I think as well of journeying by land,
And what this hardy pedlar has endured,
Perils that truly had well nigh unmanned
Aught less courageous! and as one secured
From dangerous adventures, whilst immured
Beside my cottage hearth, have I bethought
Myself how oft I am by others' miseries taught!

He told me once, this same old man, how he,
When sore benighted on the lonely moor,
Nor able man, or beast, or furze to see,

And longing hard to reach some human door,

Had heard some dismal scream, not far before,

Nor yet behind, but rather at his side,

Which made him inly quake in that place to abide.

Nor yet was it exactly like a scream,

But seemed to be a strange particular sound

Not all alive, nor yet quite like a dream,

But such as in a Poet's brain is found,

When deep disordered thoughts do most abound:

It might resemble some lone hidden shout,

As heard in stormy nights when grave owls are about.

While thus I ponder on the dolesome past,

A voice doth mildly breathe its timid pur;
And as my tender gaze is downward cast,
She rubs against my hand her delicate fur:
And ere I can for soft emotion stir,

The Kittens with their tails somewhat inclined,
Come dancing in almost as nimbly as the wind.

The meekest of the Kittens now espies

A harmless cork, and innocently goes
Up to it; and, to play therewith, it tries,

As would experience teach, to stretch its toes;

And now methinks if corks were natural foes,

The contest could not very long endure,

Without the victory being to this good Kitten sure.

Another with an aspect less serene,

Looks straight into a sister's tiny face;

And wondering what had made its eye so green,

Thinks thereupon that it will have a race:

The other joining with as brisk a pace,

They both run round as coursers do abreast,

When they appear resolved each other's speed to test.

The Cat she sits with meditative look,

As oft will mothers on their children's play;
And to the little one that has forsook

Its cork, I trow, she would appear to say

“These varied antics may incur some day "A fretful emulation, that shall prove

"An interruption, may be, to our family love."

The Kitten, dutiful as human child

By pious parents diligently trained,

With tender sympathy stands unbeguiled

By deeds that might have wilder passions stained:

The rest appear by this time to have gained

A necessary warning- to refrain

From that which might inflict on their poor mother pain.

So gentle is this favourite Cat and firm;

So are her Kittens willing to be led :

The first in anger scarce would harm a worm;

The last on stealthy gains would not be fed :

And pleasant are their musings when in bed;
And when a quiet conscience I would woo,
I'll think of this good Cat and of her Kittens too.

ON A FLY.

IN IMITATION OF WORDSWORTH.

A LITTLE fly, on wings of silk,

Did settle near my bread and milk,

And coming up to it in haste,

Was minded by and by to taste :

I wondered meekly, and betook
Myself to what was left,

When darted up a frighted look
From this said fly, as it forsook
Its place, and settled on a book,
Dishonoured not by theft.

I thought of honesty in flies,

And viewed this one contrariwise

To that, in heart, which I did then
Incline to feel for wicked men:

I longed to see things great and small,

Like this good insect near,

Unite hereafter, as should all,

To live in peace, whate'er befal,

And on each other's service call,

Should want or dread appear.

AN EPIGRAM ON THE LATE POET LAUREATE.

HAD I been asked, I should have guessed

His name had been applied in jest,

So truly do his Works set forth

A claim to "Words," but none to "Worth."

U