"TIS Sabbath-day, the poor man walks
Blithe from his cottage door,
And to his prattling young ones talks
As they skip on before.

The father is a man of joy,

From his week's toil released;

And jocund is each little boy
To see his father pleased.

But, looking to a field at hand,

Where the grass grows rich and high,

A no less merry Sabbath band

Of horses met my eye.

Poor skinny beasts! that go all week
With loads of earth and stones,
Bearing, with aspect dull and meek,
Hard work and cudgell'd bones;

But now let loose to roam athwart
The farmer's clover lea,

With whisking tails, and jump and snort,
They speak a clumsy glee.

Lolling across each other's necks,
Some look like brothers dear;
Others are full of flings and kicks,
Antics uncouth and queer.

One tumbles wild from side to side,
With hoofs tossed to the sun,
Cooling his old gray seamy hide,
And making dreadful fun.

I thought how pleasant 'twas to see,
On this bright Sabbath-day,
Man and his beasts alike set free
To take some harmless play;

And how their joys were near the same-
The same in show at least-
Hinting that we may sometimes claim
Too much above the beast.

If like in joys, beasts surely must
Be like in sufferings too,
And we can not be right or just,
To treat them as we do.

Thus did God's day serve as a span
All things to bind together,
And make the humble brute to man
A patient pleading brother.

Oh, if to us one precious thing,
And not to them, is given,
Kindness to them will be a wing

To carry it on to heaven!-R. CHAMBERS.

TO A YOUNG ASS.

(ITS MOTHER BEING TETHERED NEAR IT.)

Poor little foal of an oppressed race!
I love the languid patience of thy face:
And oft with gentle hand I give thee bread,
And clap thy ragged coat and pat thy head.
But what thy dulled spirits hath dismayed,
That never thou dost sport along the glade?
And (most unlike the nature of things young)
That earthward still thy moveless head is hung?
Do thy prophetic fears anticipate,

Meek child of misery! thy future fate?
The starving meal, and all the thousand aches
"Which patient merit of the unworthy takes?"
Or is thy sad heart filled with pain

To see thy wretched mother's shortened chain?
And truly very piteous is her lot,

Chained to a log within a narrow spot,

Where the close-eaten grass is scarcely seen,
While sweet around her waves the tempting green
Poor ass! thy master should have learnt to show
Pity-best taught by fellowship of wo!

For much I fear me that he lives like thee,
Half famished in a land of luxury!

How askingly its footsteps hither bend!

It seems to say,

"And have I then one friend ?”.

Innocent foal! thou poor despised forlorn!
I hail thee brother, spite of the fool's scorn!
And fain would take thee with me, in the dell
Of peace and mild equality to dwell,

Where toil shall call the charmer health his bride,

And laughter tickle plenty's ribless side!
How thou wouldst toss thy heels in gamesome play,
And frisk about as lamb or kitten gay!
Yea, and more musically sweet to me
Thy dissonant harsh bray of joy would be,
Than warbled melodies that soothe to rest
The aching of pale fashion's vacant breast!

COLERIDGE.

ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S ADDRESS TO HIS DOG

HECTOR.

COME, my auld towzy,* trusty friend,
What gars ye look sae dung wi' wae ?t
D'ye think my favour 's at an end,
Because thy head is turnin' gray?
Although thy strength begins to fail,
Its best was spent in serving me;
And can I grudge thy wee bit meal,
Some comfort in thy age to gi'e?

For mony a day, frae sun to sun,

We've toiled fu' hard wi' ane anither;
And mony a thousand mile thou'st run,
To keep my thraward flocks thegither.

O'er past imprudence, oft alane

I've shed the saut and silent tear;
Then sharin' a' my grief and pain,
My poor auld friend came snoovin'Ţ near

For a' the days we've sojourned here,
And they've been neither fine nor few,
That thought possest thee year to year,
That a' my griefs arose frae you.

* Shaggy + Dejected with wo. + Poking.

Wi' waesome face and hingin' head,

Thou wad'st hae pressed thee to my knee;
While I thy looks as weel could read,
As thou hadst said in words to me-

"Oh, my dear master, dinna greet;
What hae I ever done to vex thee?
See, here I'm cowrin' at your feet;
Just take my life if I perplex thee.
For a' my toil, my wee drap meat
Is a' the wage I ask of thee,
For whilk I'm oft obliged to wait
Wi' hungry wame and patient e’e.

Whatever wayward course ye steer,
Whatever sad mischance o'ertake ye,
Man, here is ane will hald ye dear!

Man, here is ane will ne'er forsake ye!"

Yes, my puir beast, though friends me scorn,
Whom mair than life I valued dear,
And thraw me out to fight forlorn,
Wi' ills my heart do hardly bear,

While I hae thee to bear a part

My health, my plaid, and heezel rung*-
I'll scorn the unfeeling haughty heart,
The saucy look and slanderous tongue.

Some friends, by pop'lar envy swayed,
Are ten times waur than ony fae!
My heart was theirs, and to them laid
As open as the light o' day.

I feared my ain; but had nae dread
That I for loss o' theirs should mourn:
Or that when luck and favour fled,
Their friendship wad injurious turn.

* Hazel staff.