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The dappled [1] herd of grazing deer,

That sought the shades by day,
Now started from their path with fear,

And gave the stranger way.
Darker it grew, and darker fears

Came o'er her troubled mind;
When now, a short quick step she hears,

Come patting close behind.
She turn’d, it stopped ; nought could she see

Upon the gloomy plain;
But as she strove the sprite to flee,

She heard the same again.
Now terror seized her quaking frame,

For where the path was bare,
The trotting ghost kept on the same-

She mutter'd many a prayer.
Yet once again, amidst her fright,

She tried what sight could do ; When, through the cheating glooms of night,

A MONSTER stood in view.
Regardless of whate'er she felt,

It followed down the plain ;
She own'd her sins, and down she knelt,

And said her prayers again.
Then on she sped, and hope grew strong,

The white park-gate in view;
Which pushing hard, so long it swung,

That ghost and all passed through.

[1] Dappled-variegated-streaked.

Loud fell the gate against the post,

Her beart-strings like to crack ;
For much she fear'd the grisly (1) ghost

Would leap upon her back.
Still on-pit-pat—the goblin went,

As it had done before,
Her strength and resolution spent,

She fainted at the door.
Out came her husband, much surprised ;

Out came her daughter dear ;
Good-natured souls ! all unadvised

Of what they had to fear. The candle’s gleam pierced through the night

Some short space o'er the green, And there the little trotting sprite

Distinctly might be seen. An ass's foal had lost its dam

Within the spacious park ; And, simple as a playful lamb,

Had followed in the dark. No goblin he; no imp of sin ;

No crimes had ever known ; They took the shaggy stranger in,

And reared him as their own.
His little hoofs would rattle round

Upon the cottage floor ;
The matron learn'd to love the sound

That frightened her before.

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A favourite the ghost became,

And 'twas his fate to thrive;
And long he lived, and spread his fame,

And kept the joke alive.

For many a laugh went through the vale,

And some conviction too-
Each thought some other goblin tale
Perhaps was just as true.

Bloomfield,

42.—THE CAPTIVE SQUIRREL'S PETITION,

ADDRESSED TO THE LITTLE GIRL WHO KEPT HIM. Ah! little maiden, do you love in the summer

woods to rove, When the gay lark's song is in the cloud, the

blackbird's in the grove? When the cowslip hangs her golden bells like

jewels in the grass, And each cup sends forth a tender sound as your

bounding footsteps pass? When the dew is on the willow-leaf and the sun

looks o'er the hill, And Nature's loveliness with joy your inmost soul

can thrill? If song of birds and summer flowers e'er filled

your heart with glee, Oh, think upon my hapless fate, and set your

captive free!

A native of the dark-green woods, my home is far

away, Where gaily, ’mid the giant oaks, my bright-eyed

offspring play; Their couch is lined with softest moss, within an

aged tree, The wind that sweeps the forest bough is not

more blithe than we; And oft beneath our nimble feet the old sear [1]

branches shake, As lightly through the beechen groves our merry

way we take; The boundless forest was my home-how hard my

fate must be, Confined within this narrow cage-oh! set your

captive free! Oh! if you love the pleasant woods, when silence

reigns around, When the mighty shadows calmly. sleep, like

giants on the ground; When the glow-worm sports her fairy lamp beside

the moonlit stream, And the lofty trees in solemn state frown darkly

in the beam; When the blossomed thorn flings out its sweets,

and the minstrel nightingale Pours forth his lay, and echo tells to distant hills

the tale; And the soft mist hangs a crown of gems on every

bush and tree; Oh! if you love the beauteous sight, then set

your captive free!

[1] Sear-dry and withered,

Oh! think how hard your lot would be, in this

dark room confined, Without a single friend to cheer the anguish of

your mind; Severed from every kindred tie, and left alone to

weep O'er perished joys, when every eye is closed in

tranquil sleep! The glorious sunbeams to your heart no cheering

light would bring, But heaviness and gloom would rest on every

pleasant thing : If freedom to your soul is dear, have pity then on

me, Unbar the narrow cage, and set your hapless prisoner free!

Susanna Strickland.

43.-LAMBS AT PLAY. Say, ye that know, ye who have felt and seen Spring's morning smiles, and soul-enlivening green, Say, did you give the thrilling transport way? Did your eye brighten, when young lambs, at play, Leap'd o'er your path with animated pride, Or gazed in merry clusters by your side? Ye who can smile- to wisdom no disgraceAt the arch meaning of a kitten's face; If spotless innocence, and infant mirth, Excites to praise or gives reflection birth; In shades like these pursue your favourite joy, 'Midst Nature's revels, sports that never cloy.

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