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THERE was joy in the ship, as she furrowed | That she offered to God, in her agony wild, the foam,
Was, “Father, have mercy! look down on For fond hearts within her were dreaming my child !” of home.
| She flew to her husband, she clung to his The young mother pressed fondly her babe side; to her breast,
Oh! there was her refuge whatever betide! And sang a sweet song as she rocked it to
rest; And the husband sat cheerily down by her Fire! fire! it is raging above and below; side,
And the smoke and hot cinders all blindAnd looked with delight on the face of his
ingly blow. bride.
The cheek of the sailor grew pale at the "Oh, happy!” said he, “when our roaming and his eyes glistened wild in the glare of
sight, is o'er,
the light. We'll dwell in a cottage that stands by the
The smoke in thick wreaths mounted shore ! Already in fancy its roof I descry,
higher and higher !-And the smoke of its hearth curling up to
O God! it is fearful to perish by fire !
Alone with destruction alone on the sea! Its garden so green, and its vine-covered
Great Father of Mercy! our hope is in
thee ! wall, And the kind friends awaiting to welcome
They prayed for the light, and at noontide
about us all."
The sun o'er the waters shone joyously
out. Hark! hark !-what was that ? Hark ! A sail, ho! a sail !” cried the man on the hark to the shout!
lee; "Fire ! fire !”—then a tramp and a rush A sail !” and they turned their glad eyes and a rout;
o'er the sea. And an uproar of voices arose in the They see us! they see us! the signal is air,
waved ! And the mother knelt down; and the half- They bear down upon us !--thank God! we spoken prayer
are saved !”
THE CONTENTED AND VIRTUOUS WOODCUTTER.
GOOD-MORROW !” the youth to the wood- And what in this world should he fear, cutter cried,
Master Frank, Father Peter, so frank and so free.” Who believes there's a better in storeWith a smile of good-nature, the old man That the dawn of a glorious day will ap. replied,
pear Master Francis, good-morrow to thee ! When the shadows of midnight are o'er? 'Tis a good thing to rise with the lark, While thou sett'st thy young heart on the Master Frank,
things of this world, When the fresh morning breezes abound, Distraction and care will be given; Ere the sun rises high in the clear blue But thy sorrow would cease, and thy soul sky,
rest in peace, And the flow'rets are springing around.” If thy treasure and heart were in heaven.”
“You're a happy old man, Father Peter, How many that live in the prime of their and yet
day, I hardly know why you are so;
Despond when their prospects are fair; For your cheerfulness almost would make And hang down their heads, as they walk one forget
on their way, That your head is as white as the snow. In darkness, and doubt, and despair ! The cares and afflictions which others Father Peter, your footsteps are near to the oppress,
grave, Appear to disturb you—no never !
In a very few years you must die, Though your path all around may with And still on your tongue words of comfort shadows abound,
are hung, Your heart seems as cheerful as ever." And hope brightly beams in your eye.”
Master Francis, whate'er be thy joys in “While our minds are fast bound by an the world,
earthly control, Whate'er be the griefs that arise,
The world must in trouble be trod; When the darts of distress and affliction But a hope bright as daylight shall dwell are hurled,
in his soul Look above, for a Friend in the skies. Who depends on his Saviour and God. Then the grace of thy God shall establish Master Frank, though the floods were fierce thy heart,
raging abroad, And support thee in glare and in gloom; Though the world were encircled with fire, And when winter is spread o'er thy time. He would still be at rest, with a peace in furrowed head,
his breast, The spring in thy bosom shall bloom.” And a hope that shall never expire.
“Father Peter, your body resembles the Master Francis, a thousand enjoyments oak,
are near, Decked with leaves, though its trunk may And ten thousand temptations attend; decline;
But, believing in Christ, you have nothing There is health in your features, and to fear, strength in your stroke,
For he died to redeem, and still lives to And your cheek is more ruddy than mine. defend. There is something still better than health If thou make him thy hope, and thy trust, in your face,
and thy all, But I never observed it till now;
In preparing for life's swift decline; You are aged and poor, and must troubles If thou cling to his truth in the days of endure,
thy youth, And yet there is hope on your brow.” Thy age shall be happy as mine."
REPORT ON AN ADJUDGED CASE.
BETWEEN Nose and Eyes a strange contest | Again: would your lordship & moment arose
(wrong; supposeThe spectacles set them, unhappily, ('Tis a case that has happened, and may The point in dispute was, as all the world be again)
That the visage or countenance had not a To which the said spectacles ought to Pray who would, or who could, wear belong.
Bo Tongue was the lawyer, and argued the On the whole it appears, and my argucause
ment shows, With a great deal of skill, and a wig full With a reasoning the court will never of learning;
condemn, While chief baron Ear sat to balance the That the spectacles plainly were made for
laws, So famed for his talent in nicely discerning. And the Nose was as plainly intended
for them.” "In behalf of the Nose it will quickly appear,
Then shifting his side (as a lawyer knows And your lordship,” he said,
how), doubtedly find,
He pleaded again in behalf of the Eyes; That the Nose has had spectacles always But what were his arguments few people
know, Which amounts to possession time out For the court did not think they were
equally wise. Then holding the spectacles up to the court
So his lordship decreed, with a grave, Your lordship observes they are made solemn tone, with a straddle,
Decisive and clear, without one if or but, As wide as the ridge of the nose is ; in short, That whenever the Nose put his spectacles Designed to sit close to it just like a on,
(be shut ! saddle.
By daylight or candle-light-Eyes should
THE HARE AND THE TORTOISE.
A FORWARD hare, of swiftness vain, And scarce had passed a single pole
Your burden's more than you can bear;
The tortoise heard his taunting jeer, And vented thus his indignation :
But still resolved to persevere; “O puss ! it bodes thee dire disgrace On to the goal securely crept, When I defy thee to a race.
While puss unknowing soundly slept. Come, 'tis a match-nay, no denial; The bets were won, the hare awoke, I lay my shell upon the trial!"
When thus the victor tortoise spoke : 'Twas “done,” and done all fair, a "bet," ' Puss, though I own thy quicker parts, Judges prepared, and distance set.
Things are not always done by starts. The scampering hare outstripped the wind; You may deride my awkward pace, The creeping tortoise lagged behind, But slow and steady wins the race.
THE DIRGE OF WALLACE.
They lighted a taper, at the dead of night, / When his dungeon-light looked dim and red And chanted their holiest hymn;
On the high-born blood of a martyr But her brow and her bosom were damp slain; with affright,
No anthem was sung at his holy death-bed, Her eye was all sleepless and dim ! No weeping there was when his bosom bled, And the lady of Elderslie wept for her And his heart was rent in twain.
lord, When a death-watch beat in her lonely Oh! it was not thus when his oaken spear room,
Was true to that knight forlorn, When her curtain had shook of its own And hosts of a thousand were scattered, accord,
like deer And the raven had flapped at her window- At the blast of the hunter's horn; board,
When he strode on the wreck of each wellTo tell of her warrior's doom !
With the yellow-haired chiefs of his Now sing you the death-song, and loudly native land; pray
For his lance was not shivered on helmet For the soul of my knight so dear,
or shield, And call me a widow this wretched day, And the sword that seemed fit for archSince the warning of God is here!
angel to wield For night-mare rides on my strangled Was light in his terrible hand !
sleep; The lord of my bosom is doomed to Yet bleeding and bound, though her Wal. die;
lace wight His valorous heart they have wounded For his long-loved country die, deep;
The bugle ne'er sung to a braver knight And the blood-red tears shall his country Than Wallace of Elderslie. weep
But the day of his glory shall never deFor Wallace of Elderslie!”
His head unentombed shall with glory Yet knew not his country that ominous be balmed, hour,
From his blood-streaming altar his spirit , Ere the loud matin-bell was rung,
shall start; That a trumpet of death, on an English Though the raven has fed on his moulder.. tower,