Deep the river was, and crusted Thinly by a one night's frost, But the nimble hare hath trusted To the ice, and safely crost; She hath crost, and without heed All are following at full speed; When, lo! the ice, so thinly spread, Breaks-and the greyhound, Dart, is over-head! Better fate have Prince and SwallowSee them cleaving to the sport! Music has no heart to follow, Little Music she stops short. She hath neither wish nor heart, Hers is now another part: A loving creature she, and brave ! And fondly strives her struggling friend to save. From the brink her paws she stretches, Very hands, as you would say, And afflicting moans she fetches As he breaks the ice away, Him alone she sees and hears, Makes efforts and complainings, nor gives o'er Until her fellow sank, and reappeared no more. Wordsworth. 80. THE WOUNDED SOLDIER. The battle it was past, and the vanquished they were fled, And the field was left abandoned to the dying and the dead, When slowly struggling upwards, from beneath the bloody throng, A wounded soldier rose, and staggered painfully along. The night air chilly blew, and froze the blood that dried, As it oozed out from his manly breast, and down his stiffened side; And though with band he bound it, and his scarf upon it lay, Yet the wound was deep, and life beneath ebbed silently away. Yet, on he went; his cottage lay not far behind the hill, And hope, hope fondly whispered him that he might reach it still; And over heath and glen he dragged his limbs, when, lo! afar His casement's light across the moor shines gleaming like a star. The snow-drift sweeps along, and his limbs are stiffening fast, And his feeble voice for help is borne on wildly with the blast. And though so near his journey's end, he feels his strength is vain, And home, and wife, and children, he shall never see again. One effort more, ere life's dim spark be quenched, and all too late; He staggers onward desperate,-he gains the garden gate, He falls against the latch,—it breaks, but life's last pang is o'er, And faint, the dying soldier sinks before his cot tage door. Reade. 81. FOLDING THE FLOCKS. And let your dogs lie loose without, Break upon your simple flocks. [1] 'Gins-for begins. [2] Hesperus-the evening star. To secure yourselves from these So shall you good shepherds prove, On your eye-lids: so farewell; Thus I end my evening knell Beaumont and Fletcher 82.-UNFOLDING THE FLOCKS. Shepherds rise, and shake off sleep- With his rising flames, which grow Beaumont and Fletcher. 83.-DAY-BREAK. See, the day begins to break, The early lark, that erst [1] was mute, Many a note and many a lay. Beaumont and Fletcher. 84.-EVENING MEDITATION. Permit not sluggish sleep To close your waking eye, Till you with judgment deep He that his sin as darling keeps More desperate is, than he that sleeps At night lie down, prepared to have [1] Erst-formerly, before. |