'If the husband, of this gifted Well,
Shall drink before his wife,
A happy man thenceforth is he,

For he shall be master for life.

'But if the wife shall drink of it first,
God help the husband then!'

The stranger stoopt to the Well of St. Keyne,
And drank of the water again.

'You drank of the Well I warrant betimes?'
He to the Cornish-man said:

But the Cornish-man smiled as the stranger spake, And sheepishly shook his head.

'I hasten'd as soon as the wedding was done, And left my wife in the porch;

But i' faith she had been wiser than me,

For she took a bottle to church.'

THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM

It was a summer evening,

Old Kaspar's work was done,
And he before his cottage door
Was sitting in the sun,
And by sported on the green
His little grandchild Wilhelmine.

She saw her brother Peterkin

Roll something large and round,
Which he beside the rivulet

In playing there had found;
He came to ask what he had found,
That was so large, and smooth, and round.

Old Kaspar took it from the boy,
Who stood expectant by;

And then the old man shook his head,

And with a natural sigh,

"'Tis some poor fellow's skull,' said he,

'Who fell in that great victory.

'I find them in the garden,
For there's many here about;
And often when I go to plough,

The ploughshare turns them out!
For many thousand men,' said he,
'Were slain in that great victory.'

'Now tell us what 'twas all about,'
Young Peterkin he cries;
And little Wilhelmine looks up
With wonder-waiting eyes;
'Now tell us all about the war,
And what they fought each other for.'

'It was the English,' Kaspar cried,
'Who put the French to rout;
But what they fought each other for,
I could not well make out;
But everybody said,' quoth he,
'That 'twas a famous victory.

'My father lived at Blenheim then,
Yon little stream hard by;

They burnt his dwelling to the ground, And he was forced to fly;

So with his wife and child he fled,

Nor had he where to rest his head.

'With fire and sword the country round Was wasted far and wide,

And many a tender mother then,
And new-born baby, died;

But things like that, you know, must be

At every famous victory.

'They say it was a shocking sight

After the field was won;

For many thousand bodies here

Lay rotting in the sun;

But things like that, you know, must be After a famous victory;

'Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won,
And our good Prince Eugene.'-
'Why, 'twas a very wicked thing!'
Said little Wilhelmine.

'Nay-nay-my little girl,' quoth he,
'It was a famous victory;

'And everybody praised the Duke
Who this great fight did win.'
'But what good came of it at last?'
Quoth little Peterkin.

'Why, that I cannot tell,' said he,
'But'twas a famous victory.'

FATHER WILLIAM

You are old, Father William, the young man cried,
The few locks that are left you are gray;
You are hale, Father William, a hearty old man,
Now tell me the reason, I pray.

In the days of my youth, Father William replied,
I remember'd that youth would fly fast,

And abused not my health and my vigour at first, That I never might need them at last.

You are old, Father William, the young man cried,
And pleasures with youth pass away,

And yet you lament not the days that are gone,
Now tell me the reason, I pray.

In the days of my youth, Father William replied,
I remember'd that youth could not last;

I thought of the future, whatever I did,
That I never might grieve for the past.

You are old, Father William, the young man cried,
And life must be hastening away;

You are cheerful, and love to converse upon death! Now tell me the reason, I pray.

I am cheerful, young man, Father William replied; Let the cause thy attention engage:

In the days of my youth I remember'd my God! And He hath not forgotten my age.

THE FLOWERS OF THE FOREST

MRS. COCKBURN

I've seen the smiling

Of Fortune beguiling;

I've felt all its favours, and found its decay :
Sweet was its blessing,

Kind its caressing;

But now it is fled-it is fled far away.

I've seen the forest

Adorned the foremost

With flowers of the fairest most pleasant and gay;
Sae bonny was their blooming!

Their scent the air perfuming!
But now they are withered and weeded away.

I've seen the morning
With gold the hills adorning,

And loud tempest storming before the mid-day,
I've seen Tweed's silver streams,

Shining in the sunny beams,

Grow drumly and dark as he rowed on his way.

O fickle Fortune,

Why this cruel sporting?

Oh, why still perplex us, poor sons of a day?
Nae mair your smiles can cheer me,

Nae mair your frowns can fear me;
For the Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.

LUCY GRAY

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

OFT I had heard of Lucy Gray;
And, when I crossed the wild,
I chanced to see at break of day,
The solitary child.

No mate, no comrade, Lucy knew ;
She dwelt on a wide moor,

-The sweetest thing that ever grew
Beside a human door!

You yet may spy the fawn at play,
The hare upon the green;

But the sweet face of Lucy Gray
Will never more be seen.

'To-night will be a stormy night—
You to the town must go;

And take a lantern, child, to light
Your mother through the snow.

"That, father, will I gladly do!
'Tis scarcely afternoon-

The minster-clock has just struck two,
And yonder is the moon.

At this the father raised his hook
And snapped a fagot band ;

He plied his work; and Lucy took
The lantern in her hand.

Not blither is the mountain roe:
With many a wanton stroke

Her feet disperse the powdery snow,
That rises up like smoke.

The storm came on before its time:

She wandered up and down:

And many a hill did Lucy climb;

But never reached the town.