Page images
PDF
EPUB

HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS.

We'll draw "King and Queen," and be happy together,
And dance old "Sir Roger" with hearts like a feather.
Home for the holidays, here we go!

But this Fast Train is really exceedingly slow!

And we'll go and see Harlequin's wonderful feats,
Changing by magic whatever he meets;

And Columbine, too, with her beautiful tripping,
And clown, with his tumbling and jumping and slipping,
Cramming all things in his pocket so big,

And letting off crackers in Pantaloon's wig.

The horses that danced, too, last year in the ring,

We remember the tune-it was sweet "Tink-a-Ting,"

97

And their tales, and their manes, and their sleek coats so bright,

Some cream and some piebald, some black, and some white!

And how Mr. Merryman made us all shout,

When he fell from the horse, and went rolling about;
We'll be sure to go there-'tis such capital fun,
And we won't stir an inch till it's every bit done!
Mr. Punch, we'll have him, too, our famous old friend;
One might see him for ever, and laugh to the end:
With his little dog Toby, so clever and wise,
And poor Mrs. Judy, with tears in her eyes;
With the constable taking him off to the bar,
And the gentleman talking his "Shalla-balla;
With the flourishing stick that knocks all of them down,
For Punch's delight is in breaking a crown.

Home for the holidays, here we go!
But really this train is exceedingly slow:
Yet, stay! I declare here is London at last;
The Park is right over the tunnel just passed.
Huzza! huzza! I can see my papa!

[ocr errors]

I can see George's uncle, and Edward's mamma!

And Fred! there's your brother! look, look! there he stands! They see us! they see us! they're waving their hands!

Why don't the train stop? what are they about?

Now, now it is steady-oh! pray let us out!
A cheer for old London, a kiss for mamma,
We're home for the holidays. Now, huzza!

G

ELIZA COOK.

NAPOLEON AND THE SAILOR.

A TRUE STORY.

NAPOLEON'S banners at Boulogne
Armed in our island every freeman,
His navy chanced to capture one
Poor British seaman.

They suffered him-I know not how-
Unprisoned on the shore to roam;
And aye was bent his longing brow
On England's home.

His eye, methinks, pursued the flight
Of birds to Britain half-way over,
With envy, they could reach the white
Dear cliffs of Dover.

A stormy midnight watch, he thought,
Than this sojourn would have been dearer,
If but the storm his vessel brought

To England nearer.

At last, when care had banished sleep,
He saw one morning-dreaming-doating,

An empty hogshead from the deep

Come shoreward floating;

He hid it in a cave, and wrought
The livelong day laborious; lurking
Until he launched a tiny boat
By mighty working.

Heaven help us! 'twas a thing beyond
Description wretched: such a wherry
Perhaps ne'er ventured on a pond,
Or crossed a ferry.

For ploughing in the salt sea-field,

It would have made the boldest shudder; Untarred, uncompassed, and unkeeled, No sail-no rudder.

NAPOLEON AND THE SAILOR.

From neighbouring woods he interlaced
His sorry skiff with wattled willows;
And thus equipped he would have passed
The foaming billows-

But Frenchmen caught him on the beach,
His little Argo sorely jeering;
Till tidings of him chanced to reach
Napoleon's hearing.

With folded arms Napoleon stood,
Serene alike in peace and danger;
And in his wonted attitude,

Addressed the stranger :

"Rash man that wouldst yon channel pass
On twigs and staves so rudely fashioned;
Thy heart with some sweet British lass
Must be impassioned.”

"I have no sweetheart," said the lad;
"But-absent long from one another-
Great was the longing that I had
To see my mother."

"And so thou shalt," Napoleon said,
"Ye've both my favour fairly won;

A noble mother must have bred
So brave a son."

He gave the tar a piece of gold,

And with a flag of truce commanded He should be shipped to England Old, And safely landed.

Our sailor oft could scantly shift

To find a dinner plain and hearty; But never changed the coin and gift Of Bonaparte.

THOMAS CAMPBELL, 1777-1844.

[ocr errors]

THE THREE WARNINGS.

THE tree of deepest root is found Least willing still to quit the ground; 'Twas therefore said by ancient sages,

That love of life increased with years
So much, that in our latter stages,
When pains grow sharp and sickness rages,
The greatest love of life appears.

This great affection, to believe,
Which all confess, but few perceive,
If old assertions can't prevail,
Be pleased to hear a modern tale.

When sports went round, and all were gay,
On neighbour Dobson's wedding-day,
Death called aside the jocund groom
With him into another room:

And looking grave, "You must," says he,
"Quit your sweet bride, and come with me."
With you, and quit my Susan's side!
With you?" the hapless husband cried:
"Young as I am! 'tis monstrous hard!
Besides, in truth, I'm not prepared :
My thoughts on other matters go,-
This is my wedding night, you know."
What more he urged I have not heard,

His reasons could not well be stronger;
So Death the poor delinquent spared,
And left to live a little longer.

Yet calling up a serious look,

-His hour-glass trembled while he spoke,
"Neighbour," he said, "farewell: No more
Shall Death disturb your mirthful hour;
And further, to avoid all blame

Of cruelty upon my name,

To give you time for preparation,
And fit you for your future station,
Three several warnings you shall have
Before you're summoned to the grave.
Willing for once I'll quit my rrey,
And grant a kind reprieve;

* Bridegroom.

[ocr errors]

THE THREE WARNINGS.

In hopes you'll have no more to say,
But when I call again this way,

Well-pleased the world will leave."
To these conditions both assented,
And parted perfectly contented.

What next the hero of our tale befell,

How long he lived, how wise, how well-
How roundly he pursued his course,
And smoked his pipe, and stroked his horse,
The willing muse shall tell:

He chaffered, then, he bought, he sold,
Nor once perceived his growing old,
Nor thought of Death as near;

His friends not false, his wife no shrew,
Many his gains, his children few,
He passed his hours in peace..

But while he viewed his wealth increase,
While thus along Life's dusty road
The beaten track content he trod,

Old Time, whose haste no mortal spares,
Uncalled, unheeded, unawares,

Brought on his eightieth year.

And now one night, in musing mood,
As all alone he sate,

The unwelcome messenger of Fate
Once more before him stood.

Half killed with anger and surprise-
"So soon returned!" old Dobson cries.
"So soon, d'ye call it!" Death replies :
"Surely, my friend, you're but in jest:
Since I was here before

'Tis six-and-thirty years at least,

And you are now fourscore."

"So much the worse," the clown rejoined:
"To spare the aged would be kind :`

Besides, you promised me Three Warnings,
Which I have looked for nights and mornings.
"I know," cries death, "that at the best
I seldom am a welcome guest;
But don't be captious, friend, at least:
I little thought you'd still be able
To stump about your farm and stable;

101

« PreviousContinue »