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THE SOLDIER'S HOME. appeared threshold o'erpowering thrice possession initials almanacs steadfast bombed struggled undulating hideous partridge substitute

clarion brilliant exquisite quagmire

weapon approached

My untried Muse shall no high tone assume,
Nór strut in arms-farewell my cap and plume !
Brief be my verse, a task within my power ;
I tell my feelings in one happy hour:
But what an hour was that! when from the main
I reached this lovely valley once again!
A glorious harvest filled my eager sight,
Half shocked, half waving in a flood of light;
On that poor cottage roof where I was born,
The sun looked down as in life's early morn.
I gazed around, but not a soul appeared;
I listened on the threshold, nothing heard;
I called

my

father thrice, but no one came;
It was not fear or grief that shook my frame,
But an o'erpowering sense of peace and home,
Of toils gone by, perhaps of joys to come.
The door invitingly stood open wide;
I shook my dust, and set my staff aside.

How sweet it was to breathe that cooler air,
And take possession of my father's chair!
Beneath my elbow on the solid frame,
Appeared the rough initials of my name,
Cut forty years before! The same old clock
Struck the same bell, and gave my heart a shock
I never can forget. A short breeze sprung
And while a sigh was trembling on my tongue,
Caught the old dangling almanacs behind,

And up they flew like banners in the wind;
Then gently, singly, down, down, down, they went,
And told of twenty years that I had spent
Far from my native land. That instant came
A robin on the threshold; though so tame,
At first he stood distrustful, almost shy,
And cast on me his coal-black steadfast eye,
And seemed to say (past friendship to renew)
Ah, ha ! old worn-out soldier, is it you ?'
Through the room ranged the imprisoned humble bee,
And bombed, and bounced, and struggled to be free;
Dashed against the panes with sudden roar,
That threw their diamond sunlight on the floor;
That floor, clean sanded where my fancy strayed,
O’er undulating waves the broom had made;
Reminding me of those of hideous forms
That met us as we passed the cape of storms,
Where high and loud they break, and peace comes

never; They roll and foam, and roll and foam for ever. But here was peace,

which home can yield; The grasshopper, the partridge in the field, And ticking clock, were all at once become The substitute for clarion, fife, and drum. While thus I mused, still gazing, gazing still, On beds of moss that spread the window sill, I deemed no moss my eyes had ever seen Had been so lovely, brilliant, fresh, and green, And guessed some infant hand had placed it there, And prized its hue, so exquisite, so rare. Feelings on feelings mingling, doubling rose; My heart felt everything but calm repose; I could not reckon minutes, hours, nor years, But rose at once, and bursting into tears; But like a fool, confused, sat down again,

that peace

And thought upon the past with shame and pair ;
I raved at war and all its horrid cost,
And glory's quagmire, where the brave are lost.
On carnage, fire, and plunder long I mused,
And cursed the murdering weapons I had used.

Two shadows then I saw, two voices heard,
One bespoke age, and one a child's appeared.
In stepped my father with convulsive start,
And in an instant clasped me to his heart.
Close by him stood a little blue-eyed maid ;
And stepping to the child the old man said,
• Come hither, Nancy, kiss me once again,
This is your uncle Charles, come home from Spain.'
The child approached, and with her fingers light
Stroked my poor eyes, almost deprived of sight,
But why thus spin my tale-thus tedious be ?
Happy old soldier! what's the world to me!

BLOOMFIELD.

THE HARE. unusual favourite numerous outstripped entangle preferred following opposite

“ Last Wednesday night, while we were at supper, between the hours of eight and nine, I heard an unusual in the back parlour, as if one of the hares were entangled and trying to disentangle herself. I was just going to rise from the table, when it ceased. In about five minutes, a voice on the outside of the parlour-door inquired if one of my hares had got away. I at once rushed into the next room, and found that my poor favourite puss had made her escape. She had gnawed in sunder the strings of a lattice-work, with which, I thought, I had secured the window, and which

B

I preferred to any other kind of blind, because it admitted plenty of air.

“From thence I hastened to the kitchen, when I saw some one who told me, that having seen her, just after she had dropped into the street, he attempted to cover her with his hat, but screamed out, and she leapt directly over his head. I then desired him to pursue as fast as possible, not expecting to see her again, but desirous to learn, if possible, what became of her.

“In something less than an hour, Richard returned, almost breathless, with the following account:-That soon after he began to run he came in sight of a most numerous hunt, of men, women, children, and dogs; that he did his best to keep back the dogs, and presently outstripped the crowd, so that the race was, at last, disputed between himself and puss-she ran right through the town, and down the lane that leads to the town. A little before she came to house he got the start and turned her; she pushed for the town again, and soon after she entered it, sought shelter in a tan-yard. Some harvest-men were at supper, and saw her from the opposite side of the way. Then she came to the tan-pits full of water, and while she was struggling out of one pit and plunging into another, and almost drowned, one of the men drew her out by the ears and secured her. She was the well washed in a bucket, to get the lime out of her coat, and brought home at ten o'clock.

“This frolic cost us four shillings, but you may be sure we did not grudge a farthing of it. The poor creature received only a little hurt in one of her claws, and in one of her ears, and is now almost as well as ever."

COWPER.

yearn

THE ARAB'S FAREWELL TO HIS STEED. beautiful impatient brilliant indignant

mirage wreaths curbed My beautiful! my beautiful! that standest meekly by, With thy proudly arched and glossy neck, and dark

and fiery eye; Fret not to roam the desert now with all thy winged

speed, I may not mount on then again,—thou’rt sold, my

Arab steed! Fret not with that impatient hoof-snuff not the

breezy wind; The further that thou fliest now, so far am I behind : The stranger hath thy bridle rein—thy master hath

his goldFleet limbed and beautiful, farewell! thou’rt sold,

my steed—thou’rt sold !

Farewell! those free untired limbs full many a mile

must roam,

To reach the chill and wintry sky which clouds the

stranger's home; Some other hand, less fond, must now thy corn and bread

prepare; The silky mane I braided once must be another's

care! The morning yet shall dawn again, but never more

with thee Shall I gallop through the desert paths, where we

were wont to be : Evening shall darken on the earth; and o'er the

sandy plain Some other steed, with slower step, shall bear me

home again.

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