Just as methought it said, Come, bore me!'
-I found the Weser rolling o'er me."

2. THE DESERT.

For mark! no sooner was I fairly found
Pledged to the plain, after a pace or two,
Than pausing to throw backward a last view
To the safe road, 'twas gone; gary plain all round:
Nothing but plain to the horizon's bound.

I might go on: nought else remained to do.
So on I went. I think I never saw

Such starved ignoble nature; nothing throve :
For flowers-as well expect a cedar grove!
But cockle, spurge, according to their law,
Might propagate their kind with none to awe,
You'd think; a burr had been a treasure-trove.
No! penury, inertness, and grimace

In some strange sort, were the land's portion.
Or shut your eyes," said Nature peevishly,
"It nothing skills; I cannot help my case:
'Tis the Last Judgment's fire must cure this place,
Calcine its clods and set my prisoners free."

If there pushed any ragged thistlestalk

"See

Above its mates, the head was chopped-the bents Were jealous else. What made those holes and rents In the dock's harsh swarth leaves-bruised, as to balk All hope of greenness ? 'Tis a brute must walk

Pashing their life out, with a brute's intents.

As for the grass, it grew as scant as hair

In leprosy; thus dry blades pricked the mud Which underneath iooked kneaded up with blood. One stiff blind horse, his every bone astare,

Stood stupefied, however he came there:

Thrust out, past service, from the devil's stud.
Alive? he might be dead for aught I know,
With that red, gaunt, and colloped neck astrain,
And shut eyes underneath the rusty mane;
Seldom went such grotesqueness with such woe;
I never saw a brute I hated so;

He must be wicked to deserve such pain.

CCCLXVIII. LOUISA MEREDITH
[Miss Twamley], 1812—

AIRY APARTMENTS.

Smooth, sound, and even as the huge trunks seem to

careless eye;

Fissures and knot-holes many nooks supply,

Tempting to searchers after cosy homes.

Intent on happy matrimonial scheme,

The nimble softly-furred opossum comes,

Scales the steep tower with quick and agile hands,
And, at the threshold of a crevice stands;
Views the accommodation in a trice,
Unfurnished, true-but airy, clean, and nice;
Chuckles his satisfaction to his mate,

And soon installs her in her bower of state;
Whence, in due season, on warm moonlit eves,
Two sportive "Joeys" frisk amidst the leaves,
With bright dark eyes and fur as soft as down,
Dainty pink-palméd hands, and faces brown;
With cold black noses, leaf-like mobile ears,
And voices not like "music of the spheres ;'
But, uttering rather merry guttural notes,
Like fat old fellows laughing in their throats.
Description fails

Tɔ give a notion of their wondrous tails;
Tails!-why, no hand, with fingers ever seen,
Was e'er more hand-like! handiest of handles!
Clasping around a branch whence headlong dangles
Plump Possy's portly body, swinging free;
A living pendulum! whilst, from the tree,
His small hands pick his supper as he sways.
Astounding sight for grim dyspeptic's gaze!
Who gasps his wonder in one choking question,
"Don't all opossums die of indigestion ?"

CCCLXIX. JAMES REYNOLDS WITHERS,

1812

SONG OF THE BUTTERFLY.

I come from bowers of lilacs gay,
With honey-suckles blending,

And many a spray of willows gray
Above the waters bending.

I flutter by the river side,

Where laves the swan his bosom
And o'er the open common wide
Where yellow ragworts blossom.
A way on downy pinions borne,
With many a happy rover,
I skim above the rustling corn,
And revel in the clover.

I laugh to see the frugal bee

For others hoard her treasure; From morn till night a toiler she, But mine's a life of pleasure.

The truant schoolboy loves to chase
Me through the winding mazes;

I lure him on a merry race,

O'er meadows white with daisies.

He creeps and crawls with cat-like tread,
When I'm on cowslip rocking,
Then up I flutter o'er his head,
His vain endeavours mocking.

And when the bee is in her cell,
And shrill-tongued cricket calling,
I sleep within the lily's bell

Whilst nightly damps are falling.

There round my clean white-sheeted bed
Are pearly dews distilling,

And nightingales, above my head,
Their sweetest notes are trilling.

I dance, I play, make love, and sleep,
This is my whole employment;
For men may smile or men may weep
My life is all enjoyment.

CCCLXX. CHARLES MACKAY, 1812— 1. TUBAL-CAIN.

Old Tubal-Cain was a man of might,

In the days when earth was young;
By the fierce red light of his furnace bright
The strokes of his hammer rung;

And he lifted high his brawny hand

On the iron glowing clear,

Till the sparks rushed out in scarlet showers,
As he fashioned the sword and spear.
And he sang: "Hurra for my handiwork!
Hurra for the spear and sword!

Hurra for the hand that shall wield them well,
For he shall be king and lord!”

To Tubal-Cain came many a one,
As he wrought by his roaring fire,

And each one prayed for a strong steel blade
As the crown of his desire :

And he made them weapons sharp and strong,
Till they shouted loud for glee,

And gave him gifts of pearls and gold,

And spoils of the forest free.

And they sang :

"Hurra for Tubal-Cain,

Who hath given us strength anew!
Hurra for the smith, hurra for the fire,
And hurra for the metal true!"

But a sudden change came o'er his heart
Ere the setting of the sun,

And Tubal-Cain was filled with pain
For the evil he had done;

He

saw that men, with rage Made war upon their kind,

and hate,

That the land was red with the blood they shed,

In their lust for carnage blind.

And he said, "Alas! that ever I made,

Or that skill of mine should plan,

The spear and the sword for men whose joy

Is to slay their fellow-man!"

And for many a day old Tubal-Cain

Sat brooding o'er his woe;

And his hand forbore to smite the ore,
And his furnace smoulder'd low.
But he rose at last with a cheerful face,
And a bright courageous eye,

And bared his strong right arm for work,
While the quick flames mounted high.
And he sang "Hurra for my handiwork!"

And the red sparks lit the air;

"Not alone for the blade was the bright steel made;"
And he fashioned the first ploughshare.

And men, taught wisdom from the past,
In friendship joined their hands,

Hung the sword in the hall, the spear on the wall,
And ploughed the willing lands;

And sang:

"Hurra for Tubal-Cain!

Our staunch good friend is he;

And for the ploughshare and the plough

To him our praise shall be.

But while oppression lifts its head,

Or a tyrant would be lord,

Though we may thank him for the plough,

We'll not forget the sword!"

2. ENGLAND.

There's a land, a dear land, where the rights of the free
Though firm as the earth, are as wide as the sea;
Where the primroses bloom and the nightingales sing,
And the honest poor man is as good as a king.
Showery, flowery,
Tearful, cheerful

England, wave-guarded and green to the shore!
West land, best land,
Thy land, my land!

Glory be with her and peace evermore.

There's a land, a dear land, where our vigour of soul
Is fed by the tempests that blow from the pole ;
Where a slave cannot breathe or invader presume
To ask for more earth than will cover his tomb.
Sea land, free land,
Fairest, rarest