THE MOTH. AH! how you hold that little thing! Ah, cruel boy! see what you've done! For now 'tis killed; oh, painful sight! Its horns are curl'd close to its head, To steel the heart by sticking pins, To run its little body through, THE BEGGAR-BOY. A POOR boy went by with his raiment all torn; His coat was in tatters, no shoes on his feet, Poor boy! no kind father nor mother has he, He begs all the day for a morsel of bread, And perhaps sleeps at night in a comfortless shed. He has no kind friends who may teach him and guide, THE WORK-BAG. To Jane her aunt a work-bag gave, And then 'twas furnished quite complete, With cotton, silk, and thread, And needles in a case so neat, Of all the sizes made. A little silver thimble, too, But Jane was very fond of play, But if at any time she did, 'Twas but a stitch or two; And though she often had been bid, But little more would do. The pretty little bag, indeed, But cotton, needles, silk, and thread, Her aunt, by chance, came in that day, The silk, to make her little dress, Was on the table laid, With gauze and lace the floor was strewed, All in disorder lay, When, bounding in with gesture rude, She little thought her aunt to find, "Well, Jane, and where's your doll, my dear? I hope you've dress'd her now; But there is such a litter here, You best know when and how." So spoke her aunt, and, looking round, Poor Jane, who no excuse had found, 66 "Since," said her aunt, no work you do, But waste your time in play; The work-bag, of no use to you, I now shall take away." But now, with self-conviction, Jane And ere her aunt could come again, Her doll was neatly dress'd. THE CHILD AND THE BIRD. Child: LITTLE bird, little bird, come to me! Bird: Thanks, little maiden, for all thy care, And my snug little nest in the old oak-tree Child: Little bird, little bird, where wilt thou go The ice will cover the old oak-tree: Bird: Nay, little maiden, away I'll fly To greener fields and a warmer sky; Child: Little bird! little bird! who'll guide thee Foolish one, come in the house to stay; Bird: Ah, no, little maiden! God guides me I will be free as the morning air, GOOD TEMPER. THERE's not a cheaper thing on earth, 'Tis worth more than distinguished birth, It lends the day a new delight- And adds more beauty to the night It maketh poverty content; It meets you with a smile at morn— It lulls you to repose; A flower for peer and peasant born— A charm to banish grief away— To snatch from brow the care; That gems the lily's breast; A talisman for love, as true As ever man possessed. As smiles the rainbow through the cloud, As music 'mid the tempest loud, That still its sweet way wins; E |