We've laid him there, where the blessed air And raineth showers Of those sweet flowers, So silver white; Where the blackbird sings, and the wild bee's wings Make music all day long, And the cricket at night (A dusky sprite!) Takes up the song. He loved to lie where his wakeful eye Could keep me still in sight, Whence a word or a sign, Brought him like light. Nor word, nor sign, nor look of mine, Ard frolic round, Shall bring him now. But he taketh his rest, where he loved best In the days of his life to be, And that place will not Be a common spot Of earth to me. CHRISTMAS TIMES. - Howard. 'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse; More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, name: "Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer! now, Vixen ! On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Dunder and Blixen! And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof soot; A bundle of toys was flung on his back, And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack. His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry; And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose. THE dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink; drink." And, looking o'er the hedge, before me I espied A snow-white mountain lamb, with a maiden at its side. No other sheep were near, the lamb was all alone, With one knee on the grass did the little maiden kneel, While to that mountain lamb she gave its evening meal. The lamb, while from her hand he thus his supper took, Seemed to feast with head and ears, and his tail with pleasure shook ; "Drink, pretty creature, drink," she said, in such a tone, That I almost received her heart into my own. "T was little Barbara Lethwaite, a child of beauty rare! I watched them with delight, they were a lovely pair. Now with her empty can the maiden turned away; But ere ten yards were gone, her footsteps she did stay. Towards the lamb she looked; and from that shady place I unobserved could see the workings of her face; If nature to her tongue could measured numbers bring, Thus, thought I, to her lamb that little maid might sing: "What ails thee, young one? what? why pull so at thy cord? Is it not well with thee? well both for bed and board? Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as grass can be ; Rest, little, young one, rest; what is 't that aileth thee? "What is it thou wouldst seek? what is wanting to thy heart? Thy limbs are they not strong? and beautiful thou art. This grass is tender grass; these flowers they have no peers, And that green corn all day long is rustling in thy ears! "If the sun be shining hot, do but stretch thy woollen chain, This birch is standing by, its covert thou canst gain; For rain and mountain storms - the like thou need'st not fear The rain and storm are things that scarcely can come here. Rest, little, young one, rest; thou hast forgot the day When my father found thee first, in places far away; Many flocks were on the hills, but thou wert owned by none, And thy mother from thy side forevermore was gone. "He took thee in his arms, and in pity brought thee home; O blessed day for thee! then whither wouldst thou roam ? |