Imatges de pàgina
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O! can that soft and gentle mien
Extremes of hardship learn to bear,
Nor, sad, regret each courtly scene
Where thou wert fairest of the fair?
O Nancy! canst thou love so true,
Through perils keen with me to go,
Or when thy swain mishap shall rue,
To share with him the pang of woe?
Say, should disease or pain befall,

Wilt thou assume the nurse's care;
Nor wistful those gay scenes recall
Where thou wert fairest of the fair?
And when at last thy love shall die,
Wilt thou receive his parting breath?
Wilt thou repress each struggling sigh,

And cheer with smiles the bed of death?
And wilt thou o'er his breathless clay
Strew flowers and drop the tender tear?
Nor then regret those scenes so gay

Where thou wert fairest of the fair? *

* Burns says in reference to the above, "It is too barefaced to take Dr. Percy's charming song, and by means of transposing a few English words into Scots, to offer to pass it for a Scots song."-BURNS, Remarks on Scottish Songs and Ballads.

THERE IS NAE LUCK ABOUT THE HOUSE.

WILLIAM J. MICKLE.—1734-83.

[This well-known and favourite poem, although of Scotch origin and generally attributed, but with some little doubt, to William Mickle, is by its universal appreciation entitled to a place in an English collection. It often appears under the title of "The Sailor's Return;" but the more popular title is taken from its familiar refrain. The reputed author's works do not contain this poem; but Allan Cunningham, a good authority, considers that the evidence is in favour of its being Mickle's production, as it was found amongst his papers with corrections in his writing.]

AND are ye sure the news is true?

And are ye sure he's weel?

Is this a time to think o' wark?
Ye jades, lay by your wheel;

Is this the time to spin a thread,
When Colin's at the door?

Reach down my cloak, I'll to the quay,
And see him come ashore.

For there's nae luck about the house,
There's nae luck at a';

There's little pleasure in the house,

When our gudeman's awa'.

And gie to me my bigonet,
My bishop's satin gown;

For I maun tell the Baillie's wife
That Colin's in the town.
My Turkey slippers maun gae on,
My stockins pearly blue;
It's a' to pleasure our gudeman,
For he's baith leal and true.

Rise, lass, and mak a clean fireside,
Put on the muckle pot;

Gie little Kate her button gown

And Jock his Sunday coat;

And mak their shoon as black as slaes,
Their hose as white as snaw;
It's a' to please my ain gudeman,
For he's been long awa.

There's twa fat hens upo' the coop

Been fed this month and mair; Mak haste and thraw their necks about, That Colin weel may fare;

And spread the table neat and clean,

Gar ilka thing look braw,

For wha can tell how Colin fared

When he was far awa?

Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech,

His breath like caller air;

His very foot has music in't
As he comes up the stair-

And will I see his face again?
And will I hear him speak?
I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought,
In troth I'm like to greet!

If Colin's weel, and weel content,
I hae nae mair to crave:
And gin I live to keep him sae,
I'm blest aboon the lave:
And will I see his face again,
And will I hear him speak?
I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought,
In troth I'm like to greet.

For there's nae luck about the house,
There's nae luck at a';

There's little pleasure in the house,
When our gudeman's awa'.

MINSTREL'S SONG IN ELLA.

THOMAS CHATTERTON.-1752-70.

[Strictly speaking, no poetry by this author has attained the designation of favourite on its own merits; but his unparalleled early genius for poetry and his untimely fate give him a claim to rank in the position his career attained in public estimation and sympathy. He died by his own hand in his eighteenth year, leaving behind him evidences of talent that have never been surpassed at such an age. Malone, one of his critics, says of him, that "he is the greatest genius that England has produced since the time of Shakespeare." The second poem given affords an extraordinary indication of the variations of his temperament, and gives rise to a deep regret that their unfortunate author failed to retain the full exercise of his religious impressions. It has been well and touchingly remarked of his memory that posterity may be excused if, forgetting his faults in contemplation of his neglected state and sorrowful youth, it dwells only on his genius.]

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SING unto my roundelay;

O drop the briny tear with me;
Dance no more at holiday;

Like a running river be;

THE CHAMELEON.

BY JAMES MERRICK.-—1720 1766.

[ AT once amusing in verse and instructive in moral, this popular fable deserves a place in our volume; and although not of the highest character of poetry, yet it commends itself to selection by its old association with our school days and its favourite place in all Juvenile Speakers, its author, moreover, was a distinguished scholar. He took orders and became tutor to Lord North, but was obliged to abandon hope of preferment from delicate health. He is author of several hymns and a version of the Psalms. ]

FT has it been my lot to mark

OFT

A proud, conceited, talking spark,
With eyes that hardly served at most
To guard their master 'gainst a post:
Yet round the world the blade has been,
To see whatever could be seen.
Returning from his finished tour,
Grown ten times perter than before;
Whatever word you chance to drop,
The travelled fool your mouth will stop:
"Sir, if my judgment you'll allow--.
I've seen and sure I ought to know."
So begs you'd pay a due submission,
And acquiesce in his decision.

Two travellers of such a cast,
As o'er Arabia's wilds they passed,
And on their way, in friendly chat,
Now talked of this, and then of that;
Discoursed awhile, 'mongst other matter,
Of the Chameleon's form and nature.
"A stranger animal," cries one,
"Sure never lived beneath the sun!
A lizard's body lean and long,
A fish's head, a serpent's tongue,
Its foot with triple claw disjoined;
And what a length of tail behind!

How slow its pace! and then its hue-
Who ever saw so bright a blue?"
"Hold there," the other quick replies;
""Tis green--I saw it with these eyes,
As late with open mouth it lay,
And warmed it in the sunny ray;
Stretched at its ease, the beast I viewed,
And saw it eat the air for food."
"I've seen it, sir, as well as you,
And must again affirm it blue;
At leisure I the beast surveyed,
Extended in the cooling shade."
""Tis green, 'tis green, sir, I assure ye."
"Green!" cries the other in a fury;
"Why, sir, d'ye think I've lost my eyes?"
"Twere no great loss," the friend replies;
"For if they always serve you thus,
You'll find them but of little use."
So high at last the contest rose,

From words they almost came to blows:
When luckily came by a third;

To him the question they referred :
And begged he'd tell them, if he knew,
Whether the thing was green or blue.

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"Sirs," cries the umpire, cease your pother;
The creature's neither one nor t'other.
I caught the animal last night,
And viewed it o'er by candle-light:
I marked it well; 'twas black as jet—
You stare-but, sirs, I've got it yet
And can produce it." "Pray, sir, do;
I'll lay my life the thing is blue."
"And I'll be sworn, that when you've seen
The reptile, you'll pronounce him green."
"Well, then, at once to cease the doubt,"
Replies the man, "I'll turn him out,
And when before your eyes I've set him,
If you
don't find him black I'll eat him."
He said; and full before their sight
Produced the beast, and lo! 'twas white.

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