He passed his hours in peace. But while he viewed his wealth increase, While thus along life's dusty road The beaten track content he trod, Old Time, whose haste no mortal spares, Uncalled, unheeded, unawares, Brought on his eightieth year. The unwelcome messenger of Fate Half killed with anger and surprise, "So soon returned!" Old Dodson cries. "So soon, d' ye call it!" Death replies; "Surely, my friend, you 're but in jest! Since I was here before "T is six-and-thirty years at least, And you are now fourscore." "So much the worse," the clown rejoined; "To spare the aged would be kind: However, see your search be legal; And your authority, -is 't regal? Else you are come on a fool's errand, With but a secretary's warrant. Beside, you promised me three warnings, Which I have looked for nights and mornings; But for that loss of time and ease "I know," cries Death, "that at the I seldom am a welcome guest; "Hold," says the farmer, "not so fast! I have been lame these four years past.' "And no great wonder," Death replies : "However, you still keep your eyes; And sure to see one's loves and friends For legs and arms would make amends." "Perhaps," says Dodson, "so it might, But latterly I've lost my sight." "This is a shocking tale, 't is true; "There's none," cries he; and if there were, I'm grown so deaf, I could not hear." "Nay, then," the spectre stern re joined, "These are unjustifiable yearnings: So come along, no more we 'll part." ANNA L. BARBAULD. [1743-1825.] THE SABBATH OF THE SOUL. SLEEP, sleep to-day, tormenting cares, Of earth and folly born; Ye shall not dim the light that streams To-morrow will be time enough Sleep, sleep forever, guilty thoughts; THE DEATH OF THE VIRTUOUS. SWEET is the scene when virtue dies! When sinks a righteous soul to rest, How mildly beam the closing eyes, How gently heaves the expiring breast! So fades a summer cloud away, So sinks the gale when storms are o'er, So gently shuts the eye of day, So dies a wave along the shore. Triumphant smiles the victor brow, Fanned by some angel's purple wing;Where is, O grave! thy victory now? And where, insidious death! thy sting? Farewell, conflicting joys and fears, Where light and shade alternate dwell! WHAT ails this heart o' mine? What ails this watery ee? Thou 'lt dearer grow to me; When I gae out at e'en, Or walk at morning air, And live aneath the tree, I'll hie me to the bower That thou wi' roses tied, JOHN LOGAN. [1748-1788.] TO THE CUCKOO. HAIL, beauteous stranger of the grove! What time the daisy decks the green, Delightful visitant! with thee And hear the sound of music sweet The school-boy, wandering through the wood To pull the primrose gay, Starts, the new voice of spring to hear, And imitates thy lay. What time the pea puts on the bloom, An annual guest in other lands, Sweet bird! thy bower is ever green, No winter in thy year! O, could I fly, I'd fly with thee! YARROW STREAM. THY banks were bonnie, Yarrow stream, My kurtch I put upo' my head, UNKNOWN. GLENLOGIE. THREESCORE o' nobles rade up the king's ha', But bonnie Glenlogie's the flower o' them a', Wi' his milk-white steed and his bonnie black e'e, The next line that he read, the tear blindit his e'e; But the last line that he read, he gart the table flee. "Gar saddle the black horse, gar saddle the brown; Gar saddle the swiftest steed e'er rade frae a town": But lang ere the horse was drawn and brought to the green, O, bonnie Glenlogie was twa mile his lane. When he came to Glenfeldy's door, little mirth was there; Bonnie Jean's mother was tearing her hair. "Ye're welcome, Glenlogie, ye 're welcome," said she, "Ye 're welcome, Glenlogie, your Jeanie to see." "Glenlogie, dear mither, Glenlogie for Pale and wan was she, when Glenlogie |