YORKSHIRE HUMPHREY. 'Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun Can pierce the war-cloud rolling dun, Where furious Frank and fiery Hun Shout in their sulphurous canopy! The combat deepens. On, ye brave, And charge with all thy chivalry! Few, few shall part where many meet! Shall be a soldier's sepulchre! 283 Campbell. YORKSHIRE HUMPHREY. As Yorkshire Humphrey, t'other day, Numps gazing stood, and wond'ring how A sharper, prowling near the spot, And soon, with fish-hook fingers, turns Numps feels the twitch, and turns around, The thief, with artful leer, Says, "Sir, you'll presently be robb'd, For pickpockets are near." Quoth Numps, "I don't fear London thieves; Ize not a simple youth: My guinea, master's, safe enough; I've put it in my mouth!" 284 YORKSHIRE HUMPHREY. "You'll pardon me!" the rogue replies; Numps re-assumed the gaping post, The artful prowler takes his stand, Then thus the elder thief began- "Leave that to me !" young Filcher says; 66 Only observe how neat I'll trick By this time Numps, who'd gazed his fill, "Oh, dear! oh, dear! my money's lost!" While halfpence, falling from his hand, Roll jingling o'er the stones. The passengers now stoop to find, And give the boy his coin; And Humphrey, with a friendly hand, Deigns cordially to join. "There are your pence," quoth Numps, "my boy; Be zure you holds 'em faster!" "My pence!" quoth Filch: "here are my pence; But where's my guinea, master?” "Help, help, good folks; for God's sake, help!" Bawls out the hopeful youth. "He pick'd my guinea up just now, And has it in his mouth!" THE HOMES OF ENGLAND. The elder thief was lurking near; Then roars out" Masters, here's the coin; Humphrey, astonished, thus begins- "Ah! now," quoth Numps, "I will believe That London thieves would steal the teeth Out of a body's head!" 285 Anon. THE HOMES OF ENGLAND. THE stately homes of England, How beautiful they stand Amidst their tall ancestral trees, O'er all the pleasant land! The deer across their greensward bound, Through shade and sunny gleam, And the swan glides past them with the sound Of some rejoicing stream. The merry homes of England! Around their hearths by night What gladsome looks of household love Meet in the ruddy light! There woman's voice flows forth in song, 286 THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL. The cottage homes of England! They are smiling o'er the silvery brook, Through glowing orchards forth they peep, As the bird beneath their eaves. The free fair homes of England! May hearts of native proof be reared To guard each hallowed wall. And green for ever be the groves, And bright the flow'ry sod, Where first the child's glad spirit loves Its country and its God. Mrs. Hemans, THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL VITAL spark of heavenly flame, Hark! they whisper angels say, The world recedes-it disappears; Lend, lend your wings: I mount, I fly! Pope TEN YEARS AGO. TEN YEARS AGO. TEN years ago-ten years ago- And the keen blasts of worldly woe Had sered not then its pathway green; Time has not blanched a single hair Though somewhat stained by secret tears; I too am changed-I scarce know why; In soul and form, I linger still In the first summer month of life. But look not thus-I would not give The wreck of hopes that thou must share, To bid those joyous hours revive, When all around me seemed so fair! When winds were low and flowers in bloom, 287 |