I knew him by his dark blue eyes, And as he leaped ashore he sang A simple Scottish air, "There's nae place like our ain dear hame To be met wi' onywhere!" A SWINGING SONG. MERRY it is on a summer's day, Merry it is on a winter's night, To listen to tales of elf and sprite, green, Down with the hoop upon the Off with the bonnet, off with the hat! Away we go like birds on the wing! Higher yet! higher yet! "Now for the King!' Scarcely the bough bends, Claude is so light, "A pear for the Queen-an apple for the King!” we swing! THE YOUNG MOURNER. LEAVING her sports, in pensive tone, 'I can remember she was fair; And how she kindly looked and smiled, When she would fondly stroke my hair, And call me her beloved child. "Before my mother went away, And be our merriest playmate too "Father, I can remember when And her pale, hollow cheek; and then "And the next morn they did not speak, "Oh, then I thought how she was kind, My own beloved and gentle mother! And calling all I knew to mind, I thought there ne'er was such another! "Poor little Charles, and I! that day But we could neither read nor play, "I wish my mother had not died, We never have been glad since then! They say, and is it true," she cried, "That she can never come again?' The father checked his tears, and thus He spake, "My child, they do not err, Who say she cannot come to us; But you and I may go to her. "Remember your dear mother still, And the pure precepts she has given; Like her, be humble, free from ill, And you shall see her face in heaven!" THE SOLDIER'S STORY. HEAVEN bless the boys!" the old man said, "I hear their distant drumming, Young Arthur Bruce is at their head, And down the street they're coming. "And a very noble standard too By the faith of an old soldier, he A glow of pride passed o'er his cheek, “Hurra, hurra! my gallant men!" "It seems to me but yesterday And now my years are seventy-two, They made a halt, those merry boys, And "Tell us now some story wild "Of battle and of victory Tell us some stirring thing! The old man raised his arm aloft, And cried, "God save the King "A soldier's is a life of fame, They write his wars in printed books, "And if you'd hear a story wild, I am the man to tell such tales, "In every quarter of the globe "But the bloodiest wars, and fiercest too, Were those in which my strength was spent, "And oh! what a fearful, deadly clime Is that of the Indian land, Where the burning sun shines fiercely down "The life of man seems little worth, And his arm hath little power; His very soul within him dies, "Yet spite of this, was India made As for a kingly throne; There gold is plentiful as dust, As sand the diamond stone; |