Class-book of English Poetry

REPORT ON AN ADJUDGED CASE.

BETWEEN Nose and Eyes a strange contest | Again: would your lordship a moment

arose

[wrong;

The spectacles set them, unhappily, The point in dispute was, as all the world knows,

To which the said spectacles ought to belong.

suppose

('Tis a case that has happened, and may be again) [nose;

That the visage or countenance had not a Pray who would, or who could, wear spectacles then?

so Tongue was the lawyer, and argued the On the whole it appears, and my argu

cause

With a great deal of skill, and a wig full

of learning;

ment shows,

With a reasoning the court will never condemn,

While chief baron Ear sat to balance the That the spectacles plainly were made for laws,

the Nose,

THE HARE AND THE TORTOISE.

A FORWARD hare, of swiftness vain,
The genius of the neighbouring plain,
Would oft deride the drudging crowd;
For geniuses are ever proud.

He'd boast his flight 'twere vain to follow,
For dog and horse he'd beat them hollow;
Nay, if he put forth all his strength,
Outstrip his brethren half a length !
A tortoise heard his vain oration,
And vented thus his indignation:
"O puss! it bodes thee dire disgrace
When I defy thee to a race.
Come, 'tis a match-nay, no denial;
I lay my shell upon the trial!"

"Twas "done," and done all fair, a "bet,”
Judges prepared, and distance set.
The scampering hare outstripped the wind;
The creeping tortoise lagged behind,

And scarce had passed a single pole When puss had almost reached the goal. "Friend tortoise," quoth the jeering hare,

Your burden's more than you can bear;
To help your speed it were as well
That I should ease you of your shell:
Jog on a little faster, pr'ythee;

I'll take a nap, and then be with thee."
The tortoise heard his taunting jeer,
But still resolved to persevere;
On to the goal securely crept,
While puss unknowing soundly slept.
The bets were won, the hare awoke,
When thus the victor tortoise spoke :
'Puss, though I own thy quicker parts,
Things are not always done by starts.
You may deride my awkward pace,
But slow and steady wins the race.

LLOYD.

THE DIRGE OF WALLACE.

THEY lighted a taper, at the dead of night,

And chanted their holiest hymn;

But her brow and her bosom were damp with affright,

Her eye was all sleepless and dim! And the lady of Elderslie wept for her lord,

room,

When his dungeon-light looked dim and red
On the high-born blood of a martyr

slain;

No anthem was sung at his holy death-bed,
No weeping there was when his bosom bled,
And his heart was rent in twain.

When a death-watch beat in her lonely Oh! it was not thus when his oaken spear
Was true to that knight forlorn,
And hosts of a thousand were scattered,
like deer

When her curtain had shook of its own
accord,

And the raven had flapped at her windowboard,

To tell of her warrior's doom!

"Now sing you the death-song, and loudly
pray

For the soul of my knight so dear,
And call me a widow this wretched day,
Since the warning of God is here!
For night-mare rides on my strangled
sleep;

The lord of my bosom is doomed to
die;

His valorous heart they have wounded deep;

And the blood-red tears shall his country weep

For Wallace of Elderslie!

Yet knew not his country that ominous hour,

Ere the loud matin-bell was rung, That a trumpet of death, on an English tower,

Had the dirge of her champion sung!

At the blast of the hunter's horn: When he strode on the wreck of each wellfought field,

With the yellow-haired chiefs of his native land;

For his lance was not shivered on helmet or shield,

And the sword that seemed fit for archangel to wield

Was light in his terrible hand!

Yet bleeding and bound, though her Wal-
lace wight

For his long-loved country die,
The bugle ne'er sung to a braver knight
Than Wallace of Elderslie.

But the day of his glory shall never de-
part,-

His head unentombed shall with glory be balmed,

From his blood-streaming altar his spirit shall start;

Though the raven has fed on his mouldering heart,

A nobler was never embalmed!

CAMPBELL.

He prayed but for a simple draught

Of water from the well,

And a poor morsel of the food

That from his table fell.

He said that his old frame had toiled
A wide and weary way,

O'er the sunny vales and savage hills

And through the lakes that day; Yet when he saw they scoffed his words, He turned away in woe,

And cursed them not, but only mourned
That they should shame him so.

When many years had flown away,
That herdsman of the hill
Went out into the wilderness,

The wolf and bear to kill;

To scatter the red deer, and slay
The panther in his lair,

And chase the rapid moose that ranged
The sunless forests there.

And soon his hounds lay dead with toil, The deer were fierce and fleet,

And the prairie tigers kept aloof

When they heard his hostile feet; No bread was in that desert place, Nor crystal rivulet,

To slake the torment of his thirst,
Or his hot brow to wet.

He feared-he feared to die--yet knew
That nought on earth could save;
For none might catch his parting breath,
And lay him in his grave.

But lo! while life's dim taper still
Burned feebly in his breast,

A ministering angel came-
His hated Indian guest!

He shared his wheaten loaf with him,
His cup of water shared,

And bore the sick man unto those
For whom his heart most cared.
"I cursed thee not," the Indian said,
When thou wast stern to me,
And I have had my vengeance now;--
White man! farewell to thee!"
M'LELLAN.

THE DEATH OF HOFER.

So through the files of musketeers
Undauntedly he passed,

And stood within the hollow square.
Well might he glance around him
there,

And proudly think on by-gone years!
Amid such serfs his bannerol,

Thank God! had never braved the blast
On thy green hills, Tyrol !

They bade him kneel; but he with all
A patriot's truth replied:

'I kneel alone to God on high--
As thus I stand so dare I die;

As oft I fought so let me fall!

Farewell"-his breast a moment swoll With agony he strove to hide"My Kaiser and Tyrol !"

No more emotion he betrayed.
Again he bade farewell

To Francis and the faithful men
Who girt his throne. His hands were
then

THE ARAB'S FAREWELL TO HIS STEED.

My beautiful! my beautiful! that standest | Ah! rudely then, unseen by me, some cruel meekly by, hand may chide, With thy proudly arched and glossy neck, Till foam-wreaths lie, like crested waves, and dark and fiery eye; along thy panting side:

Fret not to roam the desert now with all And the rich blood that is in thee swells in thy winged speed,

I may not mount on thee again,-thou'rt sold, my Arab steed!

thy indignant pain,

Till careless eyes which rest on thee may count each started vein.

Fret not with that impatient hoof-snuff Will they ill-use thee? If I thought-but

not the breezy wind;

The further that thou fliest now, so far am
I behind:

no, it cannot be;

Thou art so swift, yet easy curbed; so gentle, yet so free:

The stranger hath thy bridle rein-thy And yet if haply, when thou'rt gone, my

master hath his gold

Fleet limbed and beautiful, farewell! thou'rt sold, my steed-thou'rt sold!

lonely heart should yearn,

Can the hand which casts thee from it now command thee to return?

Farewell! those free untired limbs full Return! alas, my Arab steed! what shall many a mile must roam, thy master do,

To reach the chill and wintry sky which When thou who wert his all of joy hast clouds the stranger's home; vanished from his view? Some other hand, less fond, must now thy When the dim distance cheats mine eye, corn and bread prepare; and through the gathering tears

The silky mane I braided once must be Thy bright form for a moment like the another's care! false mirage appears?

The morning sun shall dawn again, but Slow and unmounted will I roam, with never more with thee

weary foot alone,

Shall I gallop through the desert paths, Where with fleet step and joyous bound where we were wont to be: thou oft hast borne me on;

Evening shall darken on the earth; and And sitting down by the green well, I'll o'er the sandy plain

Some other steed, with slower step, shall bear me home again.

pause, and sadly think,

It was here he bowed his glossy neck when last I saw him drink!"

Yes, thou must go! the wild free breeze, When last I saw thee drink!—away! the the brilliant sun and sky, fevered dream is o'er;

Thy master's home-from all of these my I could not live a day and know that we exiled one must fly:

should meet no more.

Thy proud dark eye will grow less proud, They tempted me, my beautiful! for hunthy step become less fleet,

ger's power is strong

And vainly shalt thou arch thy neck thy They tempted me, my beautiful! but I

master's hand to meet.

Only in sleep shall I behold that dark eye glancing bright,

Only in sleep shall hear again that step so firm and light;

have loved too long.

Who said that I had given thee up? Who said that thou wert sold?

'Tis false !-'tis false, my Arab steed! I fling them back their gold!

And when I raise my dreaming arm to Thus, thus, I leap upon thy back, and

check or cheer thy speed,

Then must I starting wake, to feel-thou'rt sold, my Arab steed.

scour the distant plains;

Away! who overtakes us now shall claim

thee for his pains!

HON. MRS. NORTON.

THE LIFE-BOAT.

MAN the life-boat! man the life-boat!-
Hearts of oak, your succour lend;
See the shattered vessel stagger-
Quick! O quick! assistance send.

See the ark of refuge launching;

See her hardy crew prepare
For the dangerous work of mercy-
Gallant British hearts are there.
Now the fragile bark is hanging

O'er the billow's feathery height;
Now 'midst fearful depths descending,
While we sicken at the sight.
Courage courage! she's in safety!
See again her buoyant form,
By His gracious hand uplifted

Who controls the raging storm. With her precious cargo freighted,

Now the life-boat nears the shore; Parents, brethren, friends embracing Those they thought to see no more.

Blessings on the dauntless spirits,

Dangers thus who nobly brave; Ready life and limb to venture, So they may a brother save. Christian! pause, and deeply ponder: Is there nothing you can do? The sinking ship, the storm, the life-boat, Have they not a voice for you? Here's a storm, a fearful tempest, Souls are sinking in despair; There's a shore of blessed refugeTry, O try and guide them there.

O remember Him who saved you,

Whose right hand deliverance wrought; Who from depths of guilt and anguish You to peace and safety brought.

With moral discourses cut shorter the Does he feed upon flesh when there's herway: bage and roots?"

"Tis great," says the fox, "to make jus- Cries the fox, "While our oaks give us tice our guide!"

How god-like is mercy!" Grimalkin replied.

acorns so good,

What a tyrant is this, to spill innocent blood!"

chaff by a mill.

Whilst thus they proceeded, a wolf from Well, onward they marched, and they the wood, moralized still, Impatient of hunger, and thirsting for Till they came where some poultry picked blood, [eyes, Rushed forth-as he saw the dull shepherd Sly Reynard surveyed them with gluttonous asleepAnd made, spite of morals, a pullet his prize! And seized for his supper an innocent A mouse, too, that chanced from her covert sheep.

"In vain, wretched victim, for mercy you bleat;

When mutton's at hand," says the wolf, "I must eat."

Grimalkin's astonished the fox stood aghast,

To see the fell beast at his bloody repast.

to stray,

The greedy Grimalkin secured as her prey!

A spider that sat in her web on the wall, Perceived the poor victims, and pitied their fall:

She cried, "Of such murders how guiltless am I!"

So ran to regale on a new-taken fly!
J. CUNNINGHAM.

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