go?

He rides over the water and over the snow;

Through wood and through vale, and o'er rocky

height,

Which the goat cannot climb, takes his sounding flight;

He tosses about in every bare tree,

As, if you look up, you plainly may see:
But how he will come, and whither he goes,
There's never a scholar in England knows.

He will suddenly stop in a cunning nook,
And ring a sharp 'larum ;-but, if you should look,
There's nothing to see but a cushion of snow,
Round as a pillow and whiter than milk,
And softer than if it were cover'd with silk.

Sometimes he'll hide in the cave of a rock,
Then whistle as shrill as the buzzard-cock.
Yet seek him, and what shall you find in the place?
Nothing but silence and empty space;
Save in a corner a heap of dry leaves,
That he's left for a bed to beggars or thieves.

As soon as 'tis daylight, to-morrow, with me
You shall go to the orchard; and then you
will see
That he has been there, and made a great rout,
And crack'd the branches and strewn them about.
Heaven grant that he spare but that one upright twig,
That look'd up at the sky so proud and big
All last summer, as well you know,
Studded with apples-a beautiful show!

Hark! over the roof he makes a pause,
And growls as if he would fix his claws
Right in the slates, and with a huge rattle
Drive them down like men in a battle.

But let him range round-he does us no harm:
We build up the fire-we're snug and warm;
Untouch'd by his breath, see the candle shines bright,
And burns with a clear and steady light;

Books have we to read :-but that half-stifled knell,
Alas, 'tis the sound of the nine-o'clock bell.

Come now,

He

we'll to bed; and when we are there, may work his own will, and what shall we care? He may knock at the door-we'll not let him in; May drive at the windows-we'll laugh at his din. Let him seek his own home, wherever it be; Here's a cozie warm house for Edward and me.

Wordsworth.

THE WOODCUTTER'S SONG.

WELCOME, red and roundy sun,
Dropping lonely in the west;
Now my hard day's work is done,
I'm as happy as the best.

Joyful are the thoughts of home;
Now I'm ready for my chair:
So, till to-morrow morning's come,
Bill and mittens, lie ye there.

Though to leave your pretty song,
Little birds, it gives me pain,
Yet to-morrow is not long-

Then I'm with you all again.

So fare ye well; and hold your tongues,
Sing no more until I come:
They're not worthy of your songs
That never care to drop a crumb.

All day long I love the oaks;
But at nights yon little cot,
Where I see the chimney smokes,
Is by far the prettiest spot.

Wife and children all are there
To revive with pleasant looks;
Table ready set and chair,
Supper hanging on the hooks.

Soon as ever I get in,

When my faggot down I fling,

Little prattlers they begin

Teasing me to talk and sing.

It was a summer evening,
Old Kaspar's work was done,
And he before his cottage-door
Was sitting in the sun;
And by him sported on the green
His little grandchild Wilhelmine.

She saw her brother Peterkin
Roll something large and round,
Which he beside the rivulet

In playing there had found:

He came to ask what he had found,
That was so large and smooth and round.

Old Kaspar took it from the boy,
Who stood expectant by;

And then the old man shook his head,
And with a natural sigh,

""Tis some poor fellow's skull," said he, "Who fell in a great victory.

I find them in the garden,
For there's many here about;
And often when I go to plough,

The ploughshare turns them out: For many thousand men," said he, "Were slain in that great victory."

"Now tell us what 'twas all about," Young Peterkin, he cries; And little Wilhelmine looks up With wonder-waiting eyes. "Now tell us all about the war, And what they fought each other for."

"It was the English," Kaspar cried,' "Who put the French to rout; But what they fought each other for I could not well make out. But every body said," quoth he, "That 'twas a famous victory.

My father lived at Blenheim then,
Yon little stream hard by;

They burnt his dwelling to the ground,
And he was forced to fly:

So with his wife and child he fled,

Nor had he where to rest his head.