My father I remember too,

And even now his face can see ; And the gray horse he used to ride, And the old dog that at his side Went barking joyfully!

He used to fly my brother's kites,

And build them up a man of snow,
And sail their boats, and with them race,
And carry me from place to place,
Just as I liked to go.

I'm sure he was a pleasant man,

And people must have loved him well!

Oh, I remember that sad day

When they bore him in a hearse away,
And tolled his funeral bell!

Thy mother comes each night to kiss

Thee, in thy little quiet bed

So came my mother years ago;

And I loved her-oh! I loved her so, 'Twas joy to hear her tread!

It must be many, many years
Since then, and yet I can recall
Her very tone - her look- her dress,

-

Her pleasant smile and gentleness,
That had kind words for all.

She told us tales, she sang us songs,
And in our pastimes took delight,
And joined us in our summer glee,
And sat with us beneath the tree'

Nor wearied of our company,

Whole days, from morn till night.

Alas! I know that she is dead,

And in the cold, cold grave is hid;
.I saw her in her coffin lie,

With the grim mourners standing by ;
And silent people solemnly

Closed down the coffin lid.

My brothers were not there

ah me!

I know not where they went; some said With a rich man beyond the sea That they were dwelling pleasantly

And some that they were dead.

I cannot think that it is so,

I never saw them pale and thin, And the last time their voice I heard, Merry were they as a summer-bird, Singing its bowers within.

I wish that I could see their faces,
Or know at least that they were near;

Ah! gladly would I cross the sea,
So that with them I might but be,
For now my days pass wearily,

And all are strangers here.

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,
Of sticks and reeds in the dark fir-tree,
Where lay his mate and his nestlings three;
And whenever he saw the man come by,
"Dead horse! dead horse!" he was sure to cry,

"Croak, croak!" if he went or came,

The cry of the crow was just the same;
Jack looked up as grim as could be,

And says, 66 What's my trade to the like of thee!"

“Dead horse! dead horse! croak, croak! croak, croak!” As plain as words to his ear it spoke.

Old Jack stooped down and picked up a stone,

A stout, thick stick, and dry cow's bone,

And one and the other all three did throw,
So angry was he, at the carrion crow;

But none of the three reached him or his nest,
Where his three young ones lay warm at rest;
And "Croak, croak! dead horse! croak, croak!"
In his solemn way again he spoke ;

Old Jack was angry as he could be,

And says he, "On the morrow, I'll fell thy tree,← I'll teach thee, old fellow, to rail at me!"

As soon as 'twas light, if there you had been,
Old Jack at his work you might have seen;

I would you'd been there to see old Jack,

And to hear the strokes as they came "Thwack! thwack!"

And then you'd have seen how the croaking bird

Flew round as the axe's stroke he heard,

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 by

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;
"Thwack!" as into the wood it drove ;
"Croak!" says the crow in a great dismay,
"Croak!" as he slowly flew away.

Flap, flap went his wings over hedge and ditch,
Till he came to a field of burning twitch ;
The boy with a lighted lantern there,

As he stood on the furrow brown and bare,
He saw the old crow hop hither and thither,
Then fly with a burning sod somewhither.

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 the tree, to watch
The burning sod and the dry gray 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; "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⚫