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Along those banks my boyhood strayed,
Then would we wander all the day
My brothers bathed in yonder pool,
Where now the moorhen holds her rule
Then Harry clomb the topmost tree
No fish in pond or brook went free,
What autumn nuttings up the glen!
Is standing corn to-day.
Ah! now 'tis twice score years since both
Yet while we talked of distant days
But when we parted, trusting God,
And one beneath the wave.
There stands the school-how oft I drew
And then our dear old dame so wise
You'd think she had two pairs of eyes.
Beneath yon yew she sleepeth well,
And stranger lips must teach to spell
Now some trim mistress fresh from school
Sufficient for the simple heart,
That simple code of yore,
But they who play the modern part
And there's the Sexton, rare old man,
And should thy grim task-master come
Though quick to help thy neighbours home,
But when God takes me, fain would I
Be laid in earth by thee,
And may no village upstart try
The vicar too 'bides with us yet,
'Twas he that marked the cross of truth
Upon my infant brow;
And his the lips that taught my youth
My dying father blessed his name,
It cannot be our time is long,
Oh golden past, I dare not ask
The present is not wholly vain,
Nor future wholly dark,
And though mine eyes are dim, I strain Still forward to the Ark.
Our time is short, God's rest is sure,
It hath its own reward.
Then let the stream run by my door
"Tis dearer for these thoughts of yore,
A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE.
JOHN GEORGE WATTS.
[Mr. Watts is the author of two small volumes of poetry, Clare, the Good Seeker," and "Fun, Feeling, and Fancy." As an entirely self-taught man, his productions may be characterized as remarkable; and he adds another instance to those of Gerald Massey and Edward Capern, that the present race of really working-men are as capable of advancing into the ranks of the literati as, in a past generation, were the Bloomfields and Clare's. Mr. Watts has studied Thackeray's comic vein, in his Punch poetry, to some purpose, as our extract, which is worthy of the great humourist himself, will prove.]
ONCE at Hygate lived a fam❜ly,
But for this unknown to fame,
Mr. Wilyam Bunks, Ersquier,
Tomas Brown 'ad bushee viskers,
W'en he got behind the karridge,
Slender ousemaids' eyes would glissen
But this footman node his manners,
Seem'd a gen'l'man born and bred, And from kooks, and 'ouse, and nus-maids Allvays turned avay his 'ed.
Mister Bunks he 'ad a doorter,
She wos werry short in stature,
One day Tomas Brown the footman,
Vos it, vos it haxidental ?
Vos it 'cos she feared a fall?
No!- the side vay
Plainly told him—not at all.
How his buzzum flitter fluttered,
W'en he carried in the dinner
She vos oppersite the door; And another look she guv him, Jest as she had dun afore.
That there look it made him tremble