LESSON CLVII.

WATER FOR ME!

The following Anacreontic lines in praise of Water, were written by JOHNSON, a modern English poet, who, it is to be hoped, has written much besides, although this is the only specimen of his verse that is known to the Editor. The speaker must be lively and spirited to the last.

O! water for me-bright water for me!
And wine for the tremulous debauchee!
It cooleth the brow, it cooleth the brain,
It maketh the faint one strong again;

It comes o'er the sense like a breeze from the sea,
All freshness, like infant purity.

O! water, bright water, for me, for me,-
Give wine, give wine to the debauchee!

Fill to the brim! fill, fill to the brim!
Let the flowing crystal kiss the rim !
For my hand is steady, my eye is true,
For I, like the flowers, drink nought but dew.
O! water, bright water's a mine of wealth,
And the ores it yieldeth are vigor and health.
So water, pure water, for me, for me!
And wine for the tremulous debauchee!

Fill again to the brim-again to the brim!
For water strengtheneth life and limb:
To the days of the aged it addeth length,
To the might of the strong it addeth strength;
It freshens the heart, it brightens the sight-
"Tis like quaffing a goblet of morning light.
So water, I will drink nought but thee,
Thou parent of health and energy!

When o'er the hills, like a gladsome bride,
Morning walks forth in her beauty's pride,
And leading a band of laughing hours,
Brushes the dew from the nodding flowers,
O! cheerily then my voice is heard,
Mingling with that of the soaring bird,
Who flingeth abroad his matins loud,

As he freshens his wing on the cold gray cloud.

But when evening has quitted her sheltering yew, Drowsily flying and weaving anew

Her dusky meshes o'er land and sea,

How gently, O sleep, fall thy poppies on me!
For I drink water, pure, cold, and bright,

And my dreams are of heaven the life-long night.
Thou art silver and gold, thou art riband and star!
Hurrah for bright water! hurrah! hurrah!

LESSON CLVIII.

THE WELL OF ST. KEYNE.

St. Keyne, daughter of Braganus, prince of that part of Wales now called Brecknockshire, early devoted herself to the church by a perpetual vow. The legend says that she retired to a desert and near a spring, over which four trees of different species formed an arch. After her death, which happened in A. D. 490, the well or spring was much fre quented by devotees, and among the virtues ascribed to the water, was that of giving the mastery to which ever, husband or wife, drank first of it. The following Ballad was written by SOUTHEY.

A well there is in the west country,

And a clearer one never was seen;

There is not a wife in the west country
But has heard of the well of St. Keyne.

An oak and an elm-tree stand beside,
And behind doth an ash-tree grow,

And a willow from the bank above
Droops to the water below.

A traveller came to the well of St. Keyne;
Joyfully he drew nigh,

For from cock-crow he had been travelling,
And there was not a cloud in the sky.

He drank of the water so cool and so clear,
For thirsty and hot was he;

And he sat down upon the bank
Under the willow-tree.

There came a man from the house hard by,
At the well to fill his pail;

On the well-side he rested it,

And he bade the stranger, hail!

"Now art thou a bachelor, Stranger?" quoth he;
"For an* if thou hast a wife,

The happiest draught thou hast drank this day
That ever thou didst in thy life.

"Or has thy good woman, if one thou hast, Ever here in Cornwall been?

For an* if she have, I'll venture my life,

She has drank of the well of St. Keyne."

"I have left a good woman who never was here," The stranger made reply;

"But that my draught should be the better for that, I pray you answer me why."

"St. Keyne," quoth the Cornish-man, "many a time Drank of this crystal well;

*This old word is not the article an, but an old verb meaning grant. See the Editor's Common School Grammar.

And before the angel summoned her,
She laid on the water a spell.

"If the husband, of this gifted well
Shall drink before his wife,
A happy man henceforth is he,

For he shall be master for life!

"But if the wife should drink of it first
God help the husband then!"

The stranger stooped 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 I,
For she took a bottle to church."

LESSON CLIX.

A PARENTAL ODE

TO MY FIRST AND ONLY SON, AGED TWO YEARS, ONE MONTH AND FIFTEEN DAYS.

The following witty and satirical lines were taken from the Boston Courier, but were not original in that paper. The Editor suspects that THOMAS HOOD indited them, but of this he has no other than internal evidence. The piece affords the pupil a fine opportunity to practise a change of voice, the Ode being constantly interrupted by exclamations which are full of advice to over indulgent parents. An Elf is a spirit, and usually a fairy. Puck means a mischievous sprite, or spirit. Fay is the same as Elf or Fairy.

Thou happy, happy elf!

(But stop,-first let me kiss away that tear)—

Thou tiny image of myself!

(My love, he's poking peas into his ear.) Thou merry laughing sprite!

With spirits feather light,

Untouched by sorrow, and unsoiled by sin-
(Good heavens! the child is swallowing a pin.)

Thou little tricksy Puck!

With antic toys so funnily bestruck,

Light as the singing bird that wings the air, (The door! the door! he'll tumble down the stair!) Thou darling of thy sire!

(Why, Jane, he'll set his pinafore a-fire!)
Thou imp of mirth and joy!

In love's dear chain, so strong and bright a link,
Thou idol of thy parents-(Drat the boy!
There goes my ink!)

Thou cherub-but of earth;

Fit play-fellow for fays, by moonlight pale,
In harmless sport and mirth,

(That dog will bite him if he pulls his tail!)
Thou human humming bee, extracting honey
From every blossom in the world that blows,
Singing in youth's Elysium ever sunny,
(Another tumble! That's his precious nose!)
Thy father's pride and hope!

(He'll break the mirror with that skipping rope !)

With pure heart newly stamped from nature's mint— (Where did he learn that squint ?)

Thou young domestic dove!

(He'll have that urn off with another shove!)
Dear nursling of the hymeneal nest?
(Are those torn clothes his best?)

Little epitome of man!

(He'll climb upon the table, that's his plan!)