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No man like him the horn could sound,
And hill and valley rang with glee
When Echo bandied, round and round,
The Halloo of Simon Lee.
In those proud days, he little cared
For husbandry or tillage ;
To blither tasks did Simon rouse
The sleepers of the village.
He all the country could outrun,
Could leave both man and horse behind ;
And often, ere the chase was done,
He reeled and was stone-blind.
And still there's something in the world
At which his heart rejoices;
For when the chiming hounds are out, .
He dearly loves their voices !
But he is lean and he is sick,
His body, dwindled and awry,
Rests upon ancles swoln and thick;
His legs are thin and dry.
One prop he has, and only one,
His wife, an aged woman,
Lives with him, near the waterfall,
Upon the village Common.
Beside their moss-grown hut of clay,
Not twenty paces from the door,
A scrap of land they have, but they
Are poorest of the poor.
of land he from the heath
Enclosed when he was stronger ;
“ But what,” saith he, “ avails the land,
Which I can till no longer ?”
Oft, working by her Husband's side,
Ruth does what Simon cannot do;
For she, with scanty cause for pride,
Is stouter of the two.
And, though you with your utmost skill
From labour could not wean them,
Alas! 'tis very little — all
Which they can do between them.
Few months of life has he in store,
For still, the more he works, the more
Do his weak ancles swell.
My gentle Reader, I perceive
How patiently you've waited,
And now I fear that you expect
Some tale will be related.
O Reader ! had
mind Such stores as silent thought can bring, O gentle Reader ! you would find A tale in every thing. What more I have to say is short, And you must kindly take it : It is no tale ; but, should you think, Perhaps a tale you 'll make it.
One summer-day I chanced to see
This Old Man doing all he could
To unearth the root of an old tree,
A stump of rotten wood.
The mattock tottered in his hand;
So vain was his endeavour,
That at the root of the old tree
He might have worked for ever.
“ You 're overtasked, good Simon Lee,
Give me your tool,” to him I said;
And at the word right gladly he
Received my proffered aid.
I struck, and with a single blow
The tangled root I severed,
At which the poor Old Man so long
And vainly had endeavoured.
The tears into his eyes were brought,
And thanks and praises seemed to run
So fast out of his heart, I thought
They never would have done.
-I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds
With coldness still returning,
Alas! the gratitude of men
Hath oftener left me mourning.
CHARACTERISTIC OF A FAVOURITE 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 hath comrades in his walk;
Four dogs, each pair of different breed,
Distinguished two for scent, and two for speed,
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,
Hath an instinct what to do ;
Her hope is near: no turn she makes ;
But, like an arrow, to the river takes.