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They've ta’en a weapon long and sharp,
And cut him by the knee; Then tied him fast upon a cart,
Like a rogue for forgery.
They laid him down upon his back,
And cudgelled him full sore; They hung him up before the storm,
And turned him o'er and o'er.
They filled up a darksome pit
With water to the brim,
There let him sink or swim.
They laid him out upon the floor,
To work him further woe,
They tossed him to and fro.
They wasted o'er a scorching flame
The marrow of his bones;
For he crushed him 'tween two stones.
And they have ta’en his very heart's blood,
And drunk it round and round; And still the more and more they drank,
Their joy did more abound.
MOTHER's grandfather lives still,
His age is fourscore years and ten; He looks a monument of time,
The agedest of aged men.
Though years lie on him like a load,
A happier man you will not see
His great-grandchildren on his knee.
When we our parents have displeased,
He stands between us as a screen ;
Our bad ones in the shade, are seen,
His love 's a line that 's long drawn out,
Yet lasteth firm unto the end ;
It like the gentlest reed can bend.
A fighting soldier he has been,
griess That he his whole long life had spent
In scenes of country quietness.
His talk is all of things long past,
For modern facts no pleasure yield, Of the famed year of forty-five,
Of William, and Culloden's field.
The deeds of this eventful age,
Which princes from their thrones have hurled, Can no more interest wake in him
Than stories of another world.
When I his length of days revolve,
How like a strong tree he hath stood,
Those patriarchs old before the flood.
THE WIND IN A FROLIC. - William Howilt
The wind one morning sprang up from sleep,
TIE NORTHERN SEAS,
Puffing the birds, as they sat on the spray,
Then it rushed like a monster o'er cottage and farm,
caps, To see if their poultry were free from mishaps; The turkeys they gobbled, the geese screamed aloud, And the hens crept to roost in a terrified crowd ; There was rearing of ladders, and logs laying on, Where the thatch from the roof threatened soon to be
gone. But the wind had passed on, and had met in a lane With a schoolboy, who panted and struggled in vain, For it tossed him, and twirled him, then passed, and
he stood With his hat in a pool, and his shoe in the mud.
THE NORTHERN SEAS. -- William Howiit.
Up! up! let us a voyage take;
Why sit we here at ease?
Bound for the Northern Seas.
I long to see the Northern Lights,
With their rushing splendors, fly, Like living things, with flaming wings,
Wide o'er the wondrous sky.
I long to see those icebergs vast,
With heads all crowned with snow; Whose green roots sleep in the awful deep,
Two hundred fathoms low.
I long to hear the thundering crash
of their terrific fall; And the echoes from a thousand cliffs,
Like lonely voices call.
There shall we see the fierce white bear,
The sleepy seals aground,
Sail with a dreary sound.
There may we tread on depths of ice,
That the hairy mammoth hide ; Perfect as when, in times of old,
The mighty creature died.
And while the unsetting sun shines on
Through the still heaven's deep blue, We 'll traverse the azure waves, the herds
Of the dread sea-horse to view.
We'll pass the shores of solemn pine,
Where wolves and black bears prowl, And away to the rocky isles of mist,
To rouse the northern fowl.