Old John, with white hair, "Such, such were the joys When we all-girls and boys- On the echoing green." Till the little ones weary, No more can be merry: The sun does descend, And our sports have an end. Round the laps of their mothers Many sisters and brothers, Like birds in their nest, Are ready for rest, And sport no more seen On the darkening green. 15 20 25 THE LOSS OF THE "BIRKENHEAD."1 RIGHT on our flank the crimson sun went down, The stout ship "Birkenhead" lay hard and fast, 5 The spirit of that shock. And ever like base cowards who leave their ranks In danger's hour, before the rush of steel, Drifted away, disorderly, the planks, From underneath her keel. ΙΟ A troopship, which struck on a rock near Simon's Bay, Cape of Good Hope, in the year 1852. Four hundred and thirty-eight officers, soldiers, and seamen were lost. Confusion spread, for, though the coast seemed near, Sharks hovered thick along that white sea-brink. The boats could hold?—not all—and it was clear She was about to sink. 16 "Out with those boats, and let us haste away," Cried one, ere yet yon sea the bark devours." The man thus clamouring was, I scarce need say, No officer of ours. We knew our duty better than to care For such loose babblers, and made no reply; Till our good colonel gave the word, and there Formed us in line to die. 20 24 There rose no murmur from the ranks, no thought, By shameful strength, unhonoured life to seek; Our post to quit we were not trained, nor taught To trample down the weak. 30 So we made women with their children go, What followed why recall? The brave who died, SIR F. H. DOYLE. THE BARLEY-MOW' AND THE DUNGHILL. As cross his yard, at early day, 5 In fancy weigh'd the fleeces shorn, A Barley-mow, which stood beside, 66 Say, good sir, is it fit or right To treat me with neglect and slight? ΙΟ 15 20 My warm assistance gave thee birth, GAY. THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHter of ISLINGTON. THERE was a youth, and a well-beloved youth, And he was a squire's son: He loved the bailiff's daughter dear, That lived in Islington. 25 Yet she was coy and would not believe 5 That he did love her so, No, nor at any time would she Any countenance to him show. Islington in Norfolk is probably the place here meant. But when his friends did understand His fond and foolish mind, They sent him up to fair London An apprentice for to bind. And when he had been seven long years, And never his love could see: ΙΟ "Many a tear have I shed for her sake, 15 When she little thought of me.' Then all the maids of Islington All but the bailiff's daughter dear; She pulled off her gown of green, And put on ragged attire, And to fair London she would go Her true love to inquire. And as she went along the high road, And her true love came riding by. 20 25 She started up, with a colour so red, Catching hold of his bridle-rein; 30 One penny, one penny, kind sir," she said, "Will ease me of much pain." "Before I give you one penny, sweetheart, Pray tell me where you were born." "At Islington, kind sir,” said she, 35 "Where I have had many a scorn." “I prythee, sweetheart, then tell to me, O tell me, whether you know The bailiff's daughter of Islington." "She is dead, sir, long ago." 40 "If she be dead, then take my horse, My saddle and bridle also ; For I will into some far country, THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON. 25 “O stay, O stay, thou goodly youth, She standeth by thy side; She is here alive, she is not dead, "O, farewell grief, and welcome joy, Ten thousand times therefore; 50 For now I have found mine own true love, Whom I thought I should never see more." Old Ballad. YOUTH AND AGE. WITH cheerful step the traveller When first the dimly-dawning east He bounds along his craggy road, He hastens up the height; And all he sees, and all he hears, And if the mist, retiring slow, 5 ΙΟ He thinks the morning vapours hide Some beauty from his sight. But, when behind the western clouds Departs the fading day, How wearily the traveller Pursues his evening way! Sorely along the craggy road His painful footsteps creep ; And slow, with many a feeble pause, And if the mists of night close round, They fill his soul with fear; He dreads some unseen precipice, Some hidden danger near. 15 20 |