THE OLD FRIEND AND THE NEW. My old friend, he was a good old friend, I and my friend, we were bred together: — I could sit with him and crack many a joke, For my old friend would not have slighted me! Oh my fine new friend, he is smooth and bland, He hums the last new opera air. He takes not the children on his knee; For he snarls when my new friend draweth near, My rare old friend, he read the plays, Because they were made when we were young; It was cracked by my new friend's riding-cane! My good old friend, "he tirled at the pin," My new friend cometh in lordly state; rut he knows not what in my heart lies deep; He may laugh with me, but never shall weep, For there is no bond between us twain; MABEL ON MIDSUMMER DAY. A STORY OF THE OLDEN TIME. "Arise, my maiden, Mabel," The mother said, "arise, For thou must speed away, This wheaten cake so fine; This little flask of wine! "And tell the dear old body, This day I cannot come, For the good man went out yester-morn, And he is not come home. "And more than this, poor Amy Upon my knee doth lie; I fear me, with this fever-pain "And thou can'st help thy grandmother; The table thou can'st spread; Can'st feed the little dog and bird, And thou can'st make her bed. "And thou can'st fetch the water, From the lady-well hard by; And thou can'st gather from the wood The fagots brown and dry. "Can'st go down to the lonesome glen, To milk the mother-ewe; This is the work, my Mabel, That thou wilt have to do. "But listen now, my Mabel, This is Midsummer-day, When all the fairy people From elf-land come away. "And when thou art in lonesome glei., "But think not of the fairy folk, 'Yet keep good heart, my Mabel, If they should speak to thee. "And when into the fir-wood Thou go'st for fagots brown, Do not, like idle children, Go wandering up and down. But, fill thy little apron, My child, with earnest speed; And that thou break no living bough So be thou careful of this thing, "But think not, little Mabel, "And when thou goest to the spring, She loves that water bright; I've seen her drinking there myself 46 On many a summer night. 'But she's a gracious lady, And her thou need'st not fear; Nor spill the water clear!" A way tripped little Mabel, And the little flask of wine. The willing child appeared. And all her mother's message She told with right good-will, How that the father was away, And the little child was ill. And then she swept the hearth up clean, And next she fed the dog and bird; The next time that good Mabel went, A curtsey low made Mabel, "Thou art a handy maiden," "Thou hast not spilled a drop, nor yet The fair spring troubled! "And for this thing which thou hast done I give to thee a better gift "Thou shalt do well, whate'er thou dost, Thus having said, she passed from sight, -"And now go," said the grandmother, All in the neighbouring fir-wood, Into the fir-wood near, Where all the ground was dry and brown, She did not wander up and down, And when the wild-wood brownies Came sliding to her mind, But all that while the brownies Within the fir-wood still, They watched her how she picked the wood, And strove to do no ill. "And oh, but she is small and neat," Said one," 'twere shame to spite "Look only," said another, "At her little gown of blue; At the kerchief pinned about her head, And at her little shoe!" "Oh, but she is a comely child," No live thing did affray." With that the smallest penny, Of the finest silver ore, Lay Mabel's feet before. With joy she picked the penny up, The fairy penny good; And with her fagots dry and brown Went wondering from the wood. Now she has that," said the brownies, 44 Let flax be ever so dear, Will buy her clothes of the very best, For many and many a year!" -"And go, now," said the grandmother, "Since falling is the dew, Go down unto the lonesome glen, All down into the lonesome glen, Through copses thick and wild; Through moist, rank grass, by trickling streams, Went on the willing child. And when she came to lonesome glen, She kept beside the burn, And neither plucked the strawberry-flower, And while she milked the mother-ewe She wished that little Amy And soon as she had thought this thought, She heard a coming sound, As if a thousand fairy-folk And then she heard a little voice, Shrill as the midge's wing, That spake aloud, "a human child Is here- yet mark this thing! "The laay-fern is all unbroke, The strawberry-flower unta'en! What shall be done for her, who still From mischief can refrain?" "Give her a fairy-cake!" said one, "Grant her a wish!" said three; The latest wish that she hath wished," Said all," whate'er it be!" - Kind Mabel heard the words they spake, And from the lonesome glen, Unto the good old grandmother A CHRISTMAS CAROL The self-same moon was shining Came down from God on high. Who watched their flocks by night And through the midnight silence The heavenly host began, Glory to God the highest; Up rose the joyful shepherds From the ground whereon they lay, As ye should rise, good Christians, To hail this blessed day! Up rose the simple shepherds, All with a joyful mind; "And let us go, with speed," said they, "This holy child to find!" Not in a kingly palace The son of God they found, The glorious king of heaven; The Lord of all the earth, In mercy condescended To be of humble birth. There worshipped him the wise men, Long looked the simple shepherds, And homeward went rejoicing That Jesus Christ was born. That he was born, the Saviour, And, like unto the shepherds, Awake, arise, good Christians, LITTLE CHILDREN. SPORTING through the forest wide; Playing by the water-side; Wandering o'er the heathy fells; Down within the woodland dells; All among the mountain wild, Dwelleth many a little child! In the baron's hall of pride; By the poor man's dull fireside : 'Mid the mighty, 'mid the mean, In the far isles of the main; Blessings on them! they in me With their wishes, hopes, and fears; Little children, not alone Dost mark the billows heaving Before the coming gale; And scream for joy of every sound Lov'st thou the lightning's flash; The booming of the mountain wavesThe thunder's deafening crash? O stormy, stormy Peterel, Thou art a bird of woe! Yet would I thou could'st tell me half There was a ship went down last night,- A costly freight within her lay, And many a soul was there! The night-black storm was over her, The cry of her great agony Went upward to the sky; She perished in her strength and pride, But thou, O stormy Peterel, Went'st screaming o'er the foam;Are there no tidings from that ship Which thou canst carry home? Yes! He who raised the tempest up, Sustained each drooping one; And God was present in the storm, Though human aid was none! THE POOR MAN'S GARDEN. AH yes, the poor man's garden! It is great joy to me, This little, precious piece of ground Before his door to see! The rich man has his gardeners, His gardeners young and old; He never takes a spade in hand, Nor worketh in the mould. It is not with the poor man so,— Wealth, servants, he has none; And all the work that's done for him Must by himself be done. All day upon some weary task He toileth with good will; And back he comes, at set of sun, The rich man in his garden walks, One moment he beholds his flowers, The next they are forgot: He eateth of his rarest fruits He knows each inch of ground, That grows within its bound. He knows where grow his wall-flowers, And the stocks that cost him dear,That well-set row of crimson stocks, For he bought the seed last year. And though unto the rich man The cost of flowers is nought, A sixpence to a poor man Is toil, and care, and thought. And here is his potatoe-bed, All well-grown, strong, and green; How could a rich man's heart leap up At anything so mean! But he, the poor man, sees his crop, Beside the fire will stand, In a round and rosy hand. His melons and his pines. And a little strawberry-bed. A happy man he thinks himself, Around the rich man's trellissed bower And pinks and clove-carnations, With an edge of London-pride. |