The dappled [1] herd of grazing deer, Darker it grew, and darker fears Came o'er her troubled mind; When now, a short quick step she hears, She turn'd, it stopped; nought could she see But as she strove the sprite to flee, She heard the same again. Now terror seized her quaking frame, Yet once again, amidst her fright, Regardless of whate'er she felt, It followed down the plain; She own'd her sins, and down she knelt, Then on she sped, and hope grew strong, Which pushing hard, so long it swung, [1] Dappled-variegated-streaked. Loud fell the gate against the post, Still on-pit-pat-the goblin went, Her strength and resolution spent, Out came her husband, much surprised; The candle's gleam pierced through the night An ass's foal had lost its dam No goblin he; no imp of sin; His little hoofs would rattle round The matron learn'd to love the sound That frightened her before. [1] Grisly-dreadful-hideous. F A favourite the ghost became, And 'twas his fate to thrive ; And long he lived, and spread his fame, For many a laugh went through the vale, 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 |