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While riding near her home one stormy nightShe hath neither wish nor heart,
A single Glow-worm did I chance to espy; Hers is now another part:
I gave a fervent welcome to the sight, A loving Creature she, and brave!
And from my horse I leapt; great joy had I. And fondly strives her struggling Friend to

save.
Upon a leaf the Glow-worm did I lay,
To bear it with me through the stormy night: 1
And, as before, it shone without dismay;

"From the brink her paws she stretches, Albeit putting forth a fainter light.

Very hands as you would say!
And afflicting moans she fetches,

As he breaks the ice away.
When to the dwelling of my Love I came,

For herself she hath no fears, I went into the Orchard quietly;

Him alone she sees and hears, And left the Glow-worm, blessing it by name, Makes efforts and complainings; nor gives o'er Laid safely by itself, beneath a Tree.

Until her Fellow bunk, and reappear'd no

inore. The whole next day, I hoped, and hoped

with fear;
At night the Glow-worm shone beneath the

Tree:
I led my Lucy to the spot: Look here!

TRIBUTE
Oh! joy it was for her, and joy for me!

TO THE MEMORY OF THE SAME DOG.

Lie here sequestered :-be this little mound

For ever thine, and be it holy ground ! • INCIDENT,

Lie here, without a record of thy worth,

Beneath the covering of the common earth! CHARACTERISTIC OF A FAVOURITE DOG, WHICH It is not from unwillingness to praise, BELONGED TO A FRIEND OF THE AUTHOR. Or want of love, that here no Stone we

raise : On his morning-rounds the Master

More thou deserv'st; but this Man gives to Goes to learn how all things fare;

Man, Searches pasture after pasture,

Brother to Brother, this is all we can. Sheep and Cattle eyes with care;

Yet they to whom thy virtues made thee And, for silence or for talk,

dear He hath Comrades in his walk;

Shall find thee through all changes of the Four Dogs, each pair of different breed,

year: Distinguished two for scent and two for speed. This Oak points out thy grave; the silent

Tree

Will gladly stand a monument of thee. See, a Hare before him started ! --Off they fly in earnest chace; Every Dog is eager-hearted,

I prayed for thee, and that thy end were All the four are in the race!

past; And the Hare whom they pursue

And willingly have laid thee here at last: Hath an instinct what to do;

For thou hadst lived, till every thing that Her hope is near: no turn she makes ;

cheers But, like an arrow, to the River takes. In thee had yielded to the weight of years ;

Extreme old age bad wasted thee away,

And left thee but a glimmering of the day: Deep the River was, and crusted

Thy ears were deaf; and feeble were tby Thinly by a one-night's front;

knees, But the nimble Hare hath trusted

I saw thee stagger in the summer-breeze, To the ice, and safely crost;

Too weak to stand against its sportive breath, She hath crost, and without heed

And ready for the gentlest stroke of death. All are following at full speed,

It came, and we were glad ; yet tears were When, lo! the ice, so thinly spread, Breaks--and the Greyhound, Dart, is over Both Man and Woman wept when Thou head!

wert dead; Not only for a thousand thoughts that were,

Old household-thoughts, in which thou hadst Better fate have PRINCE and SWALLOW

thy share; See them cleaving to the sport!

But for some precious boons vouchsafed to Mrsic has no heart to follow,

thee, Little Music, she stops short.

Found scarcely any where in like degree!

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For love, that comes to all; the holy sense, From those abrupt and perilous rocks,
Best gift of God, in thee was most intense; The Man had fallen, that place of fear!
A chain of heart, a feeling of the mind, At length upon the Shepherd's mind
A tender sympathy, which did thee bind It breaks, and all is clear:
Not only to us Men, but to thy Kind: He instantly recalled the Name,
Yea, for thy Fellow-brutes in thee we saw And who he was, and whence he came;
The soul of Love, Love's intellectual law:- Remembered, too, the very day
Hence, if we wept, it was not done in shame; On which the Traveller passed this way.
Our tears from passion and from reason came,
And, therefore, shalt thou be an honoured

name!

But hear a wonder, for whose sake
This lamentable Tale I tell!
A lasting monument of words
This wonder merits well.

The Dog, which still was hovering nigh,
FIDELITY.

Repeating the same timid cry,

This Dog had been through three months' A BARKING sound the Shepherd hears,

space A cry as of a Dog or Fox;

A Dweller in that savage place.
Ile halts, and searches with his eyes
Among the scattered rocks :
And now at distance can discern

Yes, proof was plain that since the day A stirring in a brake of fern;

On which the Traveller thus had died And instantly a Dog is seen

The Dog had watched about the spot,
Glancing from that covert green.

| Or by his Master's side:
How nourished here through such long time

He knows, who gave that love sublime,
The Dog is not of mountain-breed; And gave that strength of feeling, great
Its motions, too, are wild and shy; Above all human estimate.
With something, as the Shepherd thinks,
Unusual in its cry:
Nor is there any one in sight
All round, in Hollow or on Height;
Nor shout, nor whistle strikes his ear;
What is the Creature doing here?

ODE TO DUTY.

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I, loving freedom, and untried ;

No man like him the horn could sound, No sport of every random gust,

And no man was so full of glee;
Yet being to myself a guide,

To say the least, four Counties round
Too blindly have reposed my trust: Had heard of Simon Lee;
Full oft, when in my heart was heard His Master's dead, and no one now
Thy timely mandate, I deferred

Dwells in the hall of Ivor;
The task imposed, from day to day, Men, Dogs, and Horses, all are dead;
But thee I now would serve more strictly, He is the sole survivor.

if I may.

And he is lean and he is sick,

His dwindled body's half awry; Though no disturbance of my soul,

His ancles, too, are swoln and thick ; Or strong compunction in me wrought,

His legs are thin and dry. I supplicate for thy control;

When he was young he little knew But in the quietness of thought,

Of husbandry or tillage; Me this unchartered freedom tires;

And now is forced to work, though weak, I feel the weight of chance-desires ;

-The weakest in the village. My hopes no more must change their name, I long for a repose which ever is the same.

He all the country could outrun,

Could leave both man and horse behind; Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear And often, ere the race was done, The Godhead's most benignant grace ; He reeled and was stone-blind. Nor know we any thing so fair

And still there's something in the world As is the smile upon thy face;

At which his heart rejoices; Flowers laugh before thee on their beds; For when the chiming hounds are out, And Fragrance in thy footing treads; He dearly loves their voices ! Thou dost preserve the Stars from wrong; And the most ancient Heavens through Thee

are fresh and strong.

His hunting feats have him bereft
of his right eye, as you may see :
And then, what limbs those feats have left

To poor old Simon Lee!
To humbler functions, awful Power!

He has no son, he has no child I call thee: I myself commend

His Wife, an aged woman, Unto thy guidance from this hour;

Lives with him, near the waterfall,
Oh! let my weakness have an end !

Upon the village Common.
Give unto me, made lowly wise,
The spirit of self-sacrifice;
The confidence of reason give;

Old Ruth works out of doors with him, And in the light of truth thy Bondman let And does what Simon cannot do;

me live!

For she, not over stout of limb,
Is stouter of the two.
And, though you with your utmost skill
From labour could not wean them,

Alas! 'tis very little, all
SIMON LEE

Which they can do between them.
THE OLD HUNTSMAN.
In the sweet shire of Cardigan,

Beside their moss-grown hut of clay,
Not far from the pleasant Ivor-hall, Not twenty paces from the door,
An Old Man dwells, a little man,

A scrap of land they have, but they
I've heard he once was tall.

Are poorest of the poor. of years he has upon his back,

This scrap of land he from the heath No doubt, a burthen weighty;

Enclosed when he was stronger; He says he is threee score and ten,

But what avails the land to them, But others say he's eighty,

Which they can till no longer?

A long blue livery-coat has he,
That's fair behind, and fair before;
Yet, meet him where you will, you see
At once that he is poor.
Full five-and-twenty years he lived
A running Huntsman merry;
And, though he has but one eye left,
His cheek is like a cherry.

Few months of life has he in store,
As he to you will tell,
For still, the more he works, the more
Do his weak ancles swell.
My gentle Reader, I perceive
How patiently you've waited,
And I'm afraid that you expect
Some tale will be related.

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THE FARMER OF TILSBURY-VALE. To the neighbours he went-all were free

with their money; 'Tis not for the unfeeling, the falsely refined, For his hive had so long been replenished The squeamish in taste, and the narrow of

with honey mind,

That they dreamt not of dearth—He conAnd the small critic wielding his delicate pen,

tinued his rounds, That I sing of old Adam, the pride of old men. Knocked here and knocked there, pounds still

adding to pounds.

word,

He dwells in the centre of London's wide

Town,

He paid what he could of his ill-gotten pelf, His staff is a sceptre--his gray hairs a crown; And something, it might be, reserved for Erect as a sunflower he stands, and the

himself: streak,

Then, (what is too true) without hinting a Of the unfaded rose is expressed on his cheek.

Turned his back on the Country; and off

like a Bird. 'Mid the dews, in the sunshine of morn

'mid the joy Of the fields, he collected that bloom, when You lift up your eyes!—and I guess that a boy;

you frame There fashioned that countenance, which, in A judgment too harsh of the sin and the spite of a stain

shame; That his life hath received, to the last will In him it was scarcely a business of art,

remain.
For this he did all in the ease of his heart.

To London-a sad emigration I ween- Old Adam will smile at the pains that have With his gray hairs he went from the brook

made and the green; Poor Winter look fine in such strange masAnd there, with small wealth but his legs

querade. and his hands, As lonely he stood as a Crow on the sands.

'Mid coaches and chariots, a Waggon of

Straw All trades, as needs was, did old Adam Like a magnet the heart of old Adam can assume,

draw; Served as Stable-boy, Errand-boy, Porter, With a thousand soft pictures his memory and Groom;

will teem, But nature is gracious, necessity kind, And his hearing is touched with the sounds And, in spite of the shame that may lurk

of a dream. in his mind,

He seems ten birth-days younger, is green

Up the Hay-market-hill he oft whistles his

way, and is stout;

Thrusts his hands in the Waggon, and smells Twice as fast as before does his blood run

at the hay: abont;

He thinks of the fields he 60 often hath You would say that each hair of his beard

mown, was alive, And his fingers are busy as bees in a hive. And is happy as if the rich freight were his

Own.

For he's not like an Old Man that leisurely | But chiefly to Smithfield he loves to

goes About work that he knows in a track that if you pass by at morning you'll meet with

repairhe knows; But often his mind is compelled to demur, | The breath of the Cows you may see him

him there; And you guess that the more then his body

inhale, must stir. And his heart all the while is in 'Tilsbury- .

Vale. In the throng of the Town like a Stranger

is he, Like one whose own Country's far over the Now farewell, old Adam, when low thon sea,

' art laid And Nature, while through the great City May one blade of grass spring up over thy he hies,

head; Full ten times a day takes his heart by And I hope that thy grave, wheresoever surprize.

it be, Will hear the wind sigh through the leaves

of a tree. This gives him the fancy of one that is

young, More of soul in his face than of words on

his tongue; Like a Maiden of twenty he trembles and

INSCRIPTION sighs, And tears of fifteen have come into his eyes.

****

FOR THE SPOT WHERE THE HERMITAGE STOOD

ON ST. HERBERT'S ISLAND, DERWENT-WATER. What's a tempest to him or the dry parching Tus Island, Guarded from profane ap

heats? Yet he watches the clouds that pass over By mountains hivh and waters widely spread

proach the streets;

Is that recens to which St. Herbert came With a look of such carnestness often will

In life's decline; a self-eccluded Man, stand

After long exercise in social cares You might think he'd twelve Reapers at

And offices humane, intent to adore work in the Strand. |

The Deity, with undistracted mind,

And meditate on everlasting things. Where proud Covent-garden, in desolate -Stranger! this shapeless heap of stones hours

and earth of snow and hoar-frost, spreads her fruits (Long be its mossy covering undisturbed!)

and her flowers, Is reverenced as a vestige of the Abode

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