Which we beneath a grateful shade In one unbroken passage borne How light we go, how softly skim, The North is seen profusely bright; How light we go, how softly skim, (By permission of Messrs. Macmillan.) 193 THE FARMER'S WIFE AND THE GASCON. HORACE SMITH. AT Neufchatel, in France, where they prepare There dwelt a farmer's wife, famed for her rare Where they were made, they sold for the immerse But as salt water made their charms increase, And such a glutton, when you came to feed him, (Vide the ballad) scarcely could exceed him. One morn she had prepared a monstrous bowl Of cream like nectar, And would not go to church (good careful soul !) So she gave strict injunctions to the Gascon Which if they got, Like my Lord Salisbury, he heaved a sigh, How I do envy you your lot!" Each moment did his appetite grow stronger; At length he could not bear it any longer; But on all sides his looks he turn'd, And finding that the coast was clear, he quaff'd Scudding from church, the farmer's wife But stood aghast, and could not for her life Until she muster'd breath enough to utter And shortly, with a face of scarlet, Asking the when, and where, and how, and who "The flies, you rogue! the flies, you guttling dog! So out she bounc'd, and brought, with loud alarms, Who bore him to the judge-a little prig, Like a red cabbage rose, While lots of white ones flourish'd on his wig! He turn'd to the delinquent, And 'gan to question him, and catechise, As to which way the drink went ? Still the same dogged answers rise, "The flies, my Lord-the flies, the flies!" "Pshaw!" quoth the judge, half peevish and half pompous, "Why, you're non compos! You should have watch'd the bowl, as she desired, And kill'd the flies, you stupid clown." "What is it lawful, then," the dolt inquired, You've my authority, where'er you meet them, go hang If yonder blue-bottle (I know his face) Isn't the very leader of the gang That stole the cream;-let me come near it." This said, he started from his place, And aiming one of his sledge-hammer blows For the same catapult completely smash'd THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. H. W. LONGFELLOW. It was the schooner Hesperus That sailed the wintry sea; And the skipper had taken his little daughter To bear him company. Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax, Her cheeks like the dawn of day, And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds, in the month of May. That ope The skipper he stood beside the helm, His pipe was in his mouth, And he watched how the veering flaw did blow, "Last night the moon had a golden ring, The skipper he blew a whiff from his pipe, Colder and louder blew the wind, Down came the storm, and smote amain She shuddered and paused like a frightened steed, "Come hither-come hither, my little daughter, And do not tremble so; For I can weather the roughest gale That ever wind did blow." He wrapped her in his seaman's coat, He cut a rope from a broken spar, Oh! father! I hear the church-bells ring— ""Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast!" And he steered for the open sea. "Oh! father! I hear the sound of guns; Oh ! say, what may it be?" "Some ship in distress, that cannot live In such an angry sea!" |