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But the beggar man would not plead, but cried
Like a babe without its corals,
For he knew how hard it is apt to go
When the law and a thief have quarrels,
There was not a Christian soul alive
To speak a word for his morals.

Oh, how gaily I doff’d my costly gear,
And put on my work-day clothes;
I was tired of such a long Sunday life,-
And never was one of the sloths ;
But the beggar man grumbled a weary deal,
And made many crooked mouths.

So I hauld him off to the gallows' foot,
And blinded him in his bags;
'Twas a weary job to heave him up,
For a doom'd man always lags ;
But by ten of the clock he was off his legs
In the wind and airing his rags!

So there he hung and there I stood,
The LAST MAN left alive,
To have my own will of all the earth :
Quoth I, now I shall thrive!
But when was ever honey made
With one bee in a hive!

My conscience began to gnaw my heart,
Before the day was done,

For the other men's lives had all gone out,
Like candles in the sun!-
But it seem'd as if I had broke, at last,
A thousand necks in one!

So I went and cut his body down,
To bury it decentlie ;-
God send there were any good soul alive
To do the like by me!
But the wild dogs came with terrible speed,
And bay'd me up the tree !

My sight was like a drunkard's sight,
And my head began to swim,
To see their jaws all white with foam,
Like the ravenous ocean-brim ;-
But when the wild dogs trotted away
Their jaws were bloody and grim!

Their jaws were bloody and grim, good Lord!
But the beggar man, where was he?—
There was nought of him but some ribbons of rags
Below the gallows' tree !
I know the Devil, when I am dead,
Will send his hounds for me!

I've buried my babies one by one,
And dug the deep hole for Joan,
And cover'd the faces of kith and kin,
And felt the old churchyard stone

Go cold to my heart, full many a time,
But I never felt so lone !

For the lion and Adam were company,
And the tiger him beguild ;
But the simple kine are foes to my life,
And the household brutes are wild.
If the veriest cur would lick my hand,
I could love it like a child !

And the beggar man's ghost besets my dream,
At night, to make me madder,
And my wretched conscience, within my breast,
Is like a stinging adder ;-
I sigh when I pass the gallows' foot,
And look at the rope and ladder!

For hanging looks sweet,—but, alas ! in vain,
My desperate fancy begs,-
I must turn my cup of sorrows quite up,
And drink it to the dregs,-
For there is not another man alive,
In the world, to pull my legs !

THE SEASON.

SUMMER 's gone and over!

Fogs are falling down; And with russet tinges

Autumn’s doing brown.

Boughs are daily rifled

By the gusty thieves, And the Book of Nature

Getteth short of leaves.

Round the tops of houses,

Swallows, as they flit, Give, like yearly tenants,

Notices to quit.

Skies, of fickle temper,

Weep by turns, and laugh— Night and Day together

Taking half-and-half.

So September endeth—

Cold, and most perverseBut the Month that follows,

Sure will pinch us worse!

LOVE.

O Love! what art thou, Love? the ace of hearts, Trumping earth's kings and queens, and all its

suits ; A player, masquerading many parts

In life's odd carnival;—a boy that shoots, From ladies' eyes, such mortal woundy darts ; A gardener, pulling heart's-ease up by the

roots ; The Puck of Passion—partly false-part realA marriageable maiden's “ beau ideal.”

O Love! what art thou, Love? a wicked thing,

Making green misses spoil their work at school; A melancholy man, cross-gartering?

Grave ripe-faced wisdom made an April fool ? A youngster, tilting at a wedding ring ?

A sinner, sitting on a cuttie stool ?
A Ferdinand de Something in a hovel,
Helping Matilda Rose to make a novel?

O Love! what art thou, Love? one that is bad,

With palpitations of the heart-like mineA poor bewilder'd maid, making so sad

A necklace of her garters—fell design!

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