They say it was a shocking sight, After the field was won, For many thousand bodies here Lay rotting in the sun; But things like that, you know, must be "Great praise the Duke of Marlborough won, "Nay nay, my little girl," quoth he, "And every body praised the Duke, "Why, that I cannot tell," said he, Southey. THE CROCUS; OR, THE DUTY OF PATIENCE. Down in my solitude under the snow, I will not despair, nor be idle, nor frown, My leaves shall run up, and my roots shall run down, While the bud in my bosom is swelling. D And the desert wastes must be Untracked regions but for thee! Mary Howitt. TELL ME WHAT THE MILL DOTH SAY. TELL me what the mill doth say, What a worker is the mill ! Hearken what the rill doth say, What a worker is the rill! Listen to the honey-bee, To the little fairy's drum; Humming, drumming, drumming, drum, Humming, drumming, hum it will. Like the mill, the rill, and bee, Idleness is not for me. What says cock-a-doodle-doo? It will be but playing still. E. Capern. CHILDHOOD'S TEARS. THE tear down childhood's cheek that flows, When next the summer breeze comes by, Walter Scott. THE DEAD SPARROW.' TELL me not of joy! there's none, He would chirp and play, with me; Oh! how sullen he would be! Would moisture sip; He would from my trencher feed; Oh! whose heart can choose but bleed? Oh! how eager would he fight, But on my glass He would sit, and mark and do 1 The author of this piece died in the year 1643, so that it is now more than 230 years old. 2 When the word now is repeated, as above, the first now signifies, at one time; the second now, at another time. When at last I was forced from my Sheelah to part, Poor dog! he was faithful and kind, to be sure, away, When the road was so dark, and the night was so cold, Though my wallet was scant 1 I remembered his case, Where now shall I go, poor, forsaken, and blind? THE BARLEY-MOWERS' SONG. BARLEY-MOWERS, here we stand, 1 Though my wallet was scant-though my bag was illfurnished or nearly empty. All a-row with spirits blithe, Now we whet the bended scythe, Rink-a-tink, rink-a-tink, rink-a-tink-a-tink! Side by side, now bending low, Barley-mowers must be true, Bending all with spirits blithe, Day and night, and night and day, Rink-a-tink, rink-a-tink, rink-a-tink-a-tink! Time, the mower, cuts down all, 'Swaths-lines of grass or corn cut down by the mower. 2 As true's-as true as. 8 Lithe-flexible, waving. |