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He'd a fine merry boy, (such another as you)
And he did for him all that a father could do:
For he was a kind father as ever I knew.
So he hoped that, one day, when his darling should grow
A fine hearty man, he'd remember, you know,
To thank his old father for loving him so.
But what do you think came of all this at last ?
Why, after a great many years had gone past,
And the good-natured father grew old very fast;
Instead of rememb'ring how kind he had been,
This boy did not care for his father a pin,
But bade him begone, for he should not come in!
So he wander'd about in the frost and the snow!
For he had not a place in the world where to go :
And you'd almost have cried to have heard the wind blow.
And the tears, poor old man, oh ! how fast they did pour:
As he shiver'd with cold at his wicked child's door.
Did you ever, now, hear such a story before ?
CCCII. LEIGH HUNT, 1784–1859.
1. THE HORSE.
A noble horse,
With flowing back, firm chest, and fetlocks clean,
The branching veins ridging the glossy lean,
The mane hung sleekly, the projecting eye
That to the stander-near looks awfully,
The finish'd head in its compactness free,
Small and o'er-arching to the bended knee,
The start and snatch, as if he felt the comb,
With mouth that flings about the creamy foam,
The snorting turbulence, the nod, the champing,
The shift, the tossing, and the fiery tramping.
2. THE GLOVE AND THE LIONS. King Francis was a hearty king, and loved a royal sport, And one day, as his lions fought, sat looking on the court;
The nobles filled the benches round, the ladies by their
side, And ’mongst them sat the count de Lorge, with one for
whom he sigh'd. And truly 'twas a gallant thing to see that crowning
show, Valour and love, and a king above, and the royal beasts
below. Ramped and roared the lions, with horrid laughing jaws; They bit, they glared, gave blows like beams, a wind
went with their paws; With wallowing might and stifled roar, they rolled on
one another, Till all the pit, with sand and mane, was in a thund'rous
smother ; The bloody foam above the bars came whizzing through
the air: Said Francis then, " Faith, gentlemen, we're better here
than there." Delorge's love o'erheard the king, a beauteous, lively
dame, With smiling lips and sharp bright eyes, which always
seemed the same; She thought, The count, my lover, is brave as brave can
beHe surely would do wondrous things to show his love
of me: King, ladies, lovers, all look on; the occasion is divine,I'll drop my glove to prove his love ; great glory will be
mine. She dropped her glove, to prove his love, then looked at
him and smiled ; He bowed and in a moment leaped among the lions wild : The leap was quick, return was quick, he has regained
the place, Then threw the glove, but not with love, right in the
lady's face. “By God!" cried Francis, "rightly done!" and he rose
from where he sat, “No love," quoth he, “but vanity, sets love a task like
CCCIII. JA. SHERIDAN KNOWLES, 1784-1812
CAIUS GRACCHUS AND CORNELIA. Cornelia. Your brother's blood, my son !
Does not his blood
Cry for revenge, and is your ear unapt
To hear it ?Caius, that dear brother's death's
The life of all thy acts !—'Twas that did plead
For Vettius--ask'd the Tribuneship---revived
Tiberius' laws-defied the Senate-made thee
Like a god to Rome, dealing out fate—and, now
Thou art no longer arm'd with thy great office,
Would lead thee forth to sacrifice-My son,
Go not to the Forum ! 'Tis a worthless cause !
Why should you go, my Caius ? To defend
Your laws from abrogation ? Think of them
For whom you made those laws—the fickle people
Did lend a hand to pull you from your seat,
And raise up them they shake at! Thou art single!
Thou hast no seconds! 'Tis a hopeless struggle !
So sunk are all, the lieart of public virtue
Has not the blood to make it beat again !
C. Grac. And should I therefore sink with the base
What, mother, what ! Are the gods also base ?
Is virtue base ? Is honour sunk? Is manhood
A thing contemptible—and not to be
Maintain'd? Remember you Messina, mother?
Once from its promontory we beheld
A galley in a storm ; and as the bark
Approach'd the fatal shore, could well discern
The features of the crew with horror all
Aghast, save one! Alone he strove to guide
The prow, erect amidst the horrid war
Of winds and waters raging. With one hand
He rul’d the hopeless helm—the other strain'd
The fragment of a shiver'd sail-his brow
The while bent proudly on the scowling surge,
At which he scowl'd again.—The vessel struck!
One man alone bestrode the wave, and rode
The foaming courser safe! 'Twas he, the same !-
You clasp'd your Caius in your arms, and cried,
Look, look, my son! the brave man ne'er despairs ;
And lives where cowards die!" I would but make
Due profit of your lesson.
Cor. Caius !--Caius !--
C. Grac. Mother-I-
Cor. My son!
C. Grac. Well, I'll not go, I will be ruled by you,
If you please ; let men say what they list of me.
I care not if they whisper as I pass,
And point and smile, and say to one another,
" Lo the bold Tribune Gracchus! Lo the man
Did lord it o'er the Senate !" What is't to me!
I know I am your son, and would approve it,
If I might—but since you will not have it so,
I'll stay from the Forum, mother; I'll not go
To the Forum.
Cor. Know the people you did promise
To go ?
O. Gruc. Are they not here with Fulvius Flaccus
Expecting me? But let them go with him ;
He'll speak for them.—He'll be their friend-Hell dare
Oppose the Senate.--He'll preserve my laws
If he can.—If there's no other man to speak
For liberty, he'll do it! Pray you, mother,
Send Lucius to them-tell them I'll not go
Cor. You must go to the Forum-you must.
C. Grac. Not if you will it not.
Cor. I neither will it nor will it not.
C. Grac. Unless you bid me go
They go without me!
Cor. Why, I think, as it is,
You cannot help but go. I know not what's
The matter. 'Tis perhaps the fears of thy wife
Infect me-but I've dark forebodings, Caius.
What will be left me, should I lose thee, son ?
C. Grac. My monument !
Cor. Go to the Forum. Go! You are Cornelia's son !
C. Grac. My only use
Of life's to prove it!
Cor. Go! Go! Go! my Caius.
CCCIV. ALLAN CUNNINGHAM, 1784--1842.
1. A WET SHEET AND A FLOWING SEA.
A wet sheet and a flowing sea,
A wind that follows fast,
And fills the white and rustling sail,
And bends the gallant mast;
And bends the gallant mast, my boys,
While, like the eagle free,
Away the good ship flies, and leaves
Old England on the lea.
O for a soft and gentle wind !
I heard a fair one cry;
But give to me the snoring breeze,
And white waves heaving high ;
And white waves heaving high, my boys,
The good ship tight and free--
The world of waters is our home,
And merry men are we.
There's tempest in yon horned moon,
And lightning in yon cloud;
But hark, the music, mariners !
The wind is piping loud;
The wind is piping loud, my boys,
The lightning flashing free-
While the hollow oak our palace is,
Our heritage the sea.
2. THE LASS OF GLENESLAN MILL.
The laverock loves the dewy light,
The bee the balmy fox-glove fair,
The shepherd loves the glowing morn,
When song and sunshine fill the air ;
But I love best the summer morn,
With all her stars, pure streaming still;
For then in light and love I meet
The sweet lass of Gleneslan mill.
The violets lay their blossoms low,
Beneath her white foot on the plain ;