Он, my best sir, take heed,
Take heed of lies! Truth, though it trouble some minds— Some wicked minds, that are both dark and dangerous- Preserves itself-comes off pure, innocent! And like the sun, though never so eclipsed,
Must break in glory! Oh, sir, lie no more!
HOME for the Holidays, here we go; Bless me! the train is exceedingly slow! Pray, Mr. Engineer, get up your steam, And let us be off, with a puff and a scream! We have two long hours to travel, you say; Come, Mr. Engineer, gallop away!
Two hours more! why, the sun will be down Before we reach dear old London town!
And then what a number of fathers and mothers, And uncles and aunts, and sisters and brothers, Will be there to meet us-ob, do make haste! For I'm sure, Mr. Guard, we have no time to waste. Thank goodness, we shan't have to study and stammer Over Latin and sums and that nasty French grammar; Lectures and classes and lessons are done,
And now we'll have nothing but frolic and fun. Home for the holidays, here we go!
But this Fast Train is really exceedingly slow!
We shall have sport when Christmas comes,
When "snap-dragon" burns our fingers and thumbs; We'll hang mistletoe over our dear little cousins, And pull them beneath it and kiss them by dozens; We shall have games at "blind-man's-buff," And noise and laughter and romping enough: We'll crown the plum-pudding with bunches of bay, And roast all the chestnuts that come in our way; And when Twelfth-Night falls we'll have such a cake, That as we stand round it the table shall quake.
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,"
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!
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!
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
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
"And so thou shalt," Napoleon said, "Ye've both my favour fairly won; A noble mother must have bred
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.
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 1 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;
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