This cow will surely have a calf
And there's the profit half and half.
Besides there's butter, milk and cheese,
To keep the markets when I please.

All this I'll sell and buy a farm;
Then shall of sweethearts have a swarm.
Oh! then for ribbons, gloves and rings,
Ay ! more than twenty pretty things,
One brings me this, another that,
And I shall have I scarce know what.
With every farmer's wife I'll vie,
For none shall be so fine as I.'

Pleased with the thought, she gave a bound,
And down came milk-pail to the ground!
Milk, eggs, fowl, pig, (ah! well-a-day !)
Cow, calf, and farm, all swam away!
Be warned by this, ye maidens fair,
And build no castles in the air,
Lest your own vanity be found,

To bring your hopes unto the ground.

'Easy Poetry.'

THE FARMER'S BOY.

THE sun had set beneath the hill

And across the dreary moor,

When weary and lame a poor boy came
Up to a farmer's door :

Saying, 'Can you tell me if any there be

That can give me employ?

For to plough and to sow and to reap and to mow And to be a farmer's boy,

To be a farmer's boy.

My father's dead, my mother's left

With five children great and small : And what's the worst for mother dear I'm the largest of them all.

But though little I be, I'm willing to work

If you will me employ,

For to plough and to sow and to reap and to mow And to be a farmer's boy,

To be a farmer's boy.

And if so be that you can't give me work

One favour let me ask,

To shelter me till break of day

From this cold wintry blast,

And at break of day I'll trudge away
Elsewhere to seek employ,

For to plough and to sow and to reap and to mow
And to be a farmer's boy,

To be a farmer's boy.'

'Oh! try the lad,' said the farmer's wife, 'No farther let him seek.'

'Dear father do,' the daughter cried,

While the tears rolled down her cheek.

'It is hard for those that are willing to work
To wander for employ,

To plough and to sow and to reap and to mow
And to be a farmer's boy,

To be a farmer's boy.'

Now the farmer's boy grew up a man
And the good old couple died,

And left the lad with the farm that they had,
And the daughter for his bride.

So the boy that was, now the farmer is,
And he ofttimes smiles with joy,

At the lucky lucky day he came that way
To be a farmer's boy,

To be a farmer's boy.

THE BLINDMAN'S FIRESIDE.

TALK to me, oh ye eloquent flames,
Gossips and comrades fine!
Nobody knows me, poor and blind,
That sit in your merry shine.

Nobody knows me but my dog;
A friend I've never seen,

But that comes to my call, and loves me
For the sympathies between.

'Tis pleasant to hear in the cold, dark night,
Mounting higher and higher,

The crackling, chattering, sputtering, spattering, Flames in the wintry fire.

Half asleep in the corner,

I hear you prattle and snap,
And talk to me and Tiny,
That dozes in my lap.

You laugh with the merriest laughter;
You dance, you jest, you sing,

And suggest in the wintry midnight

The joy of the coming spring.

Not even the lark on the fringe of the cloud,
Nor the thrush on the hawthorn bough,

Singeth a song more pleasant to hear

Than the song you're singing now.

Your voices are all of gladness:
Ever they seem to say,
After the evening-morning!
After the night-the day!
After this mortal blindness,

A heavenly vision clear,

The soul can see when the eyes are dark ;

Awake! let the light appear!

CHARLES MACKAY.

AILEEN.

'TIS not for love of gold I go,

'Tis not for love of fame;

Though fortune may her smile bestow,

And I may win a name,

Aileen;

And I may win a name.

And yet it is for gold I go,
And yet it is for fame;

That they may deck another brow,
And bless another naine,

Aileen,

And bless another name.

For this, but this, I go-for this
I leave thy love awhile,
And all the soft and quiet bliss
Of thy young faithful smile,
Aileen,

Of thy young faithful smile.

And I go to brave a world I hate,
And woo it o'er and o'er,
And tempt a wave, and try a fate
Upon a stranger shore,
Aileen;

Upon a stranger shore.

Oh! when the bays are all my own,
I know a heart will care!

Oh! when the gold is sought and won,
I know a brow will wear,

Aileen ;

I know a brow will wear!

And when with both returned again
My native land I see,

I know a smile will meet me then,
And a hand will welcome me,
Aileen,

And a hand will welcome me.

JOHN BANIM.

'WE ARE SEVEN.'

A SIMPLE child,

That lightly draws its breath, And feels its life in every limb,

What should it know of death?

I met a little cottage girl :

She was eight years old she said;
Her hair was thick with many a curl
That clustered round her head.

She had a rustic woodland air,
And she was wildly clad :
Her eyes were fair, and very fair;
-Her beauty made me glad.

" Sisters and brothers, little maid,
How many may you be?'

'How many? Seven in all,' she said,
And wondering looked at me.

'And where are they?—I pray you tell.'
She answered, 'Seven are we ;
And two of us at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea.

Two of us in the churchyard lie,
My sister and my brother;
And in the churchyard cottage, I
Dwell near them with my mother.'

'You say that two at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea,
Yet ye are seven !-I pray you tell,
Sweet maid, how this may be.'

Then did the little maid reply,
'Seven boys and girls are we;
Two of us in the churchyard lie,
Beneath the churchyard tree.'

'You run about, my little maid,
Your limbs they are alive;
If two are in the churchyard laid,
Then ye are only five.'

'Their graves are green, they may be seen,'

The little maid replied,

'Twelve steps or more from my mother's door, And they are side by side.

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