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In the first room were seen, above, below,
Some marks of taste, a few attempts at show;
The founder's picture and his arms were there,
(Not till he left us,) and an elbow'd chair ;
There, 'mid these signs of his superior place,
Sat the mild ruler of this humble race.
Within the row are men who strove in vain,
Through years of trouble, wealth and ease to gain ;
Less must they have than an appointed sum,
And freemen been, or hither must not come;
They should be decent and command respect
(Though needing fortune) whom these doors protect,
And should for thirty dismal years have tried
For peace unfelt and competence denied.
Strange! that o'er men thus train'd in sorrow's school.
Power must be held and they must live by rule ;
Infirm, corrected by misfortunes, old,
Their habits settled and their passions cold;
Of health, wealth, power, and worldly cares, bereft,
Still must they not at liberty be left ;
There must be one to rule them, to restrain
And guide the movements of his erring train.
If then control imperious, check severe,
Be needed where such reverend men appear ;
To what would youth, without such checks, aspire,
Free the wild wish, uncurb’d the strong desire ?
And where (in college or in camp) they found
The heart ungovernd and the hand unbound ?
His house endow'd, the generous man resign'd
All power to rule, nay, power of choice declined ;
He and the female saint survived to view
Their work complete, and bade the world adieu !
THE WIFE TO HER HUSBAND.*
“You took me, William, when a girl, unto your home and heart,
To bear in all your after-fate a fond and faithful part ;
And tell me, have I ever tried that duty to forego,
Or pined there was not joy for me when you were sunk in woe?
No; I would rather share your tear than any other's glee,
For though you're nothing to the world, you're ALL THE WORLD TO ME.
* The above admirable lines, by an American lady, a member of the Society of Friends, appeared a few years ago in the Sunday Times newspaper. We are told that the poem was found in the cottage of a tippling gardener in the United States, whom it had the happy effect of winning from the noisy tap-room to his own domestic hearth.
You make a palace of my shed, this rough-hewn bench a throne;
There's sunlight for me in your smiles, and music in your tone.
I look upon you when you sleep-my eyes with tears grow dim,
I cry, 'Oh Parent of the Poor, look down from heaven on him ;
Behold him toil from day to day, exhausting strength and soul;
Oh look with mercy on him, Lord, for Thou canst make him whole !'
And when at last relieving sleep has on my eyelids smiled,
How oft are they forbade to close in slumber by our child ?
I take the little murmurer that spoils my span of rest,
And feel it is a part of thee I lull upon my breast.
There's only one return I crave, I may not need it long,
And it may soothe thee when I'm where the wretched feel no wrong:
I ask not for a kinder tone, for thou wert ever kind ;
I ask not for less frugal fare, my fare I do not mind ;
I ask not for attire more gay-if such as I have got
Suffice to make me fair to thee, for more I murmur not.
But I would ask some share of hours that you on clubs bestow-
of knowledge which you prize so much, might I not something know?
Subtract from meetings amongst men each eve an hour for me ;
Make me companion of your soul, as I may safely be.
If you will read, I'll sit and work; then think when you're away ;
Less tedious I shall find the time, dear William, of your stay.
A meet companion soon I'll be for e’en your studious hours,
And teacher of those little ones you call
your cottage flowers ; And if we be not rich and great, we may be wise and kind, And as my heart can warm your heart, so may my mind
The captain is walking his quarter-deck
With a troubled brow and a bended neck;
One eye is down through the hatchway cast,
The other turns up to the truck on the mast;
Yet none of the crew may venture to hint-
“Our skipper hath gotten a sinister squint !”
The captain again the letter hath read
Which the bum-boat woman had brought from Spithead;
Still, since the good ship sailed away,
He reads letter three time a day ;
Yet the writing is broad and fair to see,
As a skipper may read in his degree;
And the seal is as black, and as broad, and as flat,
As his own cockade in his own cock'd hat :
He reads; and he says, as he walks to and fro,
“ Curse the old woman-she bothers me so!”
He pauses now, for the topmen hail
On the larboard quarter a sail !-a sail !"
That grim old captain he turns him quick,
And bawls through his trumpet for Hairy-faced Dick.
“The breeze is blowing-huzza! huzza!
The breeze is blowing--away! away!
The breeze is blowing--a race! a race !
The breeze is blowing—we near the chase !
Blood will flow, and bullets will fly,
Oh, where will be then young Hamilton Tighe!
On the foeman's deck, where a man should be,
With his sword in his hand, and his foe at his knee ;
Cockswain, or boatswain, or reefer, may try,
But the first man on board will be Hamilton Tighe!
Hairy-faced Dick hath a swarthy hue,
Between a gingerbread-nut and a Jew;
And his pig-tail is long, and bushy, and thick,
Like a pump-handle stuck at the end of a stick.
Hairy-faced Dick understands his trade,
He stands at the breech of a long carronade,
The linstock glows in his bony hand,
Waiting that grim old skipper's command.
“ The bullets are flying--huzza! huzza !
The bullets are flying-away! away!”.
The brawny boarders mount by the chains,
And are over their buckles in blood and in brains.
On the foeman's deck, where a man should be,
Young Hamilton Tighe
Waves his cutlass high,
And Capitaine Crapaud bends low at his knee.
Hairy-faced Dick, linstock in hand,
Is waiting that grim-looking skipper's command :-
A wink comes sly
From that sinister eye,
Hairy-faced Dick at once lets fly,
And knocks off the head of young Hamilton Tighe!
There's a lady sits lonely in bower and hall,
pages and handmaidens come at her call :-
Now haste ye, my handmaidens, haste and see
How he sits there and glow'rs, with his head on his knee !"
The maidens smile, and, her thought to destroy,
They bring her a little, pale, mealy-faced boy;
And the mealy-faced boy says "Mother dear,
Now Hamilton's dead I've a thousand a year!”
The lady has donn'd her mantle and hood,
She is bound for shrift at St. Mary's Rood.
“Oh! the taper shall burn, and the bell shall toll,
And the mass shall be said for my stepson's soul ;
And the tablet fair shall be hung up on high,
animá Hamilton Tighe !!” Her coach and four
Draws up to the door, With her groom, and her footman, and half a score more ;The lady steps into her coach alone, And they hear her sigh, and they hear her groan ; They close the door, and they turn the pin, But there's one rides in there that never stepp'd in ! All the way there, and all the way back, The harness strains, and the coach-springs crack, The horses snort, and plunge, and kick, Till the coachman thinks he is driving Old Nick ; And the grooms and the footmen wonder, and say“What makes the old coach so heavy to-day?" But the mealy-faced boy peeps in, and sees A man sitting there with his head on his knees ! 'Tis ever the same in hall or in bower, Wherever the place, whatever the hour, The lady mutters, and talks to the air, And her eye is fixed on an empty chair ; But the mealy-faced boy still whispers with dread, 6. She talks to a man with never a head."
There's an old yellow admiral living at Bath,
As grey as a badger, as thin as a lath ;
And his very queer eyes have such very queer leers,
They seem to be trying to peep at his ears :
That old yellow admiral goes to the Rooms,
And he plays long whist, but he frets and he fumes ;
For all his knaves stand upside down,
And the Jack of Clubs does nothing but frown;
And the kings, and the aces, and all the best trumps,
Get into the hands of other old frumps;
While close to his partner a man he sees
Counting his tricks, with his head on his knees.
In Ratcliffe Highway there's an old marine store,
And a great black doll hangs out at the door;
There are rusty locks, and dusty bags,
And musty phials, and fusty rags ;
And a lusty old woman called Thirsty Nan,
And her crusty old husband's a hairy-faced man!
The hairy-faced man is sallow and wan,
And his great thick pig-tail is withered and gone ;
And he cries—“Take away that lubberly chap
That sits there and grins, with his head on hls lap!"
And the neighbours say, as they see him look sick,
“What a rum old covey is Hairy-faced Dick !”
That admiral, lady, and hairy-faced man,
May say what they please, and may do what they can ;
But one thing seems remarkably clear,-
They may die to-morrow, or live till next year,
But wherever they live, or whenever they die,
They'll never get quit of young Hamilton Tighe!
SCENE FROM THE WIFE :
-A TALE OF MANTUA.
James Sheridan Knowles.
LORENZO, an Advocate of Rome, and MARIANA.
Lorenzo. That's right-you are collected and direct
In your replies. I dare be sworn your passion
Was such a thing, as by its neighbourhood,
Made piety and virtue twice as rich
As e'er they were before. How grew it ? Come,
Thou know'st thy heart—look calmly into it,
And see how innocent a thing it is
Which thou dost fear to show.--I wait your answer;
How grew your passion ?
Mariana. As my stature grew,
Which rose without my noting it, until
They said I was a woman. I kept watch
Beside what seem'd his death-bed. From beneath
An avalanche my father rescued him,
The sole survivor of a company
Who wandered through our mountains. A long time
His life was doubtful, Signor, and he called
For help, whence help alone could come, which I,
Morning and night, invok'd along with him,
So first our souls did mingle !
Lorenzo. I perceive: you mingled souls until you mingled You lov'd at last. Was't not the sequel, maid ? [hearts?
Mariana. I lov’d, indeed! If I but nurs’d a flower
Which to the ground the rain and wind had beaten,
That flower of all our garden was my pride :
What then was he to me, for whom I thought
To make a shroud, when, tending on him still
With hope, that, baffled still, did still keep up;
I saw, at last, the ruddy dawn of health
Begin to mantle o'er his pallid form,
And glow—and glow—till forth at last it burst
Into confirmed, broad, and glorious day!
Lorenzo. You loved, and he did love ?
Mariana. To say he did,
Were to affirm what oft his eyes avouch'd,
What many an action testified-and yet-
What wanted confirmation of his tongue.
But if he loved, it brought him not content!
'Twas now abstraction-now a start-anon