I would not be idle, like some wicked boys,
So I got me a basket with trinkets and toys;
Nobody was e'er more industrious than I,
Nobody more willing to sell if you'll buy.

I've Bonaparte's life, and adventures, and birth,
And histories of all the great men of the earth:
Enigmas, and riddles, and stories complete :
Come buy them, dear ladies, a penny a sheet.

Here's cottons, and bobbins, and laces so white,
And thimbles, and scissars, well polished and bright:
Fine pictures of Frenchmen, and Tartar, and Swede;
And Darton's gay books for good children to read.

I've all the debates in the parliament made,
On sinecures, pensions, and taxes new laid:
Accounts of the battles by land and by sea,

That were fought in one thousand eight hundred and three.

In summer, gay flowers and nosegays I sell,
Sweet-cowslips, and roses, and jasmines to smell:

Water cresses for breakfast, fresh gathered and green,
From bad weeds and hemlock picked careful and clean.

But alas! 'tis in vain that I mournfully cry,
And hold out my basket to all who pass by;
I fancy they're thinking of other affairs;
For they seem not to notice or me or my wares.

I would get me a place that was decent and clean,
Though in a capacity ever so mean;

But nobody credits a word that I say,

For they call me a vagrant, and turn me away.

In the evening I wander, all hungry and cold,

And the bright Christmas fires through the windows behold:
Ah, while the gay circles such comforts enjoy,
They think not of me, a poor perishing boy!

Oh had I a coat, if 'twere ever so old,

This poor trembling body to screen from the cold;
Or a hat from the weather to shelter my head;
Or an old pair of shoes, or a morsel of bread!

'Tis almost a fortnight since I've tasted meat;
Pray give a poor creature a mouthful to eat;
And while you in plenty all comforts enjoy,
Oh think upon me, a poor perishing boy.

LINES WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM.

HE FASHIONETH THEIR HEARTS ALIKE."

A WISH, fair friend, you late expressed,
-A modest wish, to know

The thoughts that in another's breast
Were passing to and fro.

"Tis little worth, I own, to say;

But Grace commands, and I obey.

So much we may :

-no more we dare,

Friends, and yet strangers, as we are.

When wood and vale, and light and shade,

Lay varied late to view,

When sunbeams on the waters played,

And heaven was bright and blue,

We felt; - but what we felt, and why,

Did fancy dare indulge that day
In sport she loves so well?
Did fairies dance, did zephyrs play,
In every sylvan dell —

Then vanish all reduced to nought,

Touched by the wand of sober thought?

Did pensive musings of the past,
When other skies were bright,
Their momentary shadows cast

O'er hills, and hearts, so light? -
It might be so perhaps with some,
While others glanced at joys to come.

Did lovely nature thus employ
Her magic o'er the mind-

Awaking gladness, sadness, joy,

By turns, or all combined;

Till eye to eye could best impart

The thrill that went from heart to heart?

Thus while the buoyant spirits flow,

How soft the moments glide!

But tell me, tell me, if you know,

Their far-receding tide!

From hence at least you may perceive What flat and dreary sands they leave.

Then life looks cheerless, does it not?
Not yet, perhaps, to you,
Who see it from a different spot,

And gain a fairer view;

Then ask not if 'tis smooth or rough;
For time will tell you soon enough.

But O, forgive the dark presage
That shades too oft my sight;

Turn quickly to a fairer page,
And read in lines of light-

(Most bright when life has lost its zest) That word of cheer-" There is a rest."

Hull, June 29, 1821.