THE SUPERANNUATED HORSE

To his Master,

Who had sentenced him to die at the end of Summer.

ANONYMOUS.

AND hast thou fix'd my doom, sweet master, say?
And wilt thou kill thy servant old and poor?
A little longer let me live, I pray ;

A little longer hobble round thy door!

For much it glads me to behold this place,
And house me in this hospitable shed:
It glads me more to see my master's face,
And linger on the spot where I was bred.

For oh! to think of what we have enjoy'd,
In my life's prime, ere I was old and poor!
Then from the jocund morn to eve employ'd,
My gracious master on my back I bore.

Thrice told ten years have danc'd on down along,
Since first to thee these way-worn limbs I gave;
Sweet, smiling years! when both of us were young,
The kindest master and the happiest slave!

Ah, years sweet smiling! now for ever flown!
Ten years, thrice told, alas, are as a day!
Yet, as together we are aged grown,

Together let us wear that age away!

For still the older times are dear to thought,
And rapture mark'd each minute as it flew;
Light were our hearts, and every season brought
Pains that were soft, or pleasures that were uew.
Ah! call to mind, how oft, near Soaring's stream,
My ready steps were bent to yonder grove,
Where she who lov'd thee was thy tender theme,
And I, thy more than messenger of love!

B B

For when thy doubting heart felt fond alarms,
And throbb'd alternate with its hope and fear,
Did I not bear thee to thy fond one's arms,
Assure thy faith, and dry up ev'ry tear?

And hast thou fix'd my doom, sweet master, say ?
And wilt thou kill thy servant, old and poor?
A little longer let me live, I pray,

A little longer hobble round thy door!

Yet ah! in vain, in vain for life I plead,
If nature hath deny'd a longer date:
Still do not thou behold thy servant bleed,
Tho' weeping pity has decreed his fate.

But O, kind nature! take thy victim's life!
End thou a servant, feeble, old, and poor;
So shalt thou save me from th' uplifted knife,
And gently stretch me at my master's door.

TO MARY.

BYROM.

YET all this giddy waste of years,
This tiresome round of palling pleasures
These varied loves, these matron fears,
These thoughtless strains to passion's measures
If thou wert mine, all had been hush'd,
This cheek, now pale from early riot,
With Passion's hectic ne'er had flush'd,
But bloom'd in calm domestic quiet.

Yes, once the rural scene was sweet;
For nature seem'd to smile before thee;
And once my heart abhor'd deceit,

For then it beat but to adore thee,

But, now, I seek for other joys,

To think, would drive my soul to madness; In thoughtless throngs and empty noise,

I conquer half my bosom's sadness.

Yet e'en in these a thought will steal,
In spite of every vain endeavour;
And fiends might pity what I feel,
To know that thou art lost for ever.

TO MEMORY.

ANONYMOUS.

OFF! when the vernal bloom of life is past;
These flowerets withered which my path adorn;
When cold and bitter sighs the wintry blast;
My hopes all faded, and my heart forlorn;

When the sweet sky its cheerful light foregoes,
Nor wild-bird carols from the mid-way air,
Nor o'er the scene the tint of pleasure glows;
O Memory! then thy poison'd arrow spare!

Yet stay, enchantress!—light thine ev'ning star,
And chase the fogs from Love's deserted shrine,
Where many a placid spectre glides afar,

Known in heaven's record, and most dear to thine,

Grant me the fading traces to renew

Of smiles that beam'd upon my youthful heart; And call expression's varied lines to view,

From friendship's early grave compell'd to start.

And when thy sacred treasury, the tomb,
Hath pour'd its shadows forth in long array,
Command this Eden of my youth to bloom,
And spread the landscape in thy moonlight ray..

With pencil moisten'd in thy clearest hues,
Still o'er the thatch these truant ivies fling;
The bower's wild rose with softest blush suffuse,
Sweet with the fragrance of a distant spring.

Yon winding lane, o'er-arch'd with woven sprays;
The broomy slope, expanding to the vale;
That casement, where eve's parting crimson plays,
And this old aspen, trembling to the gale:

O paint them fair, as now my glistening eye
Roves o'er the scene with hope's deceptive thrill ;
And, 'mid the gloom of life's descending sky,
'Twill shed one watery gleam of pleasure still.

BIRTH-DAY RETROSPECT.

ANONYMOUS.

THUS far life's little journey through,
Of scenes for ever gone

I'll take one retrospective view,
Before I speed me on.

Here, on this little hillock plac'd,

A moment let me stand.

Before me lies a desert waste;
Behind, a fairy land.

Winding through yon luxuriant vale,
Half hid in distance grey,

By many a hill and many a dale
I trace my youthful way.

But fast those fading scenes retire,
And mingle into one;

Though here a cot, and there a spire,

Still glitter in the sun:

And when athwart my wintry sky
He darts his latest gleam,

Those spots, till closed is Memory's eye,.
Will sparkle in his beam.

Yes; happy was my youthful day:
I trod enchanted ground;

My spring, like other springs, was gay,
And roses bloom'd around:

And now, though flying o'er my head
Are youth's departing years,
And often though the path I tread
Is water'd by my tears.

Still Hope, in many a gloomy hour,
Through many a weary mile,
Has cheer'd me with the magic power
Of her bewitching smile.

But, Hope, farewell!-thy visions bright
Have dazzled me too long;
And shall I stay to watch thy flight,
And hear thy parting song?

No: let me turn-it is enough-
Too many tears have flow'd:
The sky is dark, the way is rough;—
But 'tis the pilgrim's road:

And, pilgrim-like, with staff and shell,.
And cloath'd in habit grey,

I bid the smiling past farewell,

And speed me on my way.

-But wherefore should my courage fail,,
And strains of sorrow flow?
Why need I through this gloomy vale
A lonely wanderer go?

I see a little cheerful band;

I hear their songs resound;

Onward they travel, hand in hand,,
And all for Zion bound..