Christian and countryman was all with | But came not there, for sudden was his denied) That in yon house for ruined age provide, And they are just; when young, we give you all, And then for comforts in our weakness call. Why then this proud reluctance to be fed, To join your poor and eat the parishbread? But yet I linger, loath with him to feed Who gains his plenty by the sons of need: He who, by contract, all your paupers took, And gauges stomachs with an anxious look: On some old master I could well depend; See him with joy and thank him as a friend; But ill on him who doles the day's supply, And counts our chances who at night may die : Yet help me, Heaven! and let me not complain Of what befalls me, but the fate sustain." Such were his thoughts, and so resigned he grew; Daily he placed the work house in his view! fate, He dropt expiring at his cottage-gate. Round the bald polish of that honored head; No more that awful glance on playful wight Compelled to kneel and tremble at the sight, To fold his fingers all in dread the while, Till Mister Ashford softened to a smile; No more that meek and suppliant look in prayer, Nor the pure faith (to give it force) are there: .. But he is blest, and I lament no more, A wise good man contented to be poor. SAMUEL ROGERS. [1763-1855.] A WISH. MINE be a cot beside the hill; The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch Around my ivied porch shall spring Where first our marriage-vows were given, ITALIAN SONG. DEAR is my little native vale, The squirrel leaps from tree to tree, In orange groves and myrtle bowers, The shepherd's horn at break of day, Yestreen when to the trembling string The dance gaed through the lighted ha', To thee my fancy took its wing, I sat, but neither heard nor saw. O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace ROBERT BURNS. [1759-1796.] OF A' THE AIRTS THE WIND CAN BLAW. OF a' the airts the wind can blaw, For there the bonnie lassie lives, The lassie I lo'e best. There wild woods grow, and rivers row, I see her in the dewy flowers, I hear her in the tunefu' birds, By fountain, shaw, or green,- MARY MORISON. O MARY, at thy window be ! It is the wished, the trysted hour! Those smiles and glances let me see, That make the miser's treasure poor: How blithely wad I bide the stoure, A weary slave frae sun to sun, Could I the rich reward secure, The lovely Mary Morison. HIGHLAND MARY. YE banks and braes and streams around Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, For there I took the last fareweel How sweetly bloomed the gay green birk, Wi' monie a vow and locked embrace O pale, pale now, those rosy lips aft hae kissed sae fondly! And closed for aye the sparkling glance That dwelt on me sae kindly! And mouldering now in silent dust That heart that lo'ed me dearly! But still within my bosom's core Shall live my Highland Mary. |