Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

It makes one's back ache so, stooping to weed all day, Of sticks and reeds in the dark fir-tree,

I shall be famously glad when it's done!
KITTY. But are you quite ready for play?

I've but a little bit to do—I shall have done in half
a quarter of an hour;

Where lay his mate and his nestlings three;

And whenever he saw the man come by,

[ocr errors]

Dead horse! dead horse!" he was sure to crv, "Croak, croak!" if he went or came,

And as you've nothing to do, just run and see if that The cry of the crow was just the same, lavender's in flower

Jack looked up as grim as could be,

There's a good Harry, do; I'll do seven times as And says, "what's my trade to the like of thee!" much for you; "Dead horse! dead horse! croak, croak! croak, croak!"

You know I sewed, yesterday, that old clasp in your shoe. As plain as words to his ear spoke. HARRY.-I'd go, if I thought you'd have done by Old Jack stooped down and picked up a stone, the time I come back; A stout, thick stick, and dry cow's-bone, KITTY. To be sure I shall!-I wish you would not And one and the other all three did throw, waste so much time with your clack! So angry was he, at the carrion crow; HARRY.-Well, just let me pull up my shoe, and put But none of the three reached him or his nest, by this peacock's feather. Where his three young crows lay warm at rest; KITTY.-Nay, you may as well stay now; I've just And "Croak, croak! dead horse! croak, croak !" done, and we'll both go together; In his solemn way again he spoke

For I want to show you something like a magpie's Old Jack was angry as he could be,
nest up in a tree,
And says he, "On the morrow, I'll fell thy tree,-
Only I don't think it is a magpie's nest, and I can't I'll teach thee, old fellow, to rail at me!"
think what it can be ;

And it is just by the lavender bush, and 't will save As soon as 't was light, if there you had been,
us going there twice:-
Old Jack at his work you might have seen;

There, now I've done my work! and I shall be I would you'd been there to see old Jack,
ready in a trice!
And to hear the strokes as they came

HARRY.-Well, then let us begone; we shall have
two whole hours for play;

[ocr errors]

thwack!

thwack!"
And then you'd have seen how the croaking bird

I didn't think we should have had so much time, and Flew round as the axe's strokes he heard,
I' been working all day!

THE OLD MAN AND THE CARRION

CROW.

THERE was a man and his name was Jack,
Crabbed and lean, and his looks were black-
His temper was sour, his thoughts were bad;
His heart was hard when he was a lad.
And now he followed a dismal trade,
Old horses he bought and killed and flayed,
Their flesh he sold for the dogs to eat ;
You would not have liked this man to meet.
He lived in a low mud-house on a moor,
Without any garden before the door.
There was one little hovel behind, that stood,
Where he used to do his work of blood;
I never could bear to see the place,
It was stained and darkened with many a trace;
A trace of what I will not tell-

And then there was such an unchristian smell!

Now this old man did come and go,
Through the wood that grew in the dell below;
It was scant a mile from his own door-stone,
Darksome and dense, and overgrown;
And down in the drearest nook of the wood,
A tall and splintered fir-tree stood;
Half-way up, where the boughs outspread,
A carrion crow his nest had made,

Flew round as he saw the shaking blow,
That came to his nest from the root below,
One after the other, stroke upon stroke;

"Thwack! thwack!" said the axe, said the crow
"Croak! croak!"

Old Jack looked up with a leer in his eye,
And "I'll hew it down!" says he, "by and bye!
I'll teach thee to rail, my old fellow, at me!"

So he spit on his hands, and says, "have at the tree!'

"Thwack!" says the axe, as the bark it clove;

[blocks in formation]

Away flew the crow to the house on the moor,
A poor, old horse was tied to the door;
The burning sod on the roof he dropped,
Then upon the chimney stone he hopped,
And down he peeped that he might see,
How many there were in family-
There was a mother and children three.
"Croak! croak!" the old crow did say,
As from the roof he flew away,

As he flew away to a tree, to watch
The burning sod and the dry grey thatch,
He stayed not long till he saw it smoke,

Then he flapped his wings, and cried, " Croak, croak!"

Away to the wood again flew he,
And soon he espied the slanting tree,
And Jack, who stood laughing with all his might,
His axe in his hand -
he laughed for spite;

In triumph he laughed, and took up a stone,
And hammered his axe-head faster on;

46

Croak, croak!" came the carrion crow,
Flapping his wings with a motion slow;
"Thwack, thwack!" the spiteful man,
When he heard his cry, with his axe began;
"Thwack, thwack!" stroke upon stroke;
The crow flew by with a " Croak, croak!"
With a "Croak, croak!" again he came,
Just as the house burst into flame.
With a splitting crash, and a crackling sound,
Down came the tree unto the ground;
The old crow's nest afar was swung,

And the young ones here and there were flung;
And just at that moment came up a cry,
"Oh Jack, make haste, or else we die;
The house is on fire, consuming all,

Make haste, make haste, ere the roof-tree fall!"
The
young crows every one were dead;
But the old crow croaked above his head;
And the mother-crow on Jack she springs,
And flaps in his face her great, black wings;
And all the while he hears a wail,
That turns his cheek from red to pale-
'T was wife and children standing there
Wringing their hands and tearing their hair!
“Oh woe, our house is burnt to cinder,
Bedding and clothes all turned to tinder;
Down to the very hearth-stone clean,

"

Such a dismal ruin ne'er was seen:

What shall we do?- where must we go?"

"Croak, croak!" says the carrion crow."

Now ye who read this story through,
Heed well the moral- 't is for you;-
Strife brings forth strife; be meek and kind;
See all things with a loving mind;
Nor e'er by passion be misled,-
Jack by himself was punished.

MAY FAIR.

THERE is a town in Staffordshire,
That I was born and bred in,

And dear May Fair can make it gayer
Than even a royal wedding.

Come, I'll live over my youth again;
Life has enough of sorrow;
From by-gone things we 'll mirth obtain,
And think of care to-morrow.

Come, we 'll be drest in all our best;

For hark, the bells are ringing; And there's no sign of rain to-day, And all the birds are singing.

With happy folks beside us then,

Their smiles like summer weather; See how the women and the men Come trooping in together.

And some come with a hobbling gait,
And some come tripping proudly,
And some come looking quite sedate,
And some come laughing loudly.

All come that can; each farming man
His best blue coat is wearing,
And cart and gig, and shandry-dan,
Bring fine folks to the fair in.

And little lads, brimful of glee,

With hands their pockets thrust in; And trowsers turned up neatly, see,

To keep their shoes from dusting.

Now crowd they all amid the rout,
As full of mirth as any,
Each looking eagerly about

To spend his fairing penny.
And this will buy a cow and calf-

But this of cakes is fonder;
And these will go to see the Dwarf,

And those the Giant yonder.

And roving round, see happy folks,

With sunny, country faces;
Some cracking nuts, some cracking jokes,
Some wearing modish graces.

And just peep on the bowling-green,
What capering and what prancing;
He's fiddling there a merry air,

To the merry people dancing!
Now, see those girls with one accord,
Around that booth are staring;
And many a lad has spent his hoard,
To buy a handsome fairing.

See, some give ribbons red and blue,
And some give green and yellow;
And some give rings and brooches too,
To show a generous fellow.

Now hushed is every laugh and joke,

To hear a sailor singing,
How "Poll of Plymouth's" heart was broke,
And "Monmouth's bells were ringing."

And then how brave "Tom Tough," d' ye see,
Brought to the Frenchmen ruin;
Of "Barbara Allen's cruelty,"
And "Crazy Jane's" undoing.
But ere he has the next begun,
See, round all eyes are glancing
He stands alone, for all are gone
To see the dogs a-dancing!

Ha! there they are- why what a crowd!
And what a deafening racket!
Well may they stare, for there's a bear,
And monkey in a jacket!

But let us leave this noisy rout; And let us leave the singing;We have not seen the round-about, Nor have we seen the swinging.

We have not seen old wicked Punch

His little wife a-beating;

We have not thought what must be bought

For wearing nor for eating.

We have not been to see the shows,

The lion and his crony;

The child so big - the learned pig

Nor yet the learned pony.

Why, what a deal we have to do!

Come miss, and little master, We shan't get back by nine o'clock, Unless we travel faster!

There now, we have seen every thing,

And each has got a fairing!

And homeward all, both great and small, Are leisurely repairing.

And hark! the bells are ringing round,
As they rung in the morning;
But O! they have a different sound
In going and returning!

FRENCH AND ENGLISH.

THERE were six merry children, all frolic and fun,
At play on a green 'neath the Midsummer sun;
And thus they sang, in their heartsome glee,-
"We're French and English-three against three!
These are the Frenchmen, meagre and thin,
Hop, skip and jump,-do you think they'll win?
These are the Englishmen, sturdy and stout;
Brave in the battle, they 'll win, no doubt.
Pull away, pull with all your might -
Pull away that's the way we fight!
"Twenty battles we fight in a day;
Some we win, as best we may;
Some we lose, but we care not a pin —
If we did not laugh, we should always win.
French and English-here we stand-
Three in an army, on either hand!
Pull away, pull with all your might-
Pull away that's the way we fight!

[blocks in formation]

THE LITTLE MARINER.

Ay, sitting on your happy hearths, beside your mother's knee,

How should you know the miseries and dangers of

the sea!

My father was a mariner, and from my earliest years, I can remember, night and day, my mother's prayers and tears.

I can remember how she sighed when blew the stormy gale;

And how for days she stood to watch the long-expect. ed sail:

Hers was a silent, patient grief; but fears and long delay,

And wakeful nights and anxious days were wearing her away.

And when the gusty winds were loud, and autumn leaves were red,

I watched, with heavy heart, beside my mother's dying bed;

Just when her voice was feeblest, the neighbours came to say,

The ship was hailed an hour before, and then was in the bay.

Alas! too late the ship returned, too late her life to

save;

My father closed her dying eyes, and laid her in the

grave.

He was a man of ardent hopes, who never knew dis

may;

And, spite of grief, the winter-time wore cheerfully

away.

He had crossed the equinoctial line, full seven times

or more,

And sailing northward, had been wrecked on icy Labrador:

He knew the Spice-isles, every one, where the clove and nutmeg grow,

And the aloe towers a stately tree with clustering bells of snow.

He had gone the length of Hindostan, down Ganges' holy flood;

Through Persia, where the peacock broods a wild bird of the wood;

And, in the forests of the West, hau seen the red-deer chased,

And dwelt beneath the piny woods, a hunter of the

waste.

Oh! pleasant were the tales he told of lands so strange and new;

And, in my ignorance I vowed, I'd be a sailor too : My father heard my vow with joy,-so in the early May,

We went on board a merchant-man, bound for Hon.

duras' bay.

Right merrily, right merrily, we sailed before the And day by day, though burning thirst and pining wind, hunger came,

With a briskly heaving sea before, and the lands- His mercy, through our misery, preserved each droopman's cheer behind. ing frame:

There was joy for me in every league, delight on And after months of weary woe, sickness, and travel every strand,

sore,

And I sate for days on the high fore-top, on the long He sent the blessed English ship that took us from look-out for land. that shore.

There was joy for me in the nightly watch, on the And now, without a home or friend, I wander far burning Tropic seas, and near, To mark the waves, like living fires, leap up to the And tell my miserable tale to all who lend an ear. freshening breeze. Thus sitting by your happy hearths, beside your mother's knee,

Right merrily, right merrily, our gallant ship went free,

Until we neared the rocky shoals within the Western

[blocks in formation]

What next I knew, was how at morn, on a bleak barren shore,

Out of a hundred mariners, were living only four.

I looked around, like one who wakes from dreams of fierce alarm,

And round my body still I felt, firm locked, my father's arm.

And with a rigid, dying grasp, he closely held me fast,

Even as he held me when he seized, at midnight on the mast.

With humbled hearts and streaming eyes, down knelt the little band,

Praying Him who had preserved their lives, to lend his guiding hand.

How should you know the miseries and dangers of the sea!

[blocks in formation]

Awakes his little children's glee,
Even as it filled his heart with joy
Beside his mother's door, a boy!—
The same and to his heart it brings
The freshness of those vanished springs.
Bloom then fair flower in sun and shade,
For deep thought in thy cup is laid;
And careless children, in their glee,
A sacred memory make of thee!

190

[blocks in formation]

That over, dear cousin, we all must be dressed,-
"Tis my sister Bell's birth-day,-quite spruce, in our
best;

Dancing shoes on his feet, à la mode, very fine
And mamma has invited us that day to dine;
And Bell has invited nine friends of her own-
Just a partner a-piece - they are all to you known;
Miss Paget, Miss Ellis, Miss White, and the rest,
And that beautiful dancer, the pretty Miss West:
But I won't stop to tell you the names of them all,
But the archery victor will open the ball
On Friday, betimes, has been fixed for our going
Five miles down the river, a grand match of rowing.
Two boats are got ready, and moored in our view,

I can tell you, because there's great work to be done, And each is as light as an Indian canoe ;
At shooting and cricket a match to be won:
And to make it a pleasure the less to be slighted,
Eight other young gentlemen have been invited,
Their names are as follow-all promise they'll come-
First, merry Tom Wilmot, we call him Tom Thumb;
The two Master Nortons, and witty Dick Hall,
And clever George Nugent, so famous at ball;
Ned Stevens the sailor, and gay Herman Blair,
And lastly Frank Thurlow, the great cricket-player.
And now if you'll count them you'll find there are

The Sylph and the Swallow- the loveliest things
That e'er skimmed the water, dear Ben, without
wings!

ten,

So come, as I pray you, my dear cousin Ben.
And to give you some notion of how we 're to spend
These six days of triumph, dear cousin, attend ;-
But first I must tell you, papa is so good

As to lend, for our service, the lodge in the wood!
He has had it repaired, and from Cornwall to Fife,
You ne'er saw such a snug little place in your life;
With a low, rustic roof, and a curious old door,
With a dozen straw chairs, and new mats on the floor:
And there we're to live, jovial fellows, indeed,
With good store of poultry, and fruit for our need;
And there the old housekeeper, blithe Mrs. Hay,
Is to cook us a capital dinner each day;
And mamma has provided us dainties enow,—
Tarts, jellies, and custards, and syllabubs too!
So come, my dear fellow, and with us partake
These six days of triumph-fine sport we shall make!
And now I'll go on telling what's to be done :-
Imprimis, on Monday begins all the fun;
All ready in order, the guests will arrive -
Half-a-score of the merriest fellows alive!

When on Tuesday we all must be up with the dawn,
For a great match of cricket we have on the lawn;
The prize will be hung up aloft on a tree,-
A new bat and ball -as complete as can be.
On Wednesday, a pleasant excursion we make,
Each equipped à la Walton, to fish in the lake;
And all that we catch, whether minnow or whale,
Will be cooked for our supper, that night, without fail.
On the morning of Thursday, gay archers are we,
The target is ready, nailed up on a tree;
And the prize-such a bow and such arrows!-my
word,

But the twang of that bow fifty yards may be heard!
And the king of all archers, even bold Robin Hood,
Had been proud of such arrows to speed through the
wood;

And, lest that the water our boats should o'erwhelm,
Papa and my uncle will each take a helm;
And my uncle, you know, an old sailor has been,
And papa 's the best helmsman that ever was seen.
So tell your mamma there's no danger at all,-
We shall not be o'erset or by shallow or squall.
The prize for that day has not yet been decided,
But before it is wanted it will be provided.
On Saturday, Ben, is a great day of sorrow,
"T will half spoil the rowing to have such a morrow:
But papa has determined that morning to spend
In chemical wonders that scarce have an end-
Among waters and fires, and vapours and smoke-
On my word, cousin Ben, how you'll laugh at the
joke.

And a lunch will be ready at one-and what then?
Why each one must go to his home back again.

So, good-bye, my dear cousin ; be sure and come down
By the Nelson on Monday- the fare is a crown—
And more than a crown's worth of pleasure you'll

[blocks in formation]

I went down to Broom Hall, according to my cousin's invitation, by the Nelson. My cousin, and three young gentlemen who lived near, and had ridden over on ponies, were waiting for me at the park-gate, -it was then eleven o'clock. By three, all had arrived. The weather was very fine; the lodge in the forest, one of the sweetest, most picturesque places I ever saw; and Mrs. Hay was in a good humour all the time, though I am sure we gave her a great deal of trouble ;-I have bought two yards of green satin ribbon for Mrs. Hay's cap, which I shall send by Thomas this afternoon; but now to go on with the six days. The matches were kept up with a deal of spirit. Frank Thurlow, as everybody expected, won

« AnteriorContinuar »