網頁圖片
PDF
ePub 版

With mast, and helm, and pennon fair,
That well had borne their part;
But the noblest thing that perished there
Was that young faithful heart!

AS I LAYE A-THYNKYNGE.

REV. RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM.-1788-1845.

[THE "Ingoldsby Legends" were originally contributed to "Bentley's Miscellany," and have for some years been recognised as a necessary household possession, a companionable work for nearly every humour, grave or gay. Abounding with real fun, witty play on words, and grotesque rhyme, they at once remind one of the author's friends and contemporaries Hook and Hood, whilst their legendary character and occasional stroke of a deeper pathetic note and graver sentiment, indicate a trace of the clerical dignitary in their author, although it must be confessed that the author's profession is more generally lost sight of. It would be impossible to convey an adequate idea of the attractions of these amusing rhymes, and difficult to select a Favourite where all are Favourites; we therefore quote the last poem in the book, and it will suffice to say that the whole fund of entertainment is now compressed into the publication of a single volume at a price that places it within the reach of all.

Mr. Barham was a native of Canterbury, where he received his early education, which he completed at Brasenose College, Oxford. He held the appointment of Rector of St. Augustin and St. Faith; and was a minor canon of St. Paul's, up to the day of his death occupying the house attached to the Canonry of the Rev. Sidney Smith, with whom, as it may be imagined, he was for many years on terms of cordial friendship, and whom in many respects he much resembled.]

AS I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge,

Merrie sang the Birde as she sat upon the spraye; There came a noble Knyghte,

With his hauberke shynynge brighte,

And his gallant heart was lyghte,

Free and gay;

As I laye a-thynkynge, he rode upon his waye.

As I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge,
Sadly sang the Birde as she sat upon the tree!

There seemed a crimson plain

Where a gallant Knyghte lay slayne,
And a steed with broken rein

Ran free,

As I laye a-thynkynge, most pitiful to see!

As I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge,
Merrie sang the Birde as she sat upon the boughe;
A lovely Mayde came by,

And a gentil youth was nyghe,
And he breathed many a syghe
And a vowe;

As I laye a-thynkynge, her hearte was gladsome now.

As I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge,
Sadly sang the Birde as she sat upon the thorne;
No more a youth was there,

But a maiden rent her haire,
And cried in sad despaire,

"That I was borne !"

As I lay a-thynkynge, she perished forlorne.

As I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge,
Sweetly sang the Birde as she sat upon the briar;
There came a lovely Childe,

And his face was meek and mild,
Yet joyously he smiled

On his sire;

As I lay a-thynkynge, a Cherub mote admire.

But I lay a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge,

And sadly sang the Birde as it perched upon a bier;

That joyous smile was gone,

And the face was white and wan,

As the downe upon the Swan

Doth appear,

As I lay a-thynkynge-oh! bitter flowed the tear!

As I lay a-thynkynge, the golden sun was sinking,
O merrie sang the Birde as it glittered on her breast

With a thousand gorgeous dyes,

While soaring to the skies,

'Mid the stars she seemed to rise,

As to her nest;

As I lay a-thynkynge, her meaning was exprest :

"Follow, follow me away,
It boots not to delay,"-
'Twas so she seemed to saye,
"HERE IS REST!"

ABOU BEN ADHEM.

BY LEIGH HUNT. -1784-1859.

[THE son of an American barrister, who settled in England, and became a clergyman, Leigh Hunt was born at Southgate, in Middlesex, and educated at Christ's Hospital. In connection with his brother he established the "Examiner" newspaper in 1808, and became the companion and literary associate of Coleridge, Lamb, Campbell, Hook, and later of Byron, Shelley, and others. As a literary critic, Mr. Hunt's reputation was very great, both in England and America; and as an author, his numerous volumes of essays, poems, and sonnets, are established favourites. Amongst these may be mentioned "The Indicator," "Jar of Honey from Mount Hybla,' "Imagination and Fancy," "Old Court Suburb," "The Book of the Sonnet," &c.]

ABOU BEN ADHEM (may his tribe increase !)

Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw within the moonlight in his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,

An angel writing in a book of gold:

Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,

And to the Presence in the room he said,

"What writest thou?"-The vision raised its head,

And, with a look made of all sweet accord,

Answered "The names of those who love the Lord."
"And is mine one?" said Abou; "Nay, not so,"

Replied the angel.-Abou spoke more low,
But cheerly still; and said, "I pray thee, then,
Write me as one that loves his fellow-men."

The next night

The angel wrote, and vanished.

It came again, with a great wakening light,

And showed the names whom love of God had blessedAnd, lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest!

MY MOTHER.

BY ANN AND JANE TAYLOR.-1783-1867.

[THIS beautiful lyric is one of a volume written for children under the title of "Original Poems," by the two sisters of Isaac Taylor, the Essayist, and daughters of Isaac Taylor, an Independent minister of Colchester. The sisters are also celebrated by their "Contributions of Q. Q.," "Hymns for Infant Minds," &c. "My Mother" is selected as the production of Ann Taylor, and "The Squire's Pew" as a specimen of the writing of Jane. The latter died in 1823, the former, Mrs. Ann Gilbert, only three years since. The last stanza of "My Mother" was altered by its author at a suggestion made by the "Athenæum" only a few months before her death, as it stands here.]

WHO

HO fed me from her gentle breast,
And hush'd me in her arms to rest,
And on my cheek sweet kisses prest?

My Mother.

When sleep forsook my open eye,

Who was it sung sweet hushaby,
And rock'd me that I should not cry?
My Mother.

Who sat and watch'd my infant head,
When sleeping on my cradle bed?
And tears of sweet affection shed?

My Mother.

When pain and sickness made me cry,
Who gazed upon my heavy eye,
And wept for fear that I should die?
My Mother.

[graphic][subsumed]

Who dress'd my doll in clothes so gay?
And taught me pretty how to play,
And minded all I had to say?

My Mother.

Who ran to help me when I fell,
And would some pretty story tell,
Or kiss the place to make it well?

My Mother.

Who taught my infant lips to pray,
And love God's holy book and day,
And walk in wisdom's pleasant way?
My Mother.

And can I ever cease to be
Affectionate and kind to thee,
Who wast so very kind to me,

My Mother?

« 上一頁繼續 »