O noble work of toil and care! O simple but most arduous plan! CHAS. MACKAY. А ВООК. 'M a strange contradiction; I'm new, and I'm old, I'm often in tatters, and oft decked with gold. Though I never could read, yet lettered I'm found; Though blind, I enlighten; though loose, I am bound, I'm always in black, and I'm always in white; I'm grave and I'm gay, I am heavy and light In form too I differ,—I'm thick and I'm thin, I've no flesh and no bones, yet I'm covered with skin; I sing without voice, without speaking confute. I'm English, I'm German, I'm French, and I'm Dutch; I often die soon, though I sometimes live ages, And no monarch alive has so many pages. HANNAH MORE. WHO IS MY NEIGHBOUR? HY neighbour? It is he whom thou Hast power to aid and bless, Whose aching heart or burning brow Thy soothing hand may press. Who is my Neighbour? Thy neighbour? 'Tis the fainting poor, Whom hunger sends from door to door;— Thy neighbour? 'Tis that weary man, Bent low with sickness, cares, and pain; — Go thou and comfort him. Thy neighbour? 'Tis the heart bereft Widow and orphan, helpless left ;— Go thou and shelter them. Thy neighbour? Yonder toiling slave, Whene'er thou meet'st a human form Oh, pass not, pass not heedless by; The breaking heart from misery ;— Go, share thy lot with him. PEABODY. 343 SONG. HAD a dove, and the sweet dove died; And I have thought it died of grieving: Oh, what could it grieve for? Its feet were tied With a silken thread of my own hands' weaving; Sweet little red feet! why should you die Why would you leave me, sweet bird? why? Why, pretty thing! would you not live with me? J. KEATS. THE FISHERMAN. PERILOUS life, and sad as life may be, O'er the wild waters labouring far from home, For some bleak pittance e'er compelled to roam : And none to aid him in the stormy strife: Companion of the sea and silent air, The lonely fisher thus must ever fare : Without the comfort, hope,-with scarce a friend, BARRY CORNWALL. Verses. 345 VERSES, SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY ALEXANDER SELKIRK, DURING HIS SOLITARY ABODE IN THE ISLAND OF JUAN FERNANDEZ. AM monarch of all I survey, My right there is none to dispute; That sages have seen in thy face? I am out of humanity's reach, I must finish my journey alone, Society, friendship, and love, Divinely bestowed upon man, Oh, had I the wings of a dove, Might learn from the wisdom of age, And be cheered by the sallies of youth. Religion! what treasure untold Resides in that heavenly word! More precious than silver and gold, Or all that this earth can afford: But the sound of the church-going bell Ye winds, that have made me your sport, Some cordial endearing report Of a land I shall visit, no more. O tell me I yet have a friend, Though a friend I am never to see. How fleet is a glance of the mind! And the swift-winged arrows of light. Soon hurries me back to despair. But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest, And I to my cabin repair. There's mercy in every place, And mercy-encouraging thought! Gives even affliction a grace, And reconciles man to his lot. Cowper. |