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Thou’rt welcome to the town—but why come here
To bleed a brother poet, gaunt like thee? Alas! the little blood I have is dear,
And thin will be the banquet drawn from me. Look round—the pale-eyed sisters in my cell, Thy old acquaintance, Song and Famine, dwell. Try some plump alderman, and suck the blood
Enriched by generous wine and costly meat; On well-filled skins, sleek as thy native mud,
Fix thy light pump and press thy freckled feet: Go to the men for whom, in ocean's hall, The oyster breeds, and the green turtles sprawl. There corks are drawn, and the red vintage flows
To fill the swelling veins for thee, and now The ruddy cheek, and now the ruddier nose,
Shall tempt thee, as thou flittest round the brow; And when the hour of sleep its quiet brings, No angry
hand shall rise to brush thy wings.
THE SAILOR'S LASSIE; OR, THE PRESS-GANG.
Oh! wae be to the ship, the ship,
And wae be to the sea,
That forced my luve frae me.
And sapphire blue his 'ee,
In a' the north countrie.
Full mony a time my
luve and I
As it did come and gae,
And I ha' mony a bonnie shell
He picked frae aff the strand; I would na part wi' ane o' them
For the wealth of a' Scotland.
For there it was my ain dear luve
Did plight his troth to me, And there the cruel mariners
Did force him o'er the sea.
Accursed be those mariners,
An ill death may they dee, For sundering twa gentle hearts
That loved sae tenderlie!
Oh! would that a' the sighs I've sighed
Could blaw his ship to land;
Could float it to the strand.
For sad is now my voice sae gay,
And dim my ee sae bright, And heavy, heavy is my heart,
That used to be sae light.
Faded and hollow is my cheek
That used sae red to be,
That waved abune mine 'ee.
And worn and wasted is the form
He used to ca' sae fair,
And cankered by despair.
For in the lang, lang winter nights,
When the wind is blawing loud, And when the blazing lightning
Bursts the dark womb of the cloud,
And the wild sea bird strains her wing
The sheltering cliffs to gain,
By the dark and stormy main ;
Upon my bended knees,
The waters can appease,
Frae rocks and dangers free,
TWO LOVES AND A LIFE.
(FOUNDED ON THE DRAMA OF THAT NAME BY MESSRS. TOM
TAYLOR AND CHARLES READE.)
To the scaffold's foot she came :
She had heard her lover's doom,
I will save him," she had said.
To the scaffold now she came, On her lips there rose his name, Rose, and yet in silence died, Annie nestled by his side. Over Annie's face he bent, Round her waist his fingers went; • Wife” he called her-called her li wife !" Simple word to cost a life! In Ruth's breast the pardon lay; But she coldly turned away :“He has sealed his traitor fate, I can love, and I can hate." “ Annie is his wife,” they said. “Be it wife, then, to the dead; Since the dying she will mate: I can love, and I can hate!" " What their sin ? They do but love; Let this thought thy bosom move." Came the jealous answer straight,— “I can love, and I car hate!" “ Mercy !” still they cried. But she: “ Who has mercy upon me ? Who? My life is desolateI can love, and I can hate!” From the scaffold stairs she went, Shouts the noonday silence rent, All the air was quick with cries," See the traitor !
he dies ! Back she looked, with stifled scream, Saw the axe upswinging gleam : All her woman's anger died, “From the king!" she faintly cried"From the king His name-behold ! Quick the parchment she unroll’d:
Paused the axe in upward swing-
(By permission. From " London Society.")
ABOU BEN ADHEM AND THE ANGEL.
LEIGH HUNT. 1 John iii. 14. We know that we have passed from death unto
life, because we love the brethren. He that loveth not his brother abideth in death. ABOU BEN ADHEM (may his tribe increase) Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, And saw, within the moonlight in his room, Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom, An angel, writing in a book of gold Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, And to the presence in the room he said, “What writest thou ?”—The vision raised its head, And, with a look made of all sweet accord, Answered, “ The names of those who love the Lord." " And is mine one ?" said Abou. “Nay, not so," Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low, But cheerly still; and said, “ I pray thee, then, Write me as one that loves his fellow-men."
The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night It came again with a great wakening light, And showed the names whom love of God had blessed, And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.