Till thou wilt gather roses white, One jerk, and there a lady lay, A lady wondrous fair; But the rose of her lip had faded away, Ah, ha!" said the fisher, in merry guise, And the abbot heaved some piteous sighs, There was turning of keys, and creaking of locks, A minstrel's harp, and a miser's chest, Tomes of heresy, loaded dice, And golden cups of the brightest wine That ever was pressed from the Burgundy vine. As he came at last to a bishop's mitre! As the fisherman armed his golden hook; On the scaffold his country's vengeance raises, When the lips are cracked, and the jaws are dry, As the swaling wherry settles down, When peril has numbed the sense and will, Though the hand and the foot may struggle still : Deeper far was the abbot's trance: He bent no knee, and he breathed no prayer; There was turning of keys, and creaking of locks, "Oh, ho! Oh, ho! The cock doth crow; It is time for the fisher to rise and go. Fair luck to the abbot, fair luck to the shrine ! He hath knawed in twain my choicest line; Let him swim to the north, let him swim to the south, The abbot had preached for many years, As ever was heard in the House of Peers, His words had made battalions quake, Had roused the zeal of martyrs; He kept the Court an hour awake, And the king himself three-quarters : But ever, from that hour, 't is said, He stammered and he stuttered, As if an axe went through his head, He stuttered o'er blessing, he stuttered o'er ban, And none but he and the fisherman, Could tell the reason why! Friendship's Offering. AUTUMN. BY JOHN KEATS. SEASON of mist and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom friend of the maturing sun, Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run; And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; Who hath not seen thee oft amidst thy store! Thy hair soft lifted by the winnowing wind; Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Or by a cyder press, with patient look, Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours. Where are the songs of spring? Ay, where are they? Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies! And full brown lambs bleat loud from hilly bourn; Hedge crickets sing; and now, with treble soft, The redbreast whistles from a garden croft; And gathering swallows twitter in the skies! London Magazine. ERIN! his heart of truth At length is wholly thine, Was spent 'mid "smiles and wine;" And wept to see your lone hope lie So long in Pleasure's bower, fettered in flowery band. The wizard hand that framed, In death, that knew the spell. Beneath his wondrous hand From love to liberty! Oh! there be hearts (nor they the worst), Chains, then first with blushes worn; And eyes that darkly frowned, or lightened to a smile. Whether, by lonely stream, Or 'mid the trembling leaves, Of life, that smiles and grieves ; Whether the young, vain hope, that led By him, the sweetest minstrel, trod, And bless the greener rings his fairy feet have traced. Examiner. FRIENDS. BY JAMES MONTGOMERY, ESQ. FRIEND after friend departs ; Who hath not lost a friend? Beyond the flight of time,— Beyond the reign of death,— There is a world above Where parting is unknown! Formed for the good alone; Thus star by star declines Till all are past away; As morning high and higher shines To pure and perfect day : Nor sink those stars in empty night, But hide themselves in heaven's own light. Literary Souvenir. |