A youngster at school, more sedate than the rest, He was shocked, Sir, like you, and answered-" Oh no! "You speak very fine, and you look very grave, But apples we want, and apples we'll have; If you will go with us, you shall have a share, If not, you shall have neither apple nor pear." They spoke, and Tom pondered-"I see they will go; Poor man! I would save him his fruit if I could, "If the matter depended alone upon me, His apples might hang, till they dropped from the tree; His scruples thus silenced, Tom felt more at ease, THE MORNING DREAM. 'Twas in the glad season of spring, Far hence to the westward I sailed, In the steerage a woman I saw, Such at least was the form that she wore, Whose beauty impressed me with awe, Ne'er taught me by woman before. She sat, and a shield at her side Shed light, like a sun on the waves, And, smiling divinely, she cried I go to make freemen of slaves" Then raising her voice to a strain The sweetest that ear ever heard, Thus swiftly dividing the flood, To a slave-cultured island we came, Where, a demon, her enemy, stoodOppression his terrible name. In his hand, as the sign of his sway, A scourge hung with lashes he bore, And stood looking out for his prey From Africa's sorrowful shore. But soon as approaching the land And the moment the monster expired, Awaking, how could I but muse At what such a dream should betide? But soon my ear caught the glad news, Which served my weak thought for a guideThat Britannia, renowned o'er the waves For the hatred she ever has shown To the black-sceptered rulers of slaves, Resolves to have none of her own. THE NIGHTINGALE AND GLOW-WORM. A NIGHTINGALE, that all day long 484 THE NIGHTINGALE AND GLOW-WORM. When looking eagerly around, He spied far off, upon the ground, Did you admire my lamp, quoth he, That brother should not war with brother, But sing and shine by sweet consent, The gifts of nature and of grace. Those Christians best deserve the name, Who studiously make peace their aim; Peace both the duty and the prize Of him that creeps and him that flies. ON A GOLDFINCH STARVED TO DEATH IN HIS CAGE. TIME was when I was free as air, But gaudy plumage, sprightly strain, And of a transient date; For caught, and caged, and starved to death, In dying sighs my little breath Soon passed the wiry grate. Thanks, gentle swain, for all my woes, And cure of every ill! More cruelty could none express; THE PINE-APPLE AND THE BEE. THE pine-apples, in triple row, |