Wild Flowers | Page 7

he came near 'em,
"And then to bed went
he.

"Then off we stroll'd this way and that,
"With merry voices ringing;

"And Echo answered us right pat,
"As home we rambl'd singing.
"For, when we laugh'd, it laugh'd again,
"And to our own doors
follow'd!
"'Yo, ho!' we cried; 'Yo, ho!' so plain
"The misty meadow
halloo'd.
"That's all my tale, and all the fun,
"Come, turn your wheels about;

"My worsted, see!--that's nicely done,
"Just held my story out!!"
Poor Judie!--Thus Time knits or spins
The worsted from Life's ball!

Death stopt thy tales, and stopt thy pins,
--And so he'll serve us all.
THE BROKEN CRUTCH.
A Tale.
"I tell you, Peggy," said a voice behind
A hawthorn hedge, with wild
briars thick entwin'd,
Where unseen trav'llers down a shady way

Journey'd beside the swaths of new-mown hay,
"I tell you, Peggy, 'tis
a time to prove
Your fortitude, your virtue, and your love.
From
honest poverty our lineage sprung,
Your mother was a servant quite
as young;--
You weep; perhaps she wept at leaving home,
Courage,
my girl, nor fear the days to come.
Go still to church, my Peggy,
plainly drest,
And keep a living conscience in your breast;
Look to
yourself, my lass, the maid's best fame,
Beware, nor bring the
Meldrums into shame:
Be modest, to the voice of age attend,
Be
honest, and you'll always find a friend:
Your uncle Gilbert, stronger
far than I,
Will see you safe; on him you must rely;
I've walk'd too
far; this lameness, oh! the pain;
Heav'n bless thee, child! I'll halt me
back again;
But when your first fair holiday may be,
Rise with the
lark, and spend your hours with me."
Young Herbert Brooks, in strength and manhood bold,
Who, round
the meads, his own possessions, stroll'd,
O'erheard the charge, and

with a heart so gay,
Whistled his spaniel and pursu'd his way.
A Hint for a Libertine.
Soon cross'd his path, and short obeisance paid,
Stout Gilbert
Meldrum and a country maid;
A box upon his shoulder held full well

Her worldly riches, but the truth to tell
She bore the chief herself;
that nobler part.
That beauteous gem, an uncorrupted heart.
And
then that native loveliness! that cheek!
It bore the very tints her
betters seek;
At such a sight the libertine would glow,
With all the
warmth that he can ever know;
Would send his thoughts abroad
without control,
The glimmering moon-shine of his little soul.

"Above the reach of justice I shall soar,
Her friends may weep, not
punish; they're too poor:
That very thought the rapture will enhance,

Poor, young, and friendless; what a glorious chance!
Herbert's Character.
A few spare guineas may the conquest make,--
I love the treachery
for treachery's sake,--
And when her wounded honour jealous grows,

I'll cut away ten thousand oaths and vows,
And tell my comrades,
with a manly stride,
How I, a girl out-witten and out-lied."
Such
was not Herbert--he had never known
Love's genuine smiles, nor
suffer'd from his frown;
And as to that most honourable part
Of
planting daggers in a parent's heart,
A novice quite:--he past his hours
away,
Free as a bird and buxom as the day;
Yet, should a lovely girl
by chance arise,
Think not that Herbert Brooks would shut his eyes.
On thy calm joys with what delight I dream,
Thou dear green valley
of my native stream!
Regret for Devastation by Enclosures.
Fancy o'er thee still waves th' enchanting wand,
And every nook of
thine is fairy land,
And ever will be, though the axe should smite
In

Gain's rude service, and in Pity's spite,
Thy clustering alders, and at
length invade
The last, last poplars, that compose thy shade:
Thy
stream shall then in native freedom stray,
And undermine the willows
in its way,
These, nearly worthless, may survive this storm,
This
scythe of desolation call'd "Reform."
No army past that way! yet are
they fled,
The boughs that, when a school-boy, screen'd my head:
I
hate the murderous axe; estranging more
The winding vale from what
it was of yore,
Than e'en mortality in all its rage,
And all the change
of faces in an age.
The Tale pursued.
"Warmth," will they term it, that I speak so free?
They strip thy
shades,--thy shades so dear to me!
In Herbert's days woods cloth'd
both hill and dale;
But peace, Remembrance! let us tell the tale.
His home was in the valley, elms grew round
His moated mansion,
and the pleasant sound
Of woodland birds that loud at day-break sing,

With the first cuckoos that proclaim the spring,
Flock'd round his
dwelling; and his kitchen smoke,
That from the towering rookery
upward broke,
Of joyful import to the poor hard by,
Stream'd a glad
sign of hospitality;
So fancy pictures; but its day is o'er;
The moat
remains, the dwelling is no more!
Its name denotes its melancholy
fall,
For village children call the spot "Burnt-Hall."
[Illustration: a woman kneeling.]
The Church.
But where's the maid, who in the meadow-way
Met Herbert Brooks
amongst the new-mown hay?
Th' adventure charm'd him, and next morning rose
The Sabbath, with
its silence and repose,
The bells ceas'd chiming, and the broad blue
sky
Smil'd on his peace, and met his tranquil eye
Inverted, from the

foot-bridge on his way
To that still house where all his fathers lay;

There in