1 LETITIA ELIZABETH (MRS. MACLEAN.) LANDON. I LOOKED upon his brow-no sign He had a power; in his eye There was a quenchless energy, A spirit that could dare The deadliest form that death could take, He stood, the fetters on his hand,- And had that grasp been on the brand, With freer pride than it waved now. The rack, the chain, the axe, the wheel, I saw him once before; he rode And tens of thousands thronged the road, His helm, his breast-plate, were of gold, But now he stood, chained and alone, The plume, the helm, the charger gone; He bent beneath the headsman's stroke A wild shout from the numbers broke Rome's wail above her only son, THE VAGRANT AND HIS J. T. TROWBRIDGE. We are two travellers, Roger and I. Roger's my dog. Come here, you scamp! Jump for the gentleman,-mind your eye! Over the table, look out for the lamp! The rogue is growing a little old; POG. Five years we've tramped through wind and weather, We've learned what comfort is, I tell you! A fire to thaw our thumbs (poor fellow ! (This out-door business is bad for strings), Then a few nice buckwheats hot from the griddle, And Roger and I set up for kings! No, thank ye, sir,-I never drink ; Well, something hot, then, we won't quarrel. He understands every word that's said, And he knows good milk from water and chalk. The truth is, sir, now I reflect, I've been so sadly given to grog, There isn't another creature living Would do it, and prove, through every disaster, So fond, so faithful, and so forgiving, To such a miserable thankless master! That chokes a fellow. But no matter! We'll have some music, if you're willing, And Roger (hem! what a plague a cough is, sir!) Shall march a little.-Start, you villain! Stand straight! 'Bout face! Salute your officer ! Put up that paw! Dress! Take your rifle ! (Some dogs have arms, you see!) Now hold your Cap while the gentlemen give a trifle, To aid a poor old patriotic soldier ! March! Halt! Now show how the rebel shakes, Why not reform? That's easily said; But I've gone through such wretched treatment, Sometimes forgetting the taste of bread, And scarce remembering what meat meant, And there are times when, mad with thinking, Is there a way to forget to think? At your age, sir, home, fortune, friends, If If you had seen her, so fair and young, Whose head was happy on this breast! you could have heard the songs I sung When the wine went round, you wouldn't have guessed That ever I, sir, should be straying From door to door, with fiddle and dog, Ragged and penniless, and playing To you to-night for a glass of grog! She's married since,-a parson's wife: Than a blasted home and a broken heart. Who kissed the coin that her fingers dropped! You've set me talking, sir; I'm sorry, It makes me wild to think of the change! 'Twas well she died before- -Do you know Another glass, and strong, to deaden He is sad sometimes, and would weep, if he could, I'm better now; that glass was warming.- For supper and bed, or starve in the street.- But soon we shall go where lodgings are free, And the sleepers need neither victuals nor drink; The sooner the better for Roger and me! |