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“What ails thee, young one what? why pull so at thy cord? -
Is it not well with thee ? well both for bed and board 2
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 long is rustling in thy ears
“If the sun be shining hot, do but stretch thy woollen chain,
This birch is standing by, its covert thou canst gain ;
For rain and mountain storms — the like thou need'st not fear—
The rain and storm are things that scarcely can come here.
“Rest, little, young one, rest; thou hast forgot the da
When #y father found thee first, in places far away;
Many flocks were on the hills, but thou wert owned by none, .
And thy mother from thy side forevermore was gone.
“He took thee in his arms, and in pity brought thee home; . .
O blessed day for thee! then whither wouldst thou roam 2
60 THE PET LAMIB.
A faithful nurse thou hast, the dam that did thee year. Upon the mountain-tops no kinder could have been.
“Thou knowest that twice a day I have brought thee in this can
Fresh water from the brook, as clear as ever ran;
And twice in the day, when the ground is wet with dew,
I bring thee draughts of milk, warm milk it is, and Ile W.
“Thy limbs will shortly be twice as stout as they are now ;
Then I'll yoke thee to my cart, like a pony in the plough ;
My playmate thou shalt be; and when the wind is cold
Our hearth shall be thy bed, our house shall be thy fold.
“Alas! the mountain-tops that look so green and fair, I've heard of fearful winds and darkness that come there; The little brooks that seem all pastime and all play, When they are angry roar like lions for their prey.
“Here thou need'st not dread the raven in the sky;
Night and day thou art safe — our cottage is hard by.
Why bleat so after me? why pull so at thy chain 2
Sleep—and at break of day I will come to thee again.”
As homeward through the lane I went, with lazy feet, This song to myself did I oftentimes repeat;
And it seemed, as I retraced the ballad line by line, That but half of it was hers, and one half of it was II) IQ62,
Again, and once again, did I repeat the song: “Nay,” said I, “more than half to the damsel must belong, For she looked with such a look, and she spoke with such a tone, That I almost received her heart into my own.”
THE LITTLE BLACK BOY. — Blake.
My mother bore me in the southern wild,
My mother taught me underneath a tree,
“Look on the rising Sun, -there God does live,
“And we are put on earth a little space,
62 THE SPARTAN BOY,
“For when our souls have learnt the heat to bear, The clouds will vanish, we shall hear his voice, Saying, ‘Come from the grove, my love and care, And round my golden tent like lambs rejoice.’”
Thus did my mother say, and kisséd me;
I’ll shade him from the heat till he can bear
WHEN I the memory repeat
Or would the scorching ember shake
MY BIRTHDAY. — Miss Lamb.
A Dozen years since, in this house what commotion,