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Pay goodly heed, all you who read,
And beware of saying, "I can't;
'Tis a cowardly word, and apt to lead
To Idleness, Folly, and Want.

Whenever you find your heart despair
Of doing some goodly thing,
Con over this strain, try bravely again,
And remember the Spider and King!

BONNY DUNDEE.-Scott.

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 bells are rung backwards, the drums they are beat,
But the provost, douce man, said "Just e'en let him

be;

The gude town is well quit of that deil of Dundee !"

As he rode down the sanctified bends of the Bow,
Ilk carline was flying and shaking her pow;
But the young plants of grace they looked couthie and
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, And lang-hafted gullies to kill cavaliers;

But they shrunk to close heads, and the causeway was free

At the toss of the bonnet of bonny Dundee !

:

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;
"Where'er shall direct me the shade of Montrose !
Your Grace in short space shall hear tidings of me,
Or that low lies the bonnet of bonny Dundee !

"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;
There's steel in the scabbard that dangles beside;
The brass shall be burnished, the steel shall flash free,
At a toss of the bonnet of bonny Dundee !

"Away to the hills, to the caves, to the rocks,
Ere I own a usurper, I'll couch with the fox:
And tremble, false Whigs, in the midst of your glee :
You have not seen the last of my bonnet and me !”

He waved his proud hand, and the trumpets were blown,

The kettle-drums clashed, and the horsemen rode on, Till on Ravelston's cliffs and on Clermiston's lee Died away the wild war-notes of bonny Dundee ! Come, fill up my cup; come, fill up my can ; Come, saddle the horses; come, call up the men ; Come, open your gates, and let me go free,

66

For it's up with the bonnet of bonny Dundee !"

HO! BREAKERS ON THE WEATHER BOW.

Swain.

Ho! breakers on the weather bow,

And hissing white the sea;

Go, loose the topsail, mariner,

And set the helm a-lee ;
And set the helm a-lee, my boys,
And shift her while ye may;

Or not a living soul on board
Will view the light of day.

Aloft the seaman daringly

Shook out the rattling sail;

The danger fled-she leapt a-head
Like wild stag through the gale;
Like wild stag through the gale, my boys,
All panting as in fear,

And trembling as her spirit knew

Destruction in the rear !

Now slacken speed-take wary heed-
All hands haul home the sheet;
To Him who saves, amidst the waves,
Let each their prayer repeat :
Let each their prayer repeat, my boys,
For but a moment's gain

Lay 'tween our breath and instant death
Within that howling main.

THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH.-Longfellow.

UNDER a spreading chestnut tree
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.

His hair is crisp, and black, and long,

His face is like the tan;

His brow is wet with honest sweat,

He earns whate'er he can,

And looks the whole world in the face,
For he owes not any man.

Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow ;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
With measured beat and slow,

Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low.

And children coming home from school
Look in at the open door;

They love to see the flaming forge,
And hear the bellows roar,

And catch the burning sparks that fly
Like chaff from a thrashing-floor.

He goes on Sunday to the church,
And sits among his boys;

He hears the parson pray and preach,
He hears his daughter's voice
Singing in the village choir,

And it makes his heart rejoice.

It sounds to him like her mother's voice,
Singing in Paradise!

He needs must think of her once more,
How in the grave she lies;

And with his hard, rough hand he wipes
A tear out of his eyes.

Toiling-rejoicing—sorrowing,
Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees it close;
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night's repose.

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught !
Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought;
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought!

IVRY.-Macaulay.

Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are!

And glory to our Sovereign Liege, King Henry of

Navarre !

Now let there be the merry sound of music and of dance,

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