Birds warbled round me-every trace
Of inward sadness had its charm;

66

Kilve," said I, 'was a favoured place,
And so is Liswyn farm."

My Boy was by my side, so slim
And graceful in his rustic dress!
And, as we talked, I questioned him,
In very idleness.

"Now tell me, had you rather be,"

I said, and took him by the arm, "On Kilve's smooth shore, by the green sea, Or here at Liswyn farm?"

In careless mood he looked at me,
While still I held him by the arm,
And said, "At Kilve I'd rather be
Than here at Liswyn farm."

وو

66 Now, little Edward, say why so;
My little Edward, tell me why.'
"I cannot tell, I do not know."-

For, here are woods, and green hills warm:

There surely must some reason be

Why you would change sweet Liswyn farm For Kilve by the green sea.

At this, my Boy hung down his head,
He blushed with shame, nor made reply;

And five times to the child I said, "Why, Edward, tell me why?"

His head he raised-there was in sight,
It caught his eye, he saw it plain-
Upon the house-top, glittering bright,
A broad and gilded Vane.

Then did the Boy his tongue unlock;
And thus to me he made reply:
"At Kilve there was no weather-cock,
And that's the reason why."

O dearest, dearest Boy! my heart
For better lore would seldom yearn,
Could I but teach the hundredth part
Of what from thee I learn.

ALICE FELL;

OR, POVERTY.

THE post-boy drove with fierce career,
For threatening clouds the moon had drowned;
When, as we hurried on, my ear

Was smitten with a startling sound.

As if the wind blew many ways,

I heard the sound,—and more and more;

It seemed to follow with the chaise,

And still I heard it as before.

At length I to the boy called out;
He stopped his horses at the word,
But neither cry, nor voice, nor shout,
Nor aught else like it, could be heard.

The boy then smacked his whip, and fast
The horses scampered through the rain;
But, hearing soon upon the blast

The cry, I bade him halt again.

Forthwith alighting on the ground, "Whence comes," said I, "this piteous moan??' And there a little Girl I found,

66

Sitting behind the chaise, alone.

'My cloak !" no other word she spake,
But loud and bitterly she wept,

As if her innocent heart would break;
And down from off her seat she leapt.

"What ails you, child?"—she sobbed "Look here!" I saw it in the wheel entangled,

A weather-beaten rag as e'er

From any garden scare-crow dangled.

There, twisted between nave and spoke,
It hung, nor could at once be freed;
But our joint pains unloosed the cloak,
A miserable rag indeed!

“And whither are you going, child,

To-night along these lonesome ways?" "To Durham," answered she half wild"Then come with me into the chaise."

Insensible to all relief

Sat the poor girl, and forth did send

Sob after sob, as if her grief

Could never, never have an end.

My child, in Durham do you dwell?"
She checked herself in her distress,
And said, "My name is Alice Fell;
I'm fatherless and motherless.

"And I to Durham, Sir, belong."

Again, as if the thought would choke
Her very heart, her grief grew strong;
And all was for her tattered cloak!

The chaise drove on; our journey's end
Was nigh; and sitting by my side,
As if she had lost her only friend
She wept, nor would be pacified.

Up to the tavern-door we post ;
Of Alice and her grief I told;
And I gave money to the host,
To buy a new cloak for the old.

"And let it be of duffil grey,

As warm a cloak as man can sell!"
Proud creature was she the next day,
The little orphan, Alice Fell!

THE PET LAMB.

A PASTORAL.

THE dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink;
I heard a voice; it said, "Drink, pretty Creature, drink!"
And, looking o'er the hedge, before me I espied

A snow-white mountain Lamb with a Maiden at its side.

No other sheep were near, the Lamb was all alone,
And by a slender cord was tethered to a stone;
With one knee on the grass did the little Maiden kneel,
While to that mountain Lamb she gave its evening meal.

The Lamb, while from her hand he thus his supper took, Seemed to feast with head and ears; and his tail with pleasure shook,

"Drink, pretty Creature, drink," she said in such a tone That I almost received her heart into my own.

'Twas little Barbara Lewthwaite, a Child of beauty rare!
I watched them with delight, they were a lovely pair.
Now with her empty can the Maiden turned away:
But ere ten yards were gone her footsteps did she stay.
Towards the Lamb she looked; and from that shady place
I unobserved could see the workings of her face :
If Nature to her tongue could measured numbers bring,
Thus, thought I, to her Lamb that little Maid might sing:

"What ails thee, Young One? what? Why pull so at thy cord ?

Is it not well with thee? well both for bed and board?
Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as grass can be ;
Rest, little Young One, rest; what is't that aileth thee?

"What is it thou wouldst seek? What is wanting to thy heart?

Thy limbs are they not strong? And beautiful thou art : This grass is tender grass; these flowers they have no peers; And that green corn all day is rustling in thy ears!

"If the Sun be shining hot, do but stretch thy woollen chain, This beech is standing by, its covert thou canst gain; For rain and mountain storms! the like thou needest not fear

The rain and storm are things that scarcely can come here.