WHEN Britain first, at Heaven's command, | Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame:
GREAT tears rolled down his rugged cheek, | He said, "who sent this orphan child,
Who ne'er for years had wept, Till pillowed on his aged breast The little outcast slept;
And while he viewed the early marks
Of sorrow and neglect,
Some pitying angel bade him then
My joy in age to be.
"Tis sweet to rove this old green lane,
And feel this balmy weather,
And know that I am not alone-
Thank Heaven! we bide together."
At length the old man's limbs grew weak,
His eyes grew pale and dim:
The helpless child he sheltered first,
Became a guide to him;
And when, as in a quiet dream,
His spirit passed away,
'Twas she who knelt beside his couch
Whose lips he taught to pray.
Alone she wanders through the lane
They roved in summer weather,
And gazing on the stars, she sighs,
We there may bide together."
J. E. CARPENTER.
WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE.
WOODMAN, spare that tree!
Touch not a single bough!
In youth it sheltered me,
And I'll protect it now.
'Twas my forefather's hand
That placed it near his cot: There, woodman, let it stand
Thy axe shall harm it not! That old familiar tree,
Whose glory and renown Are spread o'er land and sea,
And wouldst thou hew it down? Woodman, forbear thy stroke!
Cut not its earth-bound ties; Oh, spare that aged oak,
Now towering to the skies!
When but an idle boy,
I sought its grateful shade; In all their gushing joy,
Here, too, my sisters played. My mother kissed me here;
My father pressed my hand-
Forgive this foolish tear,
But let that old oak stand!
My heart-strings round thee cling
Close as thy bark, old friend!
Here shall the wild-bird sing,
And still thy branches bend.
Old tree, the storm still brave !
And, woodman, leave the spot;—
While I've a hand to save,
Thy axe shall harm it not.
GEORGE P. MORRIS.
THE moon is up! How calm and slow
She wheels above the hill!
The weary winds forget to blow,
And all the world lies still.
The way-worn travellers with delight
The rising brightness see,
Revealing all the paths and plains,
And gilding every tree.
It glistens where the hurrying stream Its little ripple leaves;
It falls upon the forest shade,
And sparkles on the leaves.
So once, on Judah's evening hills,
The heavenly lustre spread;
The gospel sounded from the blaze,
And shepherds gazed with dread.
And still that light upon the world
Its guiding splendour throws;
Bright in the opening hours of life,
But brighter at the close.
THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN.
HAMELIN town's in Brunswick,
By famous Hanover city:
The River Weser, deep and wide,
Washes its wall on the southern side;
A pleasanter spot you never spied;
But, when begins my ditty,
Almost five hundred years ago,
To see the townsfolk suffer so
From vermin, was a pity.
"Come in!" the mayor cried,looking bigger;
And in did come the strangest figure!
His queer long coat, from heel to head,
Was half of yellow and half of red;
And he himself was tall and thin,
With sharp blue eyes, each like a pin,
And light, loose hair, yet swarthy skin;
No tuft on cheek, nor beard on chin,
But lips where smiles went out and in-
There was no guessing his kith and kin.
And nobody could enough admire
They fought the dogs, and killed the The tall man and his quaint attire:
And bit the babies in the cradles, And ate the cheeses out of the vats,
And licked the soup from the cooks' own
ladles;
Split open the kegs of salted sprats,
Made nests inside men's Sunday hats,
And even spoiled the women's chats,
By drowning their speaking
With shrieking and squeaking
In fifty different sharps and flats.
At last the people in a body
To the Town Hall came flocking:
""Tis clear," cried they, our mayor's a
noddy;
And as for our corporation-shocking:
To think we buy gowns lined with ermine
For dolts that can't or won't determine
What's best to rid us of our vermin!
You hope, because you're old and obese,
To find in the furry civic robe ease.
Rouse up, sirs! Give your brains a racking
To find the remedy we're lacking,
Or, sure as fate, we'll send you packing!"
At this the mayor and corporation
Quaked with a mighty consternation,
An hour they sate in council;
At length the mayor broke silence:
For a guilder I'd my ermine gown sell;
I wish I were a mile hence !
It's easy to bid one rack one's brain-
I'm sure my poor head aches again,
I've scratched it so, and all in vain.
O for a trap, a trap, a trap!"
Just as he said this, what should hap
At the chamber door but a gentle tap?
"Bless us," cried the mayor, "what's that?"
"Only a scraping of shoes on the mat;
Anything like the sound of a rat
Makes my heart go pit-a-pat!"
Quoth one, "It's as my great grandsire,
Starting up at the trump of doom's tone,
Had walked this way from his painted
tombstone!"
He advanced to the council table,
And "Please your honours," said he, 'I'm
able,
By means of a secret charm, to draw
All creatures living beneath the sun,
That creep, or swim, or fly, or run,
After me so as you never saw !
And I chiefly use my charm
On creatures that do people harm-
The mole, the toad, and newt, and viper;
And people call me the Pied Piper."
(And here they noticed round his neck
A scarf of red and yellow stripe,
To match with his coat of the selfsame
check:
And at the scarf's end hung a pipe;
And his fingers, they noticed, were ever
straying,
As if impatient to be playing
Upon this pipe, as low it dangled
Over his vesture so old fangled.)
"Yet," said he, poor piper as I am,
In Tartary I freed the Cham,
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