And if it be too much to say For now he listens-and anon And now deceiv'd, he darts along, Then disappointed, drops his head, He never loiters by the way, And surely 'tis not less than joy 'Tis surely he-he saw him move, And at the joyful sight He toss'd his head with a prouder air, His fierce eye grew more bright; Eager emotion swell'd his breast To tell his generous tale And he raised his voice to its loudest tone To bid the wanderer hail. The pilgrim heard-he rais'd his head, "Ha! art thou come to rend alive Fear gave him back his wasted strength, The bullet bore the message home- His eye was dimm'd, his voice was still, But his heart, though it ceased to throb with joy, For round his willing neck he bore A store of needful food; [1] That might support the traveller's strength On the yet remaining road. Enough of parting life remain'd His errand to fulfil— One painful, dying effort more But crawl'd to the traveller's side, Then shudder'd, groan'd, and died! [2] [1] A bottle of wine and a loaf are tied round the necks of these dogs when they are sent forth. [2] It is said, that the traveller, tracing the dog's footsteps in the snow, reached the convent in safety. 178. THE BLOSSOM. Said Anna to Jane, as they loiter'd one day, In the year's early spring, by the garden-hedge side, "Those bright, clustering flowers on yonder tall tree Are the fairest and sweetest I ever espied. "But I know that to-night, ere the sun shall have set, Their form will be changed, and their colours will fly ; I almost could weep that such beauty should pass― 'Tis surely a pity that blossoms must die. "But at least I'll enjoy them as long as I can, For go when they will I shall leave them with sorrow; They shall bloom on my bosom at least for to-day, Since, whether or no, I must lose them tomorrow." The blossom was gather'd, and smil'd in her breast, For many an hour, full sweetly, no doubtIt died, as it would were it left in the treeBut she who had gather'd it had not the fruit. And 'tis so that we sigh o'er our life's fleeting joys, Forgetting the purpose for which they were given; Forgetting, though sweet be the blossoms on earth, 179. THE FORCE OF INSTINCT. FOUNDED ON FACTS. When May with verdure decked the bowers, With clustering leaves a nest concealed, Of linnets, tenants of the grove- With feathers lined, of roots and leaves, ? What words can paint their care But short their bliss a school-boy saw, And, unrestrained by pity's law, Took aim and shot the pair. To me he brought the cradling nest; Brought from Canaria's isles, encaged, And charm'd my lonely hours; Though doomed no social joys to share, Yet tamed by custom, free from care, She fluttered 'mid my flowers. Soon as the solitary bird The note of infant nestlings heard, At once grown conscious of control, Then cowering o'er the long-chill'd nest, And thus, of parents dear bereaved, Mrs. Montolien. 180. THE SQUIRREL. The squirrel, flippant, pert, and full of play, Drawn from his refuge in some lonely elm That age or injury hath hollow'd deep, |