece was worn, 
 its coat so thick, a hot and cumbTOUsheap. 
 
 The wool a little bird takes in his bill, 
 And with it up to yonder tree he flies ; 
 
 A nest he's building there, with matchles skill, 
 Compact and close, that cold and rain defies. 
 
 To line that nest, the wool so soft and warm, 
 
 Preserves the eggs which holds its tender young, 
 
 And when they're hatched, that wool will keep from 
 
 harm 
 The callow brood, till they are fledged and strong, 
 
 Thus birds find use for what the sheep can spare: 
 In this, my child, a wholesome moral spy ; 
 
 And when the poor shall crave, thy plenty share, 
 Let thy abundance thus their wants supply. 
 
 NIMBLE 
 MY boy be cool, do things by rule, 
 
 And then you'll do them right ; 
 A story true I'll tell to you, 
 
 'Tis of a luckless wight. 
 
 He'd never wait, was ever late, 
 
 Because he was so quick; 
 This shatter-brain did thus obtain 
 
 The name of nimble Dick. 
 
 All in his best young Dick was drest, 
 
 Cries he, " I'm very dry !" 
 Though glass and jug, and china mug, 
 
 On side-board stood hard by 
 
 With skip and jump unto the pump, 
 With open mouth he goes, 
 
 The water out ran from the spout, 
 And wetted all his clothes. 
 
 A fine tureen as e'er was seen, 
 On dinner table stood ; 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. i 
 
 Says John, " 'tis hot ;" says Dick. " 'tis not 
 1 know the soup is good." 
 
 His brother bawled, " yourself you'll scald 
 
 O Dick you're so uncooth !'* 
 Dick filled his spoon, and then as soon 
 
 Conveyed it to his mouth. 
 
 And soon about he spurts it out, 
 
 And cries. " O wicked soup !" 
 His mother chid, his father bid 
 
 Him from the table troop. 
 
 All in despatch he made a match 
 
 To run a race with Bill ; 
 "My boy," said he, " I'll win, you'll see 
 
 I'll beat you, that I will. ' 
 
 With merry heart now off they start, 
 
 Like ponies full in speed ; 
 Soon Bill he passed, for very fast 
 
 This Dicky ran indeed. 
 
 But hurry all, Dick got a fall, 
 
 And whilst he sprawling lay, 
 Bill reached the post, and Dicky lost, 
 
 And Billy won the day. 
 
 " Bring here my pad," now cries the lad, 
 
 Unto the servant John ; 
 " I'll mount astride, this day I'll ride, 
 
 So put the sadddle on." 
 
 No time to waste, 'twas brought in haste, 
 Dick longed to have it backed ; 
 
 With spur and boot on leg and foot, 
 His whip he loudly cracked 
 
 The mane he grasped, the crupper clasped, 
 
 He leaped up from the ground 
 All smart and spruce, the girth was loose, 
 
 He turned the saddle round. 
 
120 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 Then down he came, the scoff and shame 
 
 Of all the standers by, 
 Poor Dick, alack ! upon his back, 
 
 Beneath the horse did lie. 
 
 Still slow and sure, success secure, 
 
 And be not over quick; 
 For method's sake, a warning take 
 
 From hasty nimble Dick. 
 
 THE LINNET'S NEST. 
 
 MY linnet's nest, Miss, will you buy ? 
 
 They're nearly fledged. Ah, no, no, not 1 1 
 
 I'll not encourage naughty boys 
 
 To rob a parent of its joys; 
 
 Those darling joys, to feed its young, 
 
 To see them grow up brisk and strong. 
 
 With care the tender brood to nourish, 
 To see them plume, and perch, and flc-irish, 
 To here them chirp, to hear them sing* 
 To see them try the little wing; 
 To view them chanting on the tree, 
 The charming song of liberty. 
 
 I do not love to see them mope 
 Within a cage, devoid of hope, 
 And all the joys that freedom gives; 
 The pvis'ner's sonnet only grieves 
 I love their song ; yet give to me 
 The cheerful note that sings, " I'm free ! J ' 
 
 THE ITALIAN GRAYHOUND 
 
 LIGHTLY as the rose leaves fall, 
 By the zephyr scattered round, 
 
 Let thy feet, when thee I call, 
 Patting softly touch the ground, 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 Happy 1 to think thou'rt mine ; 
 
 Gentle grayhound come apace. 
 J3eauty's form in ev'ry line, 
 Ev'ry attitude is grace. 
 
 Speaking eyes thou hast: why shrink 1 
 
 'Neath my hand why tremble so 1 
 Beauteous grayhound dost thou think 
 Harm from me ! believe me, no. 
 
 Cruel dogs and savage men, 
 Hunt a wretched hare for miles, 
 
 Guiltless grayhound here lie then, 
 Love thy mistress for her smiles-. 
 
 THE USE OF SIGHT- 
 
 * WHAT 1 Charles returned !" papa exclaimed, 
 " How short your walk has been ! 
 
 But Thomas Julia where are they 
 Come tell me what you've seen." 
 
 " So tedious, stupid? dull, a walk!" 
 
 Said Charles, " I'll go no more 
 First stopping here then lagging there, 
 
 O'er this and that to pore. 
 
 " I crossed the fields near Woodland House, 
 
 And just went up the hill, 
 Then by the river side came down, 
 
 Near Mr. Fairplay's mill." 
 
 Now Tom and Julia both ran in 
 
 " O dear papa," said they, 
 " The sweetest walk we both have had 
 
 O what a pleasant day ! 
 
 "Near Woodland House we crossed the fields, 
 
 And by the mill we came." 
 "Indeed !" exclaimed papa, " how's this? 
 
 Your brother took the same ; 
 11 
 
122 AivIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 " But very dull he found the walk ; 
 
 What have you there, let's see 
 Come, Charles, enjoy this charming treat, 
 
 As new to you as me." 
 
 " First look, papa, at this small branch, 
 
 Which on a tall oak grew, 
 And by its slimy berries white, 
 
 The misletoe we knew. 
 
 " A bird all green ran up a tree, 
 
 A wood -pecker we call, 
 Who, with his strong bill, wounds the bark, 
 
 To feed on insects small. 
 
 " And many lapwings cried peewit ! 
 
 And one among the rest, 
 Pretended lameness, to decoy 
 
 Us from her lowly nest. 
 
 " Young starlings, martins, swallows all, 
 
 Such lovely flocks, so gay ! 
 A heron too who caught a fish, 
 
 And with it flew away. 
 44 This bird we found, a kingfisher, 
 
 Though dead, his plumes how bright! 
 Do have him stuffed, my dear papa, 
 
 'Twill be a charming sight. 
 
 "When reached the heath how wide the space 
 
 The air how fresh and sweet: 
 We plucked these flow'rs on diff'rent heaths, 
 
 The fairest we could meet. 
 44 The distant prospect we admired 
 
 The mountains far and blue; 
 A mansion here a cottage there, 
 
 See, here's the sketch we drew. 
 
 " A splendid sight we next beheld 
 
 The glorious setting sun, 
 In clouds of crimson, purple, gold, 
 
 His daity rare was done- 11 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. 123 
 
 " True taste and knowledge," said papa, 
 
 " By observation's gained ; 
 You've both used well the gift of sight, 
 
 And thus reward obtained. 
 " My Julia in this desk will find 
 
 A drawing box quite new ; 
 This spy-glass, Tom, you oft desired, 
 
 I think it now your due. 
 " And pretty toys and pretty gifts 
 
 For Charles too shall be bought, 
 When he can see the works of God, 
 
 And prize them as he ought." 
 
 THE MORNING'S TASK. 
 
 SIT to your books, the father said, 
 Nor Play nor trifle, laugh nor talk : 
 
 And when at noon you've spelt and read, 
 I'll take you all a pleasant walk. 
 
 He left the room the boys sat still, 
 Each gravely bent upon his task; 
 
 But soon the youngest, little Will, 
 Of this and that would teazing ask. 
 
 I've lost my ball," the prattler cried, 
 "Have either of you seen my ball?" 
 
 "Pray mind your book," young Charles replied, 
 " Your noisy talk disturbs us all. 
 
 Remember now what we were told, 
 
 The time, I warn you, Will, draws near;" 
 
 " And what care II" said Will so bold, 
 " You, Charles, I neither mind nor fear." 
 
 He spun his top, he cracked his whip, 
 
 At marbles also he would play, 
 And round the room he chose to skip, 
 
 And thus his hours he threw away. 
 But at the window what comes in ! 
 
 A lovelv tip-in**^ **- " 
 
124 
 
 ORIGINAL, POEM: 
 
 4 A prize ! a prize that I will win !' 
 Young William loud is heard to cry. 
 
 Quick on the table up he leaps, 
 
 Then on the chair and sofa springs ; 
 Now there, now here, he softly creeps, 
 
 And now his books and hat he flings. 
 The brilliant insect fluttered round, i 
 
 And out again it gaily flew ; 
 Then through the window with a bound, 
 
 Will jumped and said " I'll soon have you." 
 
 From flower to flower the hoy it led, 
 
 He still pursued the pretty thing; 
 Away it sprang from bed to bed, 
 
 J\'ow sipping dew, now on the wing, 
 And to the fields it took its flight, 
 
 He thought the prize was worth the chase ; 
 O'er hedge and ditch with all his might, 
 
 He followed up the pleasing race. 
 
 To catch it he was much perplexed ; 
 
 The insect now is seen no more 
 While standing thus confounded, vexed, 
 
 He hears the village clock strike four. 
 T'wards home he hastened at the sound, 
 
 All shame, surprise, and fear, and doubt ; 
 Nor sisters, brothers, could be found, 
 
 He ask and hears they're all gone out. 
 
 With sorrow struck, when this was told, 
 
 He cried in sadness down he sat: 
 Now o'er the stones a carriage rolled, 
 
 And at the door came rat tat tat. 
 And from the coach the girls and boys 
 
 Stepped out all smiling, pleased, and gay; 
 With books and dolls, and pretty toys, 
 
 Bats, ninepins, hoops, and kites had they. 
 
 " Why, Will, my boy !" the father said, 
 " Come hither child, but wherefore cry ; 
 
POKMf. 125 
 
 Don't droop your face, why hang your head? 
 
 Let's see the pretty butterfly. 
 I kept my promise, home I came, 
 
 According to my first intent ; 
 You broke your word, and yours the shame, 
 
 We then without you shopping went." 
 
 THE OAK. 
 
 THE oak for grandeur, strength, and noble size, 
 
 Excels all trees that in the forest grow ; 
 From acorn small that trunk, those branches rise, 
 
 To which such signal benefits we owe. 
 Behold what shelter in its ample shade,. 
 
 From noon-tide sun, or from the drenching rain ; 
 And of its timber staunch vast ships are made, 
 
 To sweep rich cargoes o'er the wat'ry main. 
 
 CARELESS MATILDA. 
 
 AGAIN, Matilda, is your work astray, 
 
 Your thimble gone ! your scissors, where are they? 
 
 Your needles, pins, your thread, and tapes all lost 
 
 Your house wife here, and there your work-bag tost. 
 
 Fie, fie, my child ! indeed this will not do, 
 
 Your hair uncombed, your frock in tatters too ; 
 
 I'm now resolved no more delays to grant, 
 
 This day I'll send you to your stern old aunt. 
 
 In vain Matilda wept, repented, prayed, 
 
 In vain a promise of amendment made. 
 
 Arriv'd at Austere Hall, Matilda sighed, 
 
 ]ty Lady Rigid when severely eyed ; 
 
 " You read and write, and work well as I'm told, 
 
 Are gentle, kind, good natured, far from bold : 
 
 But very careless, negligent and wild : 
 
 When you leave me, you'll be a different child." 
 
 The little girl next morn a favour asks ; 
 
 w I wish to take a walk," "Go learn your tasks," 
 
126 
 
 FOE.VIS, 
 
 The lady harsh replies, " nor cry nor whine, 
 
 Your room you leave not till you're called to dine." 
 
 As thus Matilda sat, overwhelmed with shame, 
 
 A dame appeared, Disorder was her name ; 
 
 Her hair and dress neglected, soiled her face, 
 
 She squinted, leered, and hobbled in her pace. 
 
 " Here, child," she said, " my mistress sends you this, 
 
 A bag of silks a flower not worked amiss 
 
 A polyanthus bright and ponderous gay, 
 
 You'll copy it by noon she bade me say." 
 
 Disorder grinned, then shuffling walked away. 
 
 Entangled were the silks of every hue, 
 
 Confused and mixed were shades of pink, green, blue { 
 
 She took the thread, compared it with the flower, 
 
 " To finish this is not within my power. 
 
 Well sorted silks had Lady Rigid sent, 
 
 I might have worked, if such was her intent." 
 
 She sighed, and melted into sobs and tears, 
 
 She hears a noise and at the door appears 
 
 A pretty maiden, clean, well dressed and neat: 
 
 Her voice was soft, her looks sedate, yet sweet: 
 
 " My name is Order ; do not cry, my love ; 
 
 Attend to me and thus you may improve." 
 
 She took the silks, and drew out shade by shade, 
 
 In sep'rate skeins each hue with care she laid ; 
 
 Then smiling kindly left the little maid. 
 
 Matilda now resumes her sweet employ, 
 
 And sees the flower complete how great her joy ! 
 
 She leaves the room " I've done my task," she cries. 
 
 The lady looked with disbelieving eyes, 
 
 But soon her harshness changed to glad surprise. 
 
 " Why this is well ! a very pretty flower, 
 
 Worked clean, exact, and done within the hour: 
 
 And now amuse yourself, ride, walk, or play." 
 
 Thus passed Matilda this much dreaded day. 
 
 At all her tasks Disorder would attend, 
 
 At all her tasks still Order stood her friend. 
 
ORIGINAL POEM*. 127 
 
 With tears and sighs her studies oft began, 
 These into smiles were changed by Order's plan ; 
 No longer lady Rigid seemed sovere, 
 Her looks the negligent alone need fear. 
 
 And now the day, the wished-for day is come, 
 When young Matilda's suffered to go home ; 
 *' You quit me, child, but oft to mind recall, 
 The time you spent with me at Austere Hall, 
 And now, my dear, I'll give you one of these, 
 Your servant she will be take which you please." 
 From me Disorder asked, old friend, why start T 
 Matilda clasped sweet Order to her heart, 
 My dearest girl, she said, we'll never part. 
 
 THE MUSHROOM GIRL. 
 
 Tis surely time for me to rise, 
 Though yet the dawn be gray; 
 
 Sweet sleep, oh ! quit my closing eyes, 
 For I must now away, 
 The young birds twitter on the spray. 
 
 It is not for the dewy mead, 
 I leave my soft repose, 
 
 Where daisi?s nod and lambkins feed, 
 But where the mushroom grows, 
 And that the sportive fairy knows, 
 
 J'll rove the wide heath far and near, 
 Of mushrooms fine in quest: 
 
 But you remain, kind mother, here, 
 
 Lie still and take your rest, 
 ^ Though we're with poverty oppressed. 
 
 No toad-stool in my basket found ; 
 My mushrooms when I sell, 
 
 I'll buy us bread, our labours crowned. 
 Then let our neighbours tell, 
 That you and I live wond-rous wtfl. 
 
E11NAL POEM*. 
 
 BEASTS, BIRDS, AND FISHES, 
 
 THE Dog will come when he is called, 
 
 The Cat will walk away, 
 The Monkey's cheek is very bald, & 
 
 The Goat is fond of play, 
 The Parrot is a prate-apace, 
 
 Yet knows not what she says; 
 The noble Horse will win the race, 
 
 Or draw you in a chaise. 
 
 The Pig is not a feeder nice, 
 
 The Squirrel loves a nut, 
 The Wolf will eat you in a trice, 
 
 The Buzzard's eyes are shut; 
 The Lark sings high up in the an% 
 
 The Linnet on the tree ; 
 The Swan he has a bosom fair, 
 
 And who so proud as he ? 
 
 O yes, the Peacock is more proud, 
 
 Because his tail has eyes, 
 The Lion roars so very loud, 
 
 He fills you with surprise; 
 The Raven's coat is shining black, 
 
 Or rather raven gray, 
 The Camel's bunch is on his back, 
 
 The Owl abhors the day. 
 
 The Sparrow steals the cherry ripe, 
 
 The Elephant is wise, 
 The Blackbird charms you with his pipe, 
 
 The false- Hyena cries ; 
 The Hen guards well her little chicks, 
 
 The useful Cow is meek ; 
 The Beaver builds with mud and sticks, 
 
 The Lapwing loves to squeak. 
 
 The little Wren is very small, 
 
 The Humming-bird is less ; 
 The Lady-bird is least of all, 
 
 An4 beautiful in 
 
RIGINAL POEM?. 
 
 The Pelican she loves her young, 
 
 The Stork his father loves; 
 The Woodcock's bill is very long, 
 
 And innocent are Doves. 
 
 The spotted Tigers fond of blood, 
 
 The Pigeons feed on peas, 
 The Duck will gobble in the mud, 
 
 The Mouse will eat your cheese. 
 A Lobster 's black, when boiled he's red, 
 
 The harmless Lamb must bleed ; 
 The Codfish has a clumsy head, 
 
 The Goose on grass will feed, 
 
 The lady in her gown of silk, 
 
 The little Worm may thank; 
 The sick man drinks the Ass's milk, 
 
 The Weasel's long and lank. 
 The Buck gives us a venison dish, 
 
 When hunted for the spoil ; 
 The Shark eats up the little fish, 
 
 The Whale he gives us oil 
 
 The Glow-worm shines the darkest night, 
 
 With candle in its tail, 
 The Turtle is the cit's delight, 
 
 It wears a coat of mail. 
 In Germany they hunt the Boar, 
 
 The Bee brings honey home' 
 The Ant lays up a winter store, 
 
 The Bear loves honey-comb, 
 
 The Eagle has a crooked beak, 
 
 The Plaice has orange spots ; 
 The Starling, if he's taught, will speak! 
 
 The Ostrich walks and trots, 
 The child that does not these things know, 
 
 May yet be thought a dunce ; 
 But I will up in knowledge grow, 
 
 As youth can come but once. Adelaide, 
 
130 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 THE SPIDER AND HIS WIFE. 
 IN a little dark crack, half a yard from the ground, 
 
 An honest old spider resided ; 
 So pleasant and snug, and convenient 'twas found, 
 That his friends rame to see it from many miles round 
 
 It seemed for his pleasure provided. 
 
 Of the cares, and fatigues, rfynd distresses of life, 
 
 The spider was thoroughly tired ; 
 So, leaving those scenes of contention and strife, 
 (His children all settlecj) he came with his wife, 
 
 To live in this cranny retired. 
 He thought that the little his wife would consume, 
 
 T' would be easy for him to provide her, 
 Forgetting he lived in a gentleman's room, 
 Where came every morning, a maid and a broom, 
 
 Those pitiless foes to a spider ! 
 For when (as sometimes it would chance to befall) 
 
 Just when his neat web was completed. 
 Brush came the great broom down the side of the 
 
 wall, 
 And, perhaps, carried with it web, spider, and all, 
 
 He thought himself cruelly treated. 
 One day when the cupboard was empty and dry, 
 
 His wife (Mrs. Hairy-leg Spinner) 
 Said to him, 'Dear, go to the cobweb and try 
 If you can't find the leg or the wing of a fly, 
 
 As a bit of a relish for dinner, 
 Directly he went, his Jong search to resume, 
 
 (For nothing he ever denied her) 
 Alas ! little guessing his terrible doom 
 Just then came the gentleman into his room, 
 
 And saw the unfortunate spider. 
 So, while the poor fellow, in search of his pelf, 
 
 In the cobweb continued to linger, 
 The gentleman reached a long cane from the shelf, 
 ( For certain good reasons best known to himself, 
 
 Preferring his stick to hisjing-er.) 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. 131 
 
 Then presently poking him down to the floor, 
 
 (Not stopping at all to consider) 
 With one horrid crash the whole business was o'er, 
 The poor little spider was heard of no more, 
 
 To the lasting distress of his widow! 
 
 THE POPPY. 
 
 HIGH on a bright and sunny bed, 
 
 A scarlet poppy grew ; 
 And up it held its staring head, 
 
 And held it out to view. 
 
 Yet no attention did it win, 
 
 By all these efforts made, 
 And less offensive had it been 
 
 In some retired shade. 
 
 #or though within its scarlet breast,- 
 No sweet perfume was found, 
 
 It seemed to think itself the best 
 Of all the flowers around. 
 
 From this may I a hint obtain, 
 
 And take great care indeed, 
 Lest I should grow as pert and vain, 
 
 As is this gaudy weed. 
 
 THE VIOLET. 
 
 DOWN in a green and shady bed, 
 
 A modest violet grew; 
 Its stalk was bent, it hung its head. 
 
 As if to hide from view. 
 
 And yet it was a lovely flower, 
 
 Its colours bright and fair ; 
 It might have graced a rosy bower, 
 
 Instead of hiding there. 
 
 Yet there it was content to bloom, 
 In modest tints arrayed ; 
 
132 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 And there it shed its sweet perfume, 
 Within the silent shade. 
 
 Then let me to the valley go, 
 This pretty flower to see ; 
 
 That I may also learn to grow 
 In sweet humility. 
 
 THE WAY TO BE HAPPY. 
 
 How pleasant it is at tbe end of the day, 
 
 No follies to have to repent ; 
 But reflect on the past and be able to say, 
 
 That my time has been properly spent. 
 
 When I've done all my bus'ness with patience 
 care. 
 
 And been good and obliging and kind, 
 I lay on my pillow and sleep away there, 
 
 With a happy and peaceable mind. 
 
 But instead of all this, if it must be confess'd,- 
 That I careless and idle have been, 
 
 I lay down as usual and go to my rest, 
 But feel discontented within. 
 
 Then as I don't like all the troubles I've had, 
 
 In future I'll try to prevent it, 
 For I never am naughty without being sad,> 
 
 Or good without being contented. 
 
 CONTENTED JOHN. 
 
 ONE honest John Tomkins, a hedger and ditcher,"- 
 Although he was poor, did not want to be richer;' 
 For all such vain wishes to him were prevented, 
 By a fortunate habit of being contented. 
 
 Though cold was the weather, or dear was the food,* 
 John never was found in the murmuring mood ; 
 For this he was constantly heard to declare, 
 What he could not prevent he would cheerfully bear, 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. 133 
 
 For why should I grumble and murmur he said, 
 If I cannot get meat I can surely get bread ; 
 And though fretting may make my calamities deeper, 
 It never can cause bread and cheese to be cheaper. 
 
 If John was afflicted with sickness or pain, 
 He wished himself better, but did not complain; 
 Nor lie down to fret in despondence and sorrow, 
 But said that he hoped to be better to-morrow. 
 
 If any one wronged him, or treated him ill, 
 Why John was good natured and sociable still ; 
 For he said that revenging the injury done, 
 Would be making two wrongs when there need be 
 but one. 
 
 And thus honest John, though his station was humble, 
 Passed through this sad world without even a grumble 
 And I wish that some folks, who are greater and richer. 
 Would copy John Tomkins, the hedger and ditcher. 
 
 Jane. 
 
 THE GAUDY FLOWER. 
 
 WHY does my Anna toss her head, 
 And look so scornfully around ; 
 
 As if she'd scarcely deign to tread, 
 Upon the daisy dappled ground. 
 
 Does fancied beauty fire thine eye, 
 The brilliant tint, the satin skin 1 
 
 Does the loved glass, in passing by, 
 Reflect a form genteel and thin 1 
 
 Alas ! that form, that brilliant fire, 
 Will never win beholder's love ; 
 
 They may make flutt'ring fools admire,- 
 Persons of sense they cannot move. 
 
 So glows the tulip, staring bold, 
 In the broad sunshine it abides ; 
 
1 34 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 Like rubies, pearls, and burnished 
 It shows its bulbous, glossy sides. 
 
 But who the gaudy flowret crops, 
 His breast or sense to gratify 1 
 
 Admired it blows, neglected drops, 
 Like a fair girl with scornful eye^ 
 
 The heart's internal feelings move,- 
 By virtues seated in the mind ; 
 
 Beauty excites more fear than love, 
 As fair, but empty damsels find. 
 
 SLUTtlSHNESS. 
 
 AH ! Mary, my Mary, why where is your Dolly f 
 
 Look here I protest on the floor ; 
 To leave her about ifi the dirt thus is folly, 
 
 You ought to be trusted no more. 
 
 I thought you were pleased, and received her quite' 
 gladly, 
 
 When on your birth-day she came home ; 
 Did I ever suppose you would use her so sadly, 
 
 And strew her things ovef the room. 
 
 Her bonnet of straw you once thought a great matter, 
 
 And tied it so pretty and neat ; 
 Now see how 'tis crumpled, no trencher is flatter, 
 
 It grieves your mamma thus to see't. 
 
 Suppose (you're my dolly, you know, little daughter, 
 Whom I love to dress neat and see good) 
 
 Suppose, in my care of you, I were to faulter, 
 And let you go dirty and rude 1 
 
 But Dolly's mere wood, you are flesh and blood living' 
 And deserved better treatment and care ; 
 
 That is true, my sweet girl, 'tis the reason I'm giving, 
 This lesson is sharp and severe. 
 
ORIGINAL POVWS. 1 35 
 
 *Tis not for the Dolly I'm anxious and fearful, 
 Though she cost too much to be spoil'd ; 
 
 J'm afraid lest yourself should grow sluttish, nc$ 
 
 careful, 
 And that were a sad thing, my child. 
 
 DECEMBER NIGHT 
 PARK and dismal is the night, 
 
 Beating rain and wind so high : 
 Close the window shutters tight, 
 
 And the cheerful fire come nigh. 
 
 Here the blasts in dreadful chorus, 
 Roaring through the naked trees, 
 
 Just like thunder bursting o'er us ; 
 Now they murmur, now they cease. 
 
 Think how many o'er the wild 
 Wander in this dreadful weather ; 
 
 Some poor mother with her child, 
 Scarce can keep her rags together. 
 
 Or a wretched family, 
 
 'Neath some mud wall, ruined shed, 
 Shrugging close together lie, 
 
 On the earth their only bed. 
 
 While we sit within so warm, 
 
 Sheltered, comfortable, safe ; 
 Think how many 'bide the storm, 
 
 Who no home or shelter have. 
 
 Sad their lot is, wretched creatures ! 
 
 How much better off are we ; 
 Discontent then, on our features, 
 
 Surely never ought to be. J. T, 
 
 POVERTY. 
 
 I SAW an old cottage of clay, 
 And only of mud was the floor ; 
 
?36 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 'Twas all falling into decay, 
 
 And the snow drifted in at the door. 
 
 Yet there a poor family dwelt, 
 In a cottage so dismal and rude ; 
 
 And though gnawing hunger they felt, 
 They'd scarcely a morsal of food. 
 
 The children were crying for bread, 
 And to their poor mother they run ; 
 
 " O give us some breakfast." they said. 
 Alas ! their poor mother had none. 
 
 She viewed them with looks of despair ; 
 
 She said, (and I'm sure, it was true,) 
 "'Tis not for myself that I care, 
 
 But, my poor little children, for you." 
 O, then let the wealthy and gay 
 
 But see such a hovel as this, 
 That, in a poor cottage of clay, 
 
 They may learn what real misery is : 
 
 And the little that I have to spare, 
 I never will squander away, 
 
 While thousands of people there are, 
 As poor and as wretched as they. 
 
 THE VILLAGE GREEN 
 ON the cheerful Village Green, 
 
 Scattered round with houses neat, 
 All the boys and girls are seen, 
 
 Playing there with busy feet. 
 
 Now they frolic, hand in hand, 
 
 Making many a merry chain ; 
 Then they form a warlike band, 
 . Marching o'er the level plain. 
 
 Then ascends the worsted ball, 
 High it rises in the air ; 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. 137 
 
 Or against the cottage wall, 
 Up and down it bounces there. 
 
 Or the hoop with even pace, 
 
 Runs before the merry crowd ; 
 Joy is seen in every face ; 
 
 Joy is heard in clamours loud. 
 
 For among the rich and gay, 
 
 Fine, and grand, and decked in laces, 
 
 None appear more glad than they, 
 With happier hearts, or happier faces, 
 
 Then contented with my state, 
 Let me envy not the great ; 
 Since true pleasure may be seen 
 On a cheerful Village Green. Jane, 
 
 THE NU, 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 A Tr ue Story 5 
 
 'The Bird's Nest ........ 7 
 
 The Hand Post ....... 9 
 
 Spring ........ 10 
 
 Summer 11 
 
 Autumn ........ 12 
 
 Winter - 13 
 
 To a Butterfly, on giving it Liberty 14 
 
 The Tempest ....... 15 
 
 The Church Yard - 16 
 
 Morning - - . - . - -17 
 
 Evening .18 
 
 The Idle Boy - 19 
 
 The Industrious Boy ...... 20 
 
 The Little Fisherman - - ... . . . 21 
 
 Old Age 23 
 
 The Apple Tree 23 
 
 The Disappointment ....... 24 
 
 The shepherd Boy ....... 25 
 
 The Robin 27 
 
 James and the Shoulder of Mutton .... 28 
 
 False Alarms ........ 29 
 
 The Child's Monitor ...... 30 
 
 The Butterfly - - - - .. . - 31 
 
 The Boys and the Apple Troe .... 31 
 
 The Wooden Doll and the W*x doll .... 32 
 
 The Redbreast 34 
 
 Idle Dicky and the goat - .... 34 
 
 The Nightingale ...... 35 
 
 Never piay with Fire ...... 36 
 
 The Lark 36 
 
 The Truant Boys - - . . . . 37 
 
00.NTESTS, 
 
 Page 
 
 George and the Chimney Sweeper 38 
 
 Sophia's Fool's Cap , , . . . 39 
 
 Washing and Dressing 40 
 
 The Plum cake , , . 49 
 
 Another Plum cake --.,, 41 
 
 fpr a Naughty little Girl 43 
 
 Honest Old Tray ...... 43 
 
 TO a little Girl that has told a lie .... 43 
 
 The two Gardens ^44 
 
 My Mother , 46 
 
 My Father T 47 
 
 The Palaqe apd Cottage 49 
 
 Ball - , 51 
 
 The Fox and the Crow 51 
 
 The Mother's Wish ...... 53 
 
 To Maria , 53 
 
 The Snail ........ 54 
 
 The Holidays , - - 55 
 
 Old Sarah 56 
 
 Old Susan T T r . . . . 57 
 
 The Gleaner - T T r - - - - 57 
 
 Snow . T , - r - . . 58 
 
 The Pigs ... 59 
 
 Finery . , r , - - . 59 
 
 Crazy Robert , ...... 60 
 
 Employment - - - - y r . . 61 
 
 The Fighting Birds , , T T . . 62 
 
 Creation . , - r , . . . 62 
 
 The Tempest 63 
 
 Address to an Infant T . , r . . 64 
 
 Turnip Tops - - , - , - . 65 
 
 The Vulgar little Lady r 66 
 
 The Horse - , , T . . . . 66 
 
 Meddlesome Matty 68 
 
 The last dying Speech and Confession of Poor Puss - 70 
 
 Day 72 
 
 Night 74 
 
 DeafMartha -,.-,... 75 
 The Pin - - . . . '. ' . - * 76 
 
 The little Bird's Complaint to his Mistress, - - 77 
 
 The Mistress's Reply to her little Bird 78 
 
 The true History of a poor little Mouse . 79 
 
 The Chatterbox --.,... 80 
 
 The Snow-drop 81 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 The Yellow Leaf 81 
 
 Poor Pompey's Complaint 82 
 
 The Pond 84 
 
 The English Girl 85 
 
 The Scotch Laddie - ...-_.- 85 
 
 The Welch Lad .-.-... 86 
 
 The Irish Boy 87 
 
 Greedy Richard 88 
 
 Dirty Jack 89 
 
 The Farm ......... 90 
 
 Reading 91 
 
 Idleness 92 
 
 The Good Naiured Girls 93 
 
 Mischief 93 
 
 The Spider 94 
 
 The Cow and the Ass 95 
 
 The Blind Sailor 97 
 
 The Worm 98 
 
 Fire 99 
 
 Air 100 
 
 Earth 101 
 
 Waier 102 
 
 Tit for Tat - ' - - - - - - - 103 
 
 Jane and Eliza - 104 
 
 Eliza and Jane * 105 
 
 The Baby - - - . - . 106 
 
 The Poor O d Man 107 
 
 The Notorious Glutton ,108 
 
 The Little Cripple's Complaint - - - - 110 
 
 Poor Donkey's Epitaph - - . - - 111 
 
 The Orphan 112 
 
 Rising in the Morning - 1,13 
 
 Going to bed at Night - .... ~ 1.13 
 
 Frances keeps her promise - - . - 114 
 
 My Old Shoes 115 
 
 To George pulling Buds 115 
 
 A New Year's Gift 116 
 
 The Cruel Thorn ....... 117 
 
 Nimble Dick - 318 
 
 The Linnet's Nest 120 
 
 The Italian Grayhound 120 
 
 The Use of Sight 121 
 
 The Morning's Task 123 
 
 The Oak 1^5 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 Careless Matilda 125 
 
 The Mushroom Girl 127 
 
 Beasts, Birds and Fishes r , . t - . 128 
 The Spider and his Wife - - - r - 130 
 
 The Poppy - - - - - T . .131 
 The Violet . - - - . - - - 131 
 The way to he Happy - - - - - r 132 
 Contented John - - - - r - - 132 
 
 The Gaudy Flower - - - - - - .133 
 
 Sluttishness 134 
 
 December Night - - - - - - -135 
 
 Poverty 135 
 
 Village Green - . - - . ' - . 13, 
 
L.ATEL.Y PUBLI 
 
 BY 
 
 A, I* DICKINSON, 
 
 THE 
 
 IN TWO VOLS. 12mo. 
 
 BY ANNE MARIA PORTER, 
 
 A NEW AND COMPLETE 
 LETTER WRITER, 
 
 BY THE REV. THOMAS COOK. 
 
 CASTLE OF ALTENHEIM, 
 
 ''Romance of the old stile which will prore very interesting 
 to the reader." Gazette; 
 
 A TAlE OF TRUTH. 
 
 BY MRS. ROWSON. 
 
 This is the best and cheapest Edition in the Market, the 
 tvork in itself is to well known to need any recommendation, 
 
PARLOUR COMPANION, 
 
 OR, 
 
 POLITE SONG BOOK. 
 
 But a few copies is left of this beautiful little volume, it is 
 hi various styles of binding; containing a choice collection 
 of the newest and most fashionable songs, selected from Mu 
 sic by the Publisher,, with a Portrait >f Mrs. Wood the 
 M Queen of Song," engraved by a well known Artist. 
 
 A number of copies of the following works are always 
 on hand : 
 
 THE NEW TESTAMENT, 
 
 Printed on good Paper, with large Type, and in strong Bind 
 ing ; undoubtedly the best Testament now extant, for schools,., 
 and admirably suited to persons whose eyes are weak. 
 
 MURRAY'S 
 
 MURRAY'S INTRODUCTION 
 
 TO THE 
 
 ENGLISH READER. 
 
 N. B The above valuable School Books have been lately 
 stereotyped for the trade, which the subscriber will supply in.' 
 sheets at cost of Press Work and Paper. 
 
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