Imagens das páginas

Where the hot-air is not stirred
By the wing of singing bird,
There thou go'st, untired and meek,
Day by day and week by week,
With thy load of precious things-
Silks for merchants, gold for kings,
Pearls of Ormuz, [1] riches rare,
Damascene [2] and Indian ware-
Bale on bale, and heap on heap-
Freighted like a costly ship! [3]
And when week by week is gone,
And the traveller journeys on
Feebly; when his strength is fled,
And his hope and heart seem dead,
Camel, thou dost turn thine eye
On him kindly, soothingly,
As if thou would'st, cheering, say,
“ Journey on for this one day-
Do not let thy heart despond,
There is water yet beyond !
I can scent it in the air-
Do not let thy heart despair !”
And thou guid'st the traveller there.

Camel, thou art good and mild,
Docile as a little child;
Thou wast made for usefulness,
Man to comfort and to bless;
And the desert wastes must be
Untrack'd regions but for thee !

Mary Howitt.

[1] Ormuz-a gulf in Asia, noted for its pearl fishery. [2] Damascene-goods from Damascus in Syria. [3] The Arabs call the Camel “the Ship of the Desert.”

17.-CHILDHOOD'S TEARS. The tear down childhood's cheek that flows Is like the dew-drop on the rose; When next the summer breeze comes by, And waves the bush, the flower is dry!


18.—THE DEAD SPARROW. Tell me not of joy! there's none, Now my little sparrow's gone :

He would chirp and play with me;
He would hang the wing awhile;
Till at length he saw me smile

O! how sullen he would be !
He would catch a crumb, and then,
Sporting let it go again ;

He from my lip

Would moisture sip :
He would from my trencher feed,
Then would hop, and then would run,
And cry phillip when he'd done!

O! whose heart can choose but bleed ?
O! how eager would he fight,
And ne'er hurt, though he did bite !

No morn did pass,

But on my glass
He would sit, and mark and do
What I did ; now ruffle all
His feathers o'er, now let 'em (1) fall;

And then straightway sleek [2] 'em too.
[1] 'en— them.
[2] Sleek-make smooth.

Now my faithful bird is gone;

O! let mournful turtles [1] join
With loving red-breasts, and combine
To sing dirges [2] o'er his stone !


19.-THE LATE SPRING. The sleepy Spring was still in bed,

And to rise was slowly preparing; When she heard the soft fall of the zephyr's (3) tread,

Who came to give her an airing.

She rose in haste, not dressed in blue,

But clad in her wintry mourning ;-
Just stuck in her bosom a snow-drop or two,

Her brow a faint smile adorning.

Then away over meadow, and garden, and wood,

Her light-winged courser bore her; But in her fair eyes the tear-drop stood,

To see the drear scene before her.

So long had the tyrant of northern birth, [4]

His iron reign extended,
The genial commerce [6] of sky and earth

Had well-nigh been suspended.

[1] Turtles-turtle doves. [2] Dirge-see note [1] No. 9. [8] Zephyr-the west wind—any warm soft wind. [4] Tyrant of northern birth-winter. [5] Genial commerce-agreeable intercourse.

The young birds had met on St. Valentine's feast, [1]

All eager to get married ;
But the sullen saint refused to be priest :

For another red-day (e) they tarried.

The crocus had put forth its feelers green,

But drew in its head in affright,
On hearing the peas, as soon as seen,

Had been all cut off in a night.

The lilac gay, that loves to be first,

Stood shivering still and pouting, And many a bud was longing to burst,

But its orders, as yet, was doubting.

And the queen of the season, so ill did she feel,

She again took to bed in pure sorrow : But the sun has been called in, her sickness to heal, And we hope she'll be better to-morrow.


20.—THE IRISH HARPER AND HIS DOG. On the green banks of Shannon, when Sheelah

was nigh,
No blithe Irish lad was so happy as l;
No harp like my own could so cheerily play,
And wherever I went was my poor dog, Tray.

[1] St. Valentine's Feast the 14th of February. This is the usual season for the pairing of birds.

[2] Red-day-feast-day, so called because the names of such days used to be particularly marked in the almanacs, by being printed in red letters.

When at last I was forc'd from my Sheelah to part,
She said—while the sorrow was big at her heart-
Oh! remember your Sheelah, when far, far away,
And be kind, my dear Pat, to our poor dog, Tray.”
Poor dog! he was faithful and kind, to be sure,
And he constantly loved me, although I was poor;
When the sour-looking folks sent me heartless away,
I had always a friend in my poor dog, Tray.
When the road was so dark, and the night was so

And Pat and his dog were grown weary and old,
How snugly we slept in my old coat of grey,
And he lick'd me for kindness--my poor dog, Tray.
Though my wallet was scant, [1] I remember'd his

case, Nor refus'd my last crust to his pitiful face ; But he died at my feet on a cold winter's day, And I play'd a sad dirge [2] for my poor dog, Tray. Where now shall I go, poor, forsaken, and blind? Can I find one to guide me, so faithful and kind ? To my sweet native village, so far, far away, I can never return with my poor dog, Tray.


Turn, turn thy hasty foot aside,

Nor crush that helpless worm !
The frame thy wayward looks deride

Requir'd a God to form.
[1] Scant-for scanty-narrow-ill-furnished.
[2] Dirge-see note [1] No. 9.

« AnteriorContinuar »