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's voice,


he wipes


thy friend,




Eight times emerging from the flood
She mew'd to every watery god

Some speedy aid to send:
No dolphin came, no naiad stirr'd,
Nor cruel Tom nor Susan heard

A favourite has no friend!


6.-THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH. 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 threshing-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 begun,

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!



A CHIEFTAIN to the Highlands bound

Cries, “ Boatman, do not tarry! And I'll give thee a silver pound “ To row us o'er the ferry.”

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Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle,

“ This dark and stormy water ? ” “O, I'm the chief of Ulva's isle,

" And this Lord Ullin's daughter. 66 And fast before her father's men

“ Three days we've fled together, " For should he find us in the glen,

“My blood would stain the heather. “ IIis horsemen hard behind us ride;

“Should they our steps discover, “ Then who will cheer my bonny bride

“When they have slain her lover ?” Out spoke the hardy Highland wight,

“I'll go, my chief, I'm ready; “It is not for your silver bright:

“ But for your winsome lady:
And by my word! the bonny bird
“ In danger shall not tarry;
So, though the waves are raging white,

“I'll row you o'er the ferry." By this the storm grew


арасе, The water-wraith was shrieking; And in the scowl of Heaven each face

Grew dark as they were speaking. But still as wilder blew the wind,

And as the night grew drearer, Adown the glen rode armed men

Their trampling sounded nearer. “O haste thee, haste!” the lady cries,

Though tempests round us gather; “ I'll meet the raging of the skies,

“But not an angry father.”

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