Low tapping at the bolted door, And thus, to gain their willing ear,

A feeble voice was heard implore:

"Cold blows the blast across the moor, The sleet drives hissing in the wind; Yon toilsome mountain lies before.

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A dreary treeless waste behind.

My eyes are weak and dim with age,
No road, no path can I descry;
And these poor rags ill stand the rage
Of such a keen inclement sky.

"So faint I am, these tottering feet
No more my palsied frame can bear,
My freezing heart forgets to beat,

And drifting snows my tomb prepare.

"Open your hospitable door,

And shield me from the biting blast, Cold, cold it blows across the moor,

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The weary moor that I have pass'd."

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With hasty steps the farmer ran,

And close beside the fire they place

The poor half-frozen beggar man,

With shaking limbs and pale blue face.

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The little children flocking came,

And chafed his frozen hands in theirs,
And busily the good old dame

A comfortable mess prepares.

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Their kindness cheer'd his drooping soul,

And slowly down his wrinkled cheek

The big round tear was seen to roll,

And told the thanks he could not speak.

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The children then began to sigh,

And all their merry chat was o'er,

And yet they felt, they knew not why,
More glad than they had done before.

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LUCY AIKIN.

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THE TURKEY AND THE ANT.

IN other men we faults can spy

And blame the mote that dims their eye,

Each little speck and blemish find,

To our own stronger errors blind.

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A turkey, tired of common food,

Forsook the barn, and sought the wood,

Behind her ran an infant train,

Collecting here and there a grain.

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"Come her, my birds," the mother cries,
"This hill delicious fare supplies;

Behold the busy negro race,—

See millions blacken all the place!

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"Fear not, like me with freedom eat;
The ant is most delicious meat.
How blest, how envied were our life,
Could we but 'scape the poult'rer's knife;

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"But greedy man on turkeys preys,
His gluttony cuts short our days."
An ant, who climbed beyond her reach,
Thus answered from a neighbouring beech.

"Ere you remark another's sin,

Bid thy own conscience look within;

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Where, twinkling in the dewy light,

The skylark soars on high.

And cheering to the traveller

The gales that round him play, When faint and heavily he drags

Along his noontide way.

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And when beneath the unclouded sun

Full wearily toils he,

The flowing water makes to him

A soothing melody.

And when the evening light decays,

And all is calm around,

There is sweet music to his ear

In the distant sheep-bell's sound.

But oh! of all delightful sounds

Of evening or of morn,

The sweetest is the voice of love,
That welcomes his return.

R. SOUTHEY.

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ANECDOTE OF A DOG.

On his morning rounds the master
Goes to learn how all things fare;
Searches pasture after pasture,
Sheep and cattle eyes with care;
And, for silence or for talk,

He has comrades in his walk;

Four dogs, each pair of different breed, Distinguished, two for scent, and two for speed. 8

See a hare before him started!
Off they fly in earnest chase;
Every dog is eager-hearted,
All the four are in the race;
And the hare whom they pursue,
Knows from instinct what to do ;
Her hope is near; no turn she makes:
But, like an arrow, to the river takes.

Deep the river was, and crusted
Thinly by a one night's frost;
But the nimble hare has trusted
To the ice, and safely crost;
She has crost, and without heed,
All are following at full speed;

When lo! the ice, so thinly spread,

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Breaks, and the greyhound, Dart, is overhead! 24

Better fate have Prince and Swallow,

See them cleaving to the sport!

Music has no heart to follow,

Little Music, she stops short;

She has neither wish nor heart,

Hers is now another part;

A loving creature she, and brave!

She fondly strives her struggling friend to save.

From the brink her paws she stretches,
Very hands, as you would say !
And afflicting moans she fetches,
As he breaks the ice away.
For herself she has no fears,—

Him alone she sees and hears,—

Making efforts with complainings; nor gives o'er
Until her fellow sinks, to re-appear no more.

W. WORDSWORTH.

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40

THE BLIND MAN AND THE LAME ONE.

ONE day a blind man chanced to meet

A lame one limping in the street;

The former hoped with fond delight,
The latter would conduct him right.

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The lame man cried, "Lend aid to thee?
I cannot walk, unhappy me!

Thou hast good shoulders strong and broad.

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And yet, methinks, to bear a load,

If thou'lt resolve to bear me hence,
I'll be thy guide as recompense;
Thy firm strong foot will then be mine,
And my bright eye be also thine."

The lame man, with his crutches rode
Upon the blind man's shoulders broad,
United thus achieved the pair

What each would have accomplished ne'er.

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