'Whose fine estate is that there here?'
'State! Je vous n'entends pas, Monsieur.'
6 His? what, the land and houses too?
The fellow's richer than a Jew:
On everything he lays his claw!
I should like to dine with Nongtongpaw.'
Next tripping came a courtly fair,
John cried, enchanted with her air,
What lovely wench is that there here?'
'Ventch! Je vous n'entends pas, Monsieur.'
'What, he again? Upon my life!
A palace, lands, and then a wife
Sir Joshua might delight to draw:
I should like to sup with Nongtongpaw.
'But hold! whose funeral's that?' cries John. ·
'Je vous n'entends pas.'—' What, is he gone?
Wealth, fame, and beauty could not save
Poor Nongtongpaw then from the grave!
His race is run, his game is up,—
I'd with him breakfast, dine and sup;
But since he chooses to withdraw,
Good night t' ye, Mounseer Nongtongpaw!'
On the green banks of Shannon when Sheelah was nigh,
No blithe Irish lad was so happy as I ;
No harp like my own could so cheerily play,
And wherever I went was my poor dog Tray.
When at last I was forced from my Sheelah to part, She said, (while the sorrow was big at her heart,) Oh! remember your Sheelah when far, far away : And be kind, my dear Pat, to our poor dog Tray.
Poor dog! he was faithful and kind to be sure,
And he constantly loved me although I was poor;
When the sour-looking folk sent me heartless away,
I had always a friend in my poor dog Tray.
When the road was so dark, and the night was so cold,
And Pat and his dog were grown weary and old,
How snugly we slept in my old coat of grey,
And he lick'd me for kindness—my old dog Tray.
Though my wallet was scant I remember'd his case,
Nor refused my last crust to his pitiful face;
But he died at my feet on a cold winter day,
And I play'd a sad lament for my poor dog Tray.
Where now shall I go, poor, forsaken, and blind?
Can I find one to guide me, so faithful and kind?
To my sweet native village, so far, far away,
I can never more return with my poor dog Tray.
T. Campbell
The greenhouse is my summer seat;
My shrubs, displaced from that retreat,
Enjoy'd the open air;
Two goldfinches whose sprightly song
Had been their mutual solace long,
Lived happy prisoners there.
They sang as blithe as finches sing
That flutter loose on golden wing,
And frolic where they list;
Strangers to liberty, 'tis true,
But that delight they never knew,
And therefore never miss'd.
But nature works in every breast,
With force not easily suppress'd;
And Dick felt some desires,
That, after many an effort vain,
Instructed him at length to gain
A pass between the wires.
The open windows seem'd to invite
The freeman to a farewell flight;
But Tom was still confin'd;
And Dick, although his way was clear,
Was much too generous and sincere
To leave his friend behind.
So, settling on his cage, by play,
And chirp, and kiss, he seem'd to say,
You must not live alone-
Nor would he quit that chosen stand,
Till I, with slow and cautious hand,
Return'd him to his own.
A chieftain to the Highlands bound
Cries, 'Boatman, do not tarry!
And I'll give thee a silver pound
To row us o'er the ferry.'
'Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle, This dark and stormy water?'
'O, I'm the chief of Ulva's isle, And this Lord Ullin's daughter.
'And fast before her father's men.
Three days we've fled together,
For should he find us in the glen,
My blood would stain the heather.
'His horsemen hard behind us ride;
Should they our steps discover,
Then who will cheer my bonny bride
When they have slain her lover?'
Out spoke the hardy Highland wight,
'I'll go, my chief, I'm ready;
It is not for your silver bright;
But for your winsome lady :
'And by my word! the bonny bird In danger shall not tarry :
So though the waves are raging white, I'll row you o'er the ferry.'
By this the storm grew loud apace,
The water-wraith was shrieking;
And in the scowl of Heaven each face
Grew dark as they were speaking.
But still as wilder blew the wind,
And as the night grew drearer,
Adown the glen rode armed men,
Their trampling sounded nearer.
'O haste thee, haste!' the lady cries,
'Though tempests round us gather;
I'll meet the raging of the skies,
But not an angry father.'
The boat has left the stormy land,
A stormy sea before her,-
When, oh! too strong for human hand
The tempest gathered o'er her.
And still they row'd amidst the roar
Of waters fast prevailing :
Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore ;
His wrath was changed to wailing.
For, sore dismay'd, through storm and shade His child he did discover:
One lovely hand she stretch'd for aid,
And one was round her lover.
'Come back! come back!' he cried in grief,
'Across this stormy water:
And I'll forgive your Highland chief,
My daughter oh, my daughter!'
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