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Alas! it has no power to stay:
Its hues are dim, its hues are grey-
Away it passes from the moon.
How mournfully it seems to fly,
Ever fading more and more,
To joyless regions of the sky-
And now 'tis whiter than before,
As white as my poor cheek will be,
When, Lewti! on my couch I lie,
A dying man for love of thee.

Nay, treach'rous image! leave my mind→→
And yet thou didst not look unkind!

I saw a vapour in the sky,
Thin, and white, and very high.
I ne'er beheld so thin a cloud-
Perhaps the breezes that can fly
Now below, and now above,

Have snatch'd aloft the lawny shroud
Of lady fair-that died for love;

For maids, as well as youths, have perish'd
From fruitless love too fondly cherish'd!
Nay, treach'rous image! leave my mind-
For Lewti never will be kind.

Hush! my heedless feet from under
Slip the crumbling banks for ever;
Like echoes to a distant thunder,

They plunge into the gentle river.
The river swans have heard my tread,
And startle from their reedy bed.

O beauteous birds! methinks ye measure
Your movements to some heavenly tune!
O beauteous birds! 'tis such a pleasure
To see you move beneath the moon,
I would it were your true delight
To sleep by day and wake all night.
I know the place where Lewti lies,
When silent night has clos'd her eyes—
It is a breezy jasmin bower,

The nightingale sings o'er her head;
Had I the enviable power

To creep, unseen, with noiseless tread, Then should I view her bosom white

Heaving lovely to the sight,
As these two swans together heave
On the gently-swelling wave.

Oh that she saw me in a dream,

And dreamt that I had died for care!

All pale and wasted I would seem,
Yet fair withal, as spirits are.
I'd die, indeed, if I might see
Her bosom heave, and heave for me!
Soothe, gentle image! soothe my mind!
To-morrow Lewti may be kind.

GOOSEBERRY-PIE.

A PINDARIC ODE.

GOOSEBERRY-PIE is best.

Full of the theme, O muse begin the song' What though the sunbeams of the west Mature within the turtle's breast

Blood glutinous and fat of verdant hue? What though the deer bound sportively along O'er springy turf, the park's elastic vest?

Give them their honours due

But gooseberry pie is best.

Behind his oxen slow

The patient ploughman plods;

And as the sower followed by the clods Earth's genial womb received the swelling seed. The rains descend, the grains they grow; ye the vegetable ocean

Saw

Roll its green billows to the April gale?
The ripening gold with multitudinous motion
Sway o'er the summer vale ?

It flows through alder banks along
Beneath the copse that hides the hill;

The gentle stream you cannot see,
You only hear its melody,

The stream that turns the mill.

Pass on, a little way pass on,

you

And shall catch its gleam anon;
And hark! the loud and agonizing groan
That makes its anguish known,

Where tortur'd by the tyrant lord of meal
The brook is broken on the wheel!

Blow fair, blow fair, thou orient gale!
On the white bosom of the sail
Ye winds enamour'd, lingering lie!
Ye waves of ocean spare the bark!
Ye tempests of the sky!

From distant realms she comes to bring
The sugar for my pie.

For this on Gambia's arid side

The vulture's feet are scaled with blood,
And Beelzebub beholds with pride,
His darling planter brood.

First in the spring thy leaves were seen,
Thou beauteous bush, so early green!
Soon ceas'd thy blossom's little life of love.
O safer than the Alcides-conquer'd tree
That grew the pride of that Hesperian grove-
No dragon does there need for thee
With quintessential sting to work alarms,
And guard thy fruit so fine,

Thou vegetable porcupine!

And didst thou scratch thy tender arms,
O Jane! that I should dine!

The flour, the sugar, and the fruit,
Commingled well, how well they suit,
And they were well bestow'd.
O Jane, with truth I praise your pie,
And will not you in just reply
Praise my Pindaric ode?

THE KILLCROP.

▲ SCENE BETWEEN BENEDICT, A GERMAN PEASANT, and FATHER KARL, AN OLD NEIGHBOUR.

Eight years since (said Luther) at Dessaw, I did see and touch a changed childe, which was twelv years of age: hee had his eies and all his members like another childe: hee did nothing but feed, and would eat as much as two clowns, or threshers, were able to eat. When one touched it, then it cried out. When any evil happened in the hous, then it laughed and was joiful; but when all went well, then it cried, and was very sad.

In Saxonia, near unto Halberstad, was a man that also had a killcrop, who sucked the mother and five other woman drie: and besides, devoured very much. This man was advised that hee should in his pilgrimage at Halberstad make a promiss of the killcrop to the Virgin Marie, and should cause him there to bee rocked. This advice the man followed, and carried the changeling thither in a basket. But going over a river, beeing upon the bridg, another divel that was below in the river called, and said, Killcrop, Killcrop! Then the childe in the basket (which never before spake one word) answered, ho, ho. The divel in the water asked further, whither art thou going? The childe in the basket said, I am going towards Hocklestad to our loving mother to be rocked.

The man beeing much affrighted thereat, threw the childe with the basket, over the bridg into the water. Whereupon the two divels flew away together, and cried, ho, ho, ha, tumbling themselves one over another, and so vanished.-Luther's Divine Discourses.

In justice, however, to Luther, it should be remembered, that this superstition was common to the age in which he lived.

BENEDICT.

You squalling imp, lie still! isn't it enough
To eat two pounds for a breakfast, but again
Before the sun's half-risen, I must hear
This cry? as though your stomach was as empty
As old Karl's head, that yonder limps along
Mouthing his crust. I'll haste to Hocklestad!
A short mile only.

(Enter Father Karl.)

KARL.

Benedict, how now!

Earnest and out of breath, why in this haste?

What have you in your basket ?

BENEDICT.

Stand aside!

No moment this for converse. Ask to-morrow

And I will answer you, but I am now

About to punish Beelzebub. Take care,
My business is important.

KARL.

What! about

To punish the arch fiend old Beelzebub ?
A thing most rare-but can't I lend a hand

On this occasion ?

BENEDICT.

Father, stand aside!

I hate this parley! stand aside, I say!

KARL.

Good Benedict, be not o'ercome by rage,
But listen to an old man. What is't there

Within your basket?

A thumping killcrop!

BENEDICT.

'Tis the devil's changeling, (uncovers the basket.) Yes, 'tween you and I, (whispering)

Our neighbour Balderic's, changed for his son Will!

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A child! you dreaming grey-beard!
Nothing will you believe like other people.
Did ever mortal man see child like this!
Why 'tis a killcrop, certain, manifest;

Look there! I'd rather see a dead pig snap
At th' butcher's knife, than call this thing a child.
View how he stares! I'm no young cub d'ye see.

KARL.

Why, Benedict! this is most wonderful
To my plain mind. I've often heard of killcrops
And laugh'd at the tale most heartily; but now
I'll mark him well, and see if there's any truth
In these said creatures.

(looks at the basket.)

A finer child ne'er breathed!

Thou art mistaken, Benedict! thine eyes

See things confused! But let me hear thee say

What are the signs by which thou know'st the diff'rence "Twixt crop and child.

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