Careless their merits, or their faults to scan,
His pity gave ere charity began.

Thus, to relieve the wretched was his pride,
And e'en his failings lean'd to virtue's side;
But in his duty prompt at every call,

He watch'd and wept, he pray'd and felt for all.
And, as a bird each fond endearment tries,
To tempt each new fledg'd offspring to the skies,
He tried each art, reprov'd each dull delay,
Allur'd to brighter worlds, and the way.

Beside the bed where parting life was laid,
And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismay'd,
The reverend champion stood. At his control
Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul;
Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise,
And his last faltering accents whisper'd praise.

At Church, with meek and unaffected grace,
His looks adorn'd the venerable place;
Truth from his lips prevail'd with double sway,
And fools, who came to scoff, remain'd to pray.
The service past, around the pious man,

With ready zeal each honest rustic ran :
E'en children follow'd with endearing wile,

And pluck'd his gown, to share the good man's smile.
His ready smile a parent's warmth exprest,
Their welfare pleas'd him, and their cares distrest';
To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given,
But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven ;

D

As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form,

Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm,
Tho' round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,
Eternal sunshine settles on its head.

Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way,
With blossom'd furze unprofitably gay,
There in his noisy mansion, skill'd to rule,
The village master taught his little school;
A man severe he was, and stern to view ;
I knew him well, and every truant knew ;
Well had the boding tremblers learn'd to trace
The day's disasters in his morning face;
Full well the busy whisper, circling round,
Convey'd the dismal tidings when he frown'd;
Yet he was kind, or, if severe in aught,
The love he bore to learning was in fault.
The village all declar'd how much he knew ;
Twas certain he could write and cipher too;
Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage,
And e'en the story ran that he could gauge ;

In arguing, too, the parson own'd his skill,
For e'en though vanquished, he could argue still ;
While words of learned length and thundering sound
Amazed the gazing rustics rang'd around,

And still they gaz'd, and still the wonder grew,
That one small head could carry all he knew.

But past is all his fame. The very spot Where many a time he triumph'd is forgot.

GOLDSMITH.

THE MAY QUEEN.

You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear;

To-morrow 'll be the happiest time of all the glad New

year;

Of all the glad New-year, mother, the maddest, merriest

day;

For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

There's many a black eye, they say, but none so bright as mine!

There's Margaret and Mary, there's Kate and Caroline, But none so fair as little Alice in all the land, they say; So I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

I sleep so sound all night, mother, that I shall never wake,

If

you do not call me loud when the day begins to break; But I must gather knots of flowers, and buds and garlands gay,

For I'm to be Queen of the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

As I came up the valley whom think ye should I see, But Robin leaning on the bridge beneath the hazel-tree? He thought of that sharp look, mother, I gave him yesterday,

But I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

He thought that I was a ghost, mother, for I was all in

white,

And I ran by him without speaking, like a flash of

light.

They call me cruel-hearted, but I care not what they

say,

For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

They say he's dying all for love, but that can never be; They say his heart is breaking, mother, what is that

to me?

There's many a bolder lad 'ill woo me any summer day, And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

Little Effie shall go with me to-morrow to the green, And you'll be there, too, mother, to see me made the Queen.

For the shepherd lads on every side 'll come from far

away,

And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

The honeysuckle round the porch has wov'n its wavy bowers,

And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint sweet cuckoo flowers;

And the wild marsh-marigold shines like fire in swamps and hollows grey,

And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

The night-winds come and go, mother, upon the meadow-grass,

And the happy stars above them seem to brighten as they pass;

There will not be a drop of rain the whole of the livelong day,

And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

All the valley, mother, 'ill be fresh and green and still, And the cowslip and the crowfoot are over all the hill, And the rivulet in the flowery dale 'ill merrily glance and play,

For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

So you must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear,

To-morrow 'ill be the happiest time of all the glad New-year;

To-morrow 'll be of all the year, the maddest, merriest

day,

For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.