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With fingers weary and worn,
With eyelids heavy and red,
In poverty, hunger, and dirt,
She sang this “Song of the Shirt !”
TRY AGAIN.-E. Cook.
In a lonely mood to think ;
But his heart was beginning to sink.
To make his people glad,
And so he became quite sad.
As grieved as man could be;
“I'll give it all up,” said he.
With its silken cobweb clue, And the King in the midst of his thinking stopped,
To see what the spider would do.
And it hung by a rope so fine,
King Bruce could not divine.
Straight up with strong endeavour,
As near to the ground as ever.
Up, up it ran; not a second it stayed,
To utter the least complaint,
A little dizzy and faint.
And travelled a half-yard higher.
And a road where its feet would tire.
But again it quickly mounted,
Nine brave attempts were counted. “Sure," cried the King, “that foolish thing
Will strive no more to climb,
And tumbles every time.”
Ah me, 'tis an anxious minute,
Oh, say, will he lose or win it !
Higher and higher he got, And a bold little run at the very last pinch,
Put him into his native cot. 5 Bravo, bravo !” the King cried out,
“ All honour to those who try! The spider up there, defied despair,
He conquered, and why shouldn't I ?” And Bruce of Scotland braced his mind,
And gossips tell the tale, That he tried once more, as he tried before,
And that time did not fail,
Pay goodly heed, all you who read,
And beware of saying, “I can't ; ”
To Idleness, Folly, and Want.
Whenever you find your heart despair
Of doing some goodly thing,
And remember the Spider and King !
To the Lords of Convention 'twas Claver'se who
spoke :“ Ere the king's crown shall fall, there are crowns to
be broke ; So let each cavalier who loves honour and me, Come follow the bonnet of bonny Dundee!
Come, fill up my cup ; come, fill up my can; Come, saddle your horses, and call up your men; Come, open the west port, and let me gang free, And it's room for the bonnets of bonny Dundee !"
Dundee he is mounted and rides up the street,
The gude town is well quit of that deil of Dundee !"
As he rode down the sanctified bends of the Bow,
slee, . Thinking “Luck to thy bonnet, thou bonny Dundee !" With sour-featured Whigs the Grass-market was
crammed, As if half the West had set tryst to be hanged ; There was spite in each look, there was fear in
each ee, As they watched for the bonnets of bonny Dundee !
The cowls of Kilmarnock had spits and had spears,
He spurred to the foot of the proud castle-rock, And with the gay Gordon he gallantly spoke :“ Let Mons Meg and her marrows speak twa words
or three, For the love of the bonnet of bonny Dundee !"
The Gordon demands of him which way he goes;
“ There are hills beyond Pentland, and lands beyond
Forth; If there's lords in the Lowlands, there's chiefs in the
north : There are wild Dunnies wassals three thousand times
three Will cry ‘hoigh' for the bonnets of bonny Dundee !
“ There's brass on the target of barkened bull-hide ;
“ Away to the hills, to the caves, to the rocks,
He waved his proud hand, and the trumpets were
“ Come, fill up my cup ; come, fill up my can;
HO! BREAKERS ON THE WEATHER BOW.
Ho! breakers on the weather bow,
And hissing white the sea;
And set the helm a-lee ;
And shift her while ye may ;
Will view the light of day.
Aloft the seaman daringly
Shook out the rattling sail ;
Like wild stag through the gale ;
All panting as in fear,
Destruction in the rear !