WHEN the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hame,
And a' the warld to rest are gane,

The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my ee,

While my gudeman lies sound by me.

Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and sought me for his bride;

But saving a crown he had nothing else beside:

To make the crown a pund, young Jamie gaed to sea;
And the crown and the pund were baith for me.

He had❜na been awa' a week but only twa,

When my father brak his arm, and the cow was stown awa;
My mother she fell sick, and my Jamie at the sea—
And Auld Robin Gray came a-courtin' me.

My father couldna work, and my mother couldna spin;
I toil'd day and night, but their bread I couldna win:
Auld Rob maintain'd them baith, and wi' tears in his ee
Said, Jennie, for their sakes, O, marry me!

My heart it said nay; I look'd for Jamie back;
But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a wrak ;
His ship it was a wrak-why didna Jamie dee?

Or why do I live to cry, Wae's me?

My father urgit sair: my mother didna speak;

But she look'd in my face till my heart was like to break:
They gi'ed him my hand, but my heart was at the sea;
Sae Auld Robin Gray he was gudeman to me.

I hadna been a' wife a week but only four,
When mournfu' as I sat an the stone at the door,
I saw my Jamie's wraith, for I couldna think it he—
Till he said, I'm came hame to marry thee.

O sair, sair did we greet, muckle did we say;
We took but ae kiss, and I bad him gang away;

I wish that I were dead, but I'm no like to dee;
And why was I born to say, Wae's me!

I

gang

like a ghaist, and I carena to spin ;

I daurna think on Jamie, for that wad be a sin
But I'll do my best a gude wife aye to be,
For Auld Robin Gray he is kind unto me.

;

I WANDER'D lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host of golden daffodils;
Beside a lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky way,
They stretch'd in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay;
Ten thousand saw I at a glance
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Outdid the sparkling waves in glee;

A poet could not but be gay

In such a jocund company:

I gazed and gazed, but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought.

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye,

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

Wordsworth.

69.

ALEXANDER SELKIRK.

I AM monarch of all I survey,

My right there is none to dispute;
From the centre all round to the sea,
I am lord of the fowl and the brute.
O Solitude! where are the charms

That sages have seen in thy face?
Better dwell in the midst of alarms,
Than reign in this horrible place.

I am out of humanity's reach,

I must finish my journey alone,
Never hear the sweet music of speech,
I start at the sound of my own.
The beasts that roam over the plain,
My form with indifference see;
They are so unacquainted with man,
Their tamenesss is shocking to me.

Society, friendship, and love,
Divinely bestow'd upon man,
O, had I the wings of a dove,
How soon would I taste you again!
My sorrows I then might assuage
In the ways of religion and truth,
Might learn from the wisdom of age,
And be cheer'd by the sallies of youth.
Religion! what treasure untold

Resides in the heavenly word!
More precious than silver and gold,
Or all that this earth can afford,
But the sound of the church-going bell
These valleys and rocks never heard
Never sigh'd at the sound of a knell,

Or smiled when a sabbath appear'd.

Ye winds, that have made me your sport,
Convey to this desolate shore
Some cordial endearing report

Of a land, I shall visit no more.
My friends, do they now and then send
A wish or a thought after me?
O tell me I yet have a friend,

Though a friend I am never to see.

How fleet is a glance of the mind;
Compared with the speed of its flight,
The tempest itself lags behind,

And the swift-winged arrows of light.
When I think of my own native land,
In a moment I seem to be there;
But alas! recollection at hand

Soon hurries me back to despair.

But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest,
The beast is laid down in his lair;
Even here is a season of rest,

And I to my cabin repair.
There's mercy in every place,
And mercy, encouraging thought!
Gives even affliction a grace,

And reconciles man to his lot.

Cowper.

70.-THE KITTEN AND FALLING

LEAVES.

SEE the kitten on the wall,

Sporting with the leaves that fall,

Withered leaves,-one-two-and three-
From the lofty elder tree!

Through the calm and frosty air
Of this morning bright and fair,
Eddying round and round they sink
Softly, slowly: one might think
From the motions that they made,
Every little leaf conveyed

Sylph or Fairy hither tending,
To this lower world descending,
Each invisible and mute,
In his wavering parachute.

But the kitten, now she starts,
Crouches, stretches, paws, and darts !
First at one, and then its fellow,
Just as light and just as yellow;
There are many now-now one-
Now they stop and there are none:
What intenseness of desire
In her upward eye of fire!
With a tiger-leap half-way
Now she meets the coming prey,
Lets it go as fast, and then

Has it in ber power again:

Now she works with three or four,
Like an Indian conjuror;

Quick as he in feats of art,

Far beyond in joy of heart.

Were her antics played in the eye
Of a thousand standers by,

Clapping hands with shouts and stare,
What would little Tabby care
For the plaudits of the crowd?
Over happy to be proud,
Over wealthy in the treasure

Of her own exceeding pleasure!

Wordsworth.

L