OLD DOBBIN. HERE's a song for old Dobbin, whose temper and worth He carried the master to barter his grain, The dairy-maid ventured her eggs on his back : We fun-loving urchins would group by his side ; tail ; But his temper and patience were ne'er known to fail.. We would brush his bright hide till 'twas free from a speck ; He stood to the collar, and tugg’d up the hill, When the hot sun was crowning the toil of the year, Oh! those days of pure bliss shall I ever forget, BUCHANAN. VILLAGE VOICES. (1.) JANUARY WIND. THE wind, wife, the wind; how it blows, how it blows; It grips the latch, it shakes the house, it whistles, it screams, it crows, It dashes on the window-pane, then rushes off with a cry, Ye scarce can hear your own loud voice, it clatters so loud and high ; And far away upon the sea it floats with thunder call ; The wind, wife; the wind, wife; the wind that did it all ! The wind, wife, the wind; how it blows, how it blows ! It changes, shifts, without a cause, it ceases, it comes and goes ; And David ever was the same, wayward, and wild, and boldFor wilful lad will have his way, and the wind no hand can hold; But, ah! the wind, the changeful wind, was more in the blame than he ; The wind, wife; the wind, wife, that blew him out to sea ! The wind, wife, the wind; now 'tis still, now 'tis still; And as we sit I seem to feel the silence shiver and thrill. 'Twas thus the night he went away, and we sat in silence here, We listen'd to our beating hearts, and all was weary and drear; We long'd to hear the wind again, and to hold our David's hand The wind, wife; the wind, wife, that blew him out from land! The wind, wife, the wind; up again, up again! It blew our David round the world, yet shriek'd at our window-pane ; And ever since that time, old wife, in rain, and in sun, and in snow, Whether I work or weary here, I hear it whistle and blow. It moans around, it groans around, it wanders with scream and cry The wind, wife; the wind, wife; may it blow him home to die! (2.) APRIL RAIN. Showers, showers, nought but showers, and it wants a week of May, Flowers, flowers, summer flowers, are hid in the green and the gray; Green buds and gray shoots cover their sparkling gear, They stir beneath, they long to burst, for the May is so near, so near While I spin and I spin, and the fingers of the rain Showers, showers, silver showers, murmur and softly sing, Flowers, flowers, summer flowers, are swelling and heark ening; It wants a week of May, when John and I will be one; The flowers will burst, the birds will sing, as we walk to church in the sun ; So patter goes my heart, in a kind of pleasant pain, To the patter, pitter, patter of the rain. (3.) SUMMER Moon. Summer moon, O summer moon, across the west you fly! You gaze on half the earth at once with sweet and steadfast eye. Summer moon, O summer moon, were I aloft with thee, I know that I could look upon my boy who sails at sea. Summer moon, O summer moon, you throw your silver showers Upon a glassy sea that lies round shores of fruits and flowers. The blue wave trembles on the shore with murmuring as of bees, And the shadow of the ship lies dark near shade of orange trees. Summer moon, O summer moon, now wind and storm have fled, Your light creeps through a cabin pane, and lights a flaxen head : He tosses with his lips apart, lies smiling in your gleam, For underneath his folded lids you put a gentle dream. Summer moon, O summer moon, his head is on his arm ; He stirs with balmy breath, and sees the moonlight on the farm; He stirs and breathes his mother's name; he smiles, and sees once more The moon above, the fields below, the shadow at the door. Summer moon, O summer moon, across the lift you go ; Far south you gaze and see my boy, where groves of orange grow! Summer moon, O summer moon, you turn again to me, And seem to have the smile of him who sleeps upon the sea. MACKAY. KING ALFRED. KING ALFRED went forth to the camp of the Dane, And tuned his sweet harp for the foe; And sigh'd for her glory laid low. Of love and its pleasures he sang, And their tents with the melody rang. “ Come, sing us a song of the full-flowing bowl !” Exclaim'd the proud foe, as he play'd ; Look'd round with a smile, and obey'd : “Who drinks the deep draught shall be strong in the fight, Who drains to the dregs is a king !” Again they applauded :—“We'll pledge you to-night : 'Tis thus that a minstrel should sing !” Then, changing his theme, came the tune, like a wave : “When haughty invaders defy, His fame shall be first on the roll of the brave Who meets them, to conquer or die : |