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Neither checked by the rich nor the needy they roam ;
For gray-headed Dan has a daughter at home,
Who will gladly repair all the damage that's done ;
And three, were it asked, would be rendered for one.

Old Man! whom so oft I with pity have eyed,
I love thee, and love the sweet Boy at thy side :
Long yet mayst thou live ! for a teacher we see
That lifts up the veil of our nature in thee.

A whirl-blast from behind the hill

Rushed o'er the wood with startling sound :
Then all at once the air was still,
And showers of hail-stones pattered round.
Where leafless Oaks towered high above,
I sat within an undergrove
Of tallest hollies, tall and green ;
A fairer bower was never seen.
From year to year the spacious floor
With withered leaves is covered o'er,
You could not lay a hair between :
And all the year the bower is green.
But see! where'er the hailstones drop
The withered leaves all skip and hop,
There's not a breeze-no breath of air-
Yet here, and there, and every where

Along the floor, beneath the shade
By those embowering hollies made,
The leaves in myriads jump and spring,
As if with pipes and music rare
Some Robin Good-fellow were there,
And all those leaves, that jump and spring,
Were each a joyous, living thing.

Oh! grant me Heaven a heart at ease,
That I may never cease to find,
Even in appearances like these,
Enough to nourish and to stir my mind!

SONG

FOR THE

WANDERING JEW.

Though the torrents from their fountains
Roar down many a craggy steep,
Yet they find among the mountains
Resting-places calm and deep.

Though almost with eagle pinion
O'er the rocks the Chamois roam,

Yet he has some small dominion

Which, no doubt, he calls his home.

If on windy days the Raven
Gambol like a dancing skiff,

Not the less he loves his haven

On the bosom of the cliff.

Though the Sea-horse in the ocean
Own no dear domestic cave;
Yet he slumbers without motion
On the calm and silent wave.

Day and night my toils redouble !
Never nearer to the goal,
Night and day I feel the trouble
Of the Wanderer in my soul.

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