THE ROOK AND THE SPARROWS.
"Tell father, when he comes from work, I said good night to him,
And, mother, now I'll go to sleep." Alas! poor little
She knew that he was dying; that the child she loved so dear,
Had uttered the last words she might ever hope to hear. The cottage door is opened, the collier's step is heard, The father and the mother meet, yet neither speak a word.
He felt that all was over, he knew his child was dead, He took the candle in his hand and walked toward the bed;
His quivering lips gave token of the grief he'd fain conceal,
And see, his wife has join'd him—the stricken couple kneel;
With hearts bowed down by sadness, they humbly ask of Him
In heaven once more to meet again their own poor little Jim.
THE ROOK AND THE SPARROWS.
A LITTLE boy, with crumbs of bread,
Many a hungry sparrow fed.
It was a child of little sense,
Who this kind bounty did dispense;
For suddenly it was withdrawn,
And all the birds were left forlorn,
In a hard time of frost and snow,
Not knowing where for food to go.
He would not longer give them bread,
Because he had observed, (he said),
That sometimes to the window came
A great black bird, a Rook by name,
And took away a small bird's share,
So foolish Henry did not care
What became of the great rook
That from the little sparrows took,
Now and then, as 't were by stealth,
A part of their abundant wealth;
Nor ever more would feed his
sparrows,
Thus ignorance a kind heart narrows.
I wish I had been there, I would
Have told the child, rooks live by food,
In the same way that sparrows do.
I also would have told him, too,
Birds act by instinct, and ne'er can
Attain the rectitude of man;
Nay, that even when distress
Does on poor human nature press,
We need not be too strict in seeing
The failings of a fellow-being.
THE old Shepherd's dog, like his master, was gray,
His teeth all departed, and feeble his tongue;
Yet where'er Corin went, he was followed by Tray;
Thus happy through life did they hobble along.
When fatigued, on the grass the Shepherd would lie
For a nap in the sun, 'midst his slumbers so sweet,
His faithful companion crawled constantly nigh,
Placed his head on his lap, or lay down at his feet.
When winter was heard on the hill and the plain,
When torrents descended, and cold was the wind, If Colin went forth 'mid the tempest and rain,
Tray scorned to be left in the chimney behind.
At length in the straw Tray made his last bed;
For vain, against death, is the stoutest endeavor, To lick Corin's hand he reared up his weak head, Then fell back, closed his eyes, and ah! closed them forever.
Not long after Tray did the Shepherd remain,
Who oft o'er his grave with true sorrow would bend; And when dying, thus feebly was heard the poor
"O bury me, neighbors, beside my ciu
THERE was a little stubborn dame,
Whom no authority could tame;
Restive, by long indulgence grown,
No will she minded but her own;
At trifles oft she 'd scold and fret,
Then in a corner take a seat,
And surly moping all the day,
Disdain alike to work or play.
Papa all softer arts had tried,
And sharper remedies applied;
But both were vain-for every course
He took, still made her worse and worse.
Mamma observed the rising lass
By stealth retiring to the glass;
On this a deep design she laid
To tame the humor of the maid;
Contriving, like a prudent mother,
To make one folly cure another.
Upon the wall, against the seat
Which Cleo used for her retreat,
Whene'er by accident offended,
A looking-glass was straight suspended,
That she might show her how deformed
She looked, and frightful, when she stormed:
And warn her, as she prized her beauty,
To bend her humor to her duty.
All this the looking-glass achieved-
Its threats were minded and believed.
The maid who spurned at all advice,
Grew tame and gentle in a trice;
So, when all other means had failed,
The silent monitor prevailed.
Oh! what will become of the poor little bird?
The muttering storm in the distance is heard;
The rough winds are waking, the clouds growing
black,
They'll soon scatter snow-flakes all over thy back!
From what sunny clime hast thou wandered away ?
And what art thou doing this cold winter day?
"I'm picking the gum from the old peach-tree;
The storm does not trouble me, Pee, dee, dee."
But what makes thee seem so unconscious of care?
The brown earth is frozen, the branches are bare :
And how canst thou be so light-hearted and free,
As if danger and suffering thou never should'st see,
When no place is near for thy evening nest?
No leaf for thy screen, for thy bosom no rest?
"Because the same Hand is a shelter for me,
That took off the summer leaves, Pee, dee, dee."
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