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This great affection to believe, Which all confess, but few perceive, If old assertions can't prevail
, Be pleased to hear a modern tale.
When sports went round, and all were gay
“With you! and quit my Susan's side !
What more he urged I have not heard : His reasons could not well be stronger :
So Death the poor delinquent spared,
Yet, calling up a serious look -
And grant a kind reprieve,
Well pleased, the world will leave."
What next the hero of our tale befell, How long he lived, how wisely,—and how well It pleased him, in his prosperous course, To smoke his pipe, and pat his horse,
The willing muse shall tell:
He chaffered then, he bought, he sold,
Nor thought of Death as near;
He passed his hours in peace.
Brought on his eightieth year.
And now, one night, in musing mood,
Once more before him stood.
Half killed with anger and surprise, " So soon returned !" old Dobson cries,
“So soon, d'ye call it ?" Death replies : “Surely, my friend, you're but in jěst:
Since I was here before 'Tis six-and-thirty years at least,
And you are now fourscore.” “So much the worse !" the clown rejoined : “To spare the aged would be kind : Besides, you promised me three warnings, Which I have looked for nights and mornings."
“I know," cries Death, “that, at the best,
Hold !” says the farmer, “not so fast:
“And no great wonder," Death replies: “However, you still keep your eyes; And sure, to see one's loves and friends, For legs and arms would make amends." "Perhaps," says Dobson, "so it might; But latterly I've lost my sight.”
“This is a shocking story, faith ;
“ There's none,” cries he; "and, if there were
These are unreasonable yearnings:
three sufficient warnings :
The Mariner's Dream.--DIMOND.
In slumbers of midnight the sailor boy lay,
His hammock swung loose at the sport of the wind But, watch-worn and weary, his cares flew away,
And visions of happiness danced o'er his mind. He dreamed of his home, of his dear native bowers,
And pleasures that waited on life's merry morn; While
memory each scene gayly covered with flowers, And restored every rose, but secreted its thorn. Then fancy her magical pinions spread wide,
And bade the young dreamer in ecstasy rise ;Now far, far behind him, the green waters glide,
And the cot of his forefathers blesses his eyes. The jessamine clambers in flower o'er the thatch,
And the swallow chirps sweet from her nest in the wall All trembling with transport, he raises the latch,
And the voices of loved ones reply to his call. A father bends o'er him with looks of delight;
His cheek is impearled with a mother's warm tear; And the lips of the boy in a love-kiss unite
With the lips of the maid whom his bosom holde dean
The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast,
Joy quickens his pulses, his hardships seem o'er; And a murmur of happiness steals through his rest
“() God! thou hast blest me; I ask for no more."
Ahl whence is that flame which now bursts on his eye?
Ah! what is that sound which now larums his ear? Tis the lightning's red glare, painting hell on the sky! 'Tis the
crashing of thunders, the groan of the sphere !
He springs from his hammock-he flies to the deck
Amazement confronts him with images dire-
The masts fly in splinters—the shrouds are on fire!
Like mountains the billows tremendously swell :
In vain the lost wretch calls on mercy to save ; Unseen hands of spirits are ringing his knell,
And the death-angel flaps his broad wing o'er the wave.
O sailor boy! wo to thy dream of delight!
In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work of bliss. Where now is the picture that fancy touched bright,
Thy parents' fond pressure, and love's honied kiss ? O sailor boy ! sailor boy ! never again
Shall home, love, or kindred, thy wishes repay; Unblessed, and unhonoured, down deep in the main
Full many a score fathom, thy frame shall decay.
No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for thee,
Or redeem form or fame from the merciless surge ; But the white foam of waves shall thy winding-sheet be,
And winds, in the midnight of winter, thy dirge!
On a bed of green sea-flower thy limbs shall be laid ,
Around thy white bones the red coral shall grow; Of thy fair yellow locks threads of amber be made,
And every part suit to thy mansion below.
Days, months, years, and ages, shall circle away,
Ånd still the vast waters above thee shall roll; Earth loses thy pattern for ever and aye:
O sailor boy! sailor boy! peace to thy soul !
The waters slept. Night's silvery veil hung low On Jordan's bosom, and the eddies curled Their glassy rings beneath it, like the still, Unbroken beating of the sleeper's pulse. The reeds bent down the stream: the willow learns, With a soft cheek upon the lulling tide, Forgot the lifting winds; and the long stems, Whose flowers the water, like a gentle nurse, Bears on its bosom, quietly gave way, And leaned, in graceful altitudes, to rest. How strikingly the course of nature tells, By its light heed of human suffering, That it was fashioned for a happier world!
King David's limbs were weary. He had filed From far Jerusalem ; and now he stood, With his faint people, for a little rest Upon the shore of Jordan. The light wind Of morn was stirring, and he bared his brow To its refreshing breath; for he had worn The mourner's covering, and he had not felt That he could see his people until now. They gathered round him on the fresh green bank And spoke their kindly words; and, as the sun Rose up in heaven, he knelt among them there, And bowed his head upon his hands to pray. Oh! when the heart is full—when bitter thoughts Come crowding thickly up for utterance, And the poor common words of courtesy* Are such a very mockery-how much The bursting heart may pour itself in prayer! He prayed for Israel; and his voice went up Strongly and fervently. He prayed for those Whose love had been his shield; and his deep toner Grew tremulous. But, oh! for AbsalomFor his estranged, misguided AbsalomThe proud, bright being, who had burst away, In all his princely beauty, to defy The heart that cherished him
for him he poured, In agony that would not be controlled,
* Pron. curt-e-sy.