Vultures with instinct rare, Still a safe watch he keeps, When thrice the moonbeams rise, Down, down he sinks, and dies, Eager for reeking food, Swoop down the cursèd brood, ANON. THE HOMES OF ENGLAND. THE stately homes of England! O'er all the pleasant land! The deer across their greensward bound And the swan glides by them with the sound The merry homes of England! Around their hearths, by night, What gladsome looks of household love Meet in the ruddy light! The blessed homes of England! How softly on their bowers Is laid the holy quietness That breathes from Sabbath hours! The cottage homes of England! They are smiling o'er the silvery brooks, The free, fair homes of England! And bright the flowery sod, Where first the child's glad spirit loves HEMANS. WHO IS MY NEIGHBOUR? THY neighbour? It is he whom thou Thy neighbour? 'Tis the fainting poor, Thy neighbour? 'Tis that weary man, Bent low with sickness, cares, and pain; Go thou and succour him. Thy neighbour? "Tis the heart bereft Of every earthly gem; Widow and orphan, helpless left ; Go thou and shelter them. Thy neighbour? Yonder toiling slave, Whose hopes are all beyond the grave;- Whene'er thou meet'st a human form Oh, pass not, pass not heedless by ; ANON. A MOTHER'S RECOMPENSE. WHAT can a mother's heart repay, For watchful night and weary day And anxious tears?— To see her dear ones tread the earth What can a mother's heart repay For later care,— For words that heavenward point the way, To watch her little pilgrims press This will a mother's heart repay, Amidst life's doubtful battle-fray, All of true happiness we know, Mother, to thy dear self we owe." REV. W. CALVERT. FIDELITY. A BARKING Sound the shepherd hears, He halts, and searches with his eye And now at distance can discern The dog is not of mountain breed; With something, as the shepherd thinks, Nor is there any one in sight All round, in hollow or on height; Nor shout nor whistle strikes his ear What is the creature doing here? It was a cove, a huge recess, That keeps, till June, December's snow; A lofty precipice in front, A silent tarn below; Far in the bosom of Helvellyn, Remote from public road or dwelling, Pathway, or cultivated land; From trace of human foot or hand. There sometimes doth a leaping fish Thither the rainbow comes, the cloud 1 Not free from boding thoughts, a while Nor far had gone before he found From those abrupt and perilous rocks He instantly recalled the name, And who he was, and whence he came : On which the traveller passed that way. But here a wonder, for whose sake A lasting monument of words This wonder merits well: The dog which still was hovering nigh, Repeating the same timid cry, This dog, had been, through three months' space, A dweller in that savage place! Yes, proof was plain that since the day When this ill-fated traveller died, The dog had watched about the spot, Or by his master's side: How nourished there through that long time, He knows who gave that love sublime; And gave that strength of feeling great, WORDSWORTH. |