Thou cherub-but of earth; Fit playfellow for Fays by moonlight pale, (That dog will bite him, if he pulls its tail!) (He'll break the mirror with that skipping-rope!) With pure heart newly stamped from nature's mint. (Where did he learn that squint ?) THE LAMB. W. BLAKE. LITTLE lamb, who made thee Little lamb, who made thee ? Dost thou know who made thec ? Little lamb, I'll tell thee! Little lamb, God bless thee! THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH. 27 THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH. H. W. LONGFELLOW. UNDER a spreading chestnut-tree His hair is crisp, and black, and long, His face is like the tan; His brow is wet with honest sweat, His earns whate’er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, Week in, week out, from morn till night, You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, Like a sexton ringing the village bell, And children coming home from school They love to see the flaming forge, And catch the burning sparks that fly He goes on Sunday to the church, He hears the parson pray and preach, And it makes his heart rejoice. It sounds to him like her mother's voice, He needs must think of her once more, And with his hard, rough hand he wipes Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing, Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, EXCELSIOR. H. W. LONGFELLOW. THE shades of night were falling fast, His brow was sad; his eye beneath And like a silver clarion rung The accents of that unknown tongue, EXCELSIOR. In happy homes he saw the light Try not the Pass !" the old man said; "Oh, stay," the maiden said, "and rest A tear stood in his bright blue eye, "Beware the pine-tree's withered branch, This was the peasant's last Good-night : At break of day, as heavenward A traveller, by the faithful hound, There in the twilight cold and gray, 29 LODGINGS FOR SINGLE GENTLEMEN. GEORGE COLMAN. WHO has e'er been in London, that overgrown place, Has seen "Lodgings to Let" stare him full in the face; Some are good, and let dearly; while some, 'tis well known, Are so dear, and so bad they are best let alone. Will Waddle, whose temper was studious and lonely, He entered his rooms, and to bed he retreated, Next night 'twas the same, and the next, and the next; He perspired like an ox; he was nervous and vexed; Week passed after week, till, by weekly succession, His weakly condition was past all expression. In six months his acquaintance began much to doubt him; For his skin, "like a lady's loose gown," hung about him; He sent for a doctor, and cried like a ninny : "I have lost many pounds-make me well-there's a guinea." The doctor looked wise: "A slow fever," he said: Prescribed sudorifics and going to bed. "Sudorifics in bed," exclaimed Will, "are humbugs! I've enough of them there without paying for drugs!" |