The youth did ride, and soon did meet But not performing what he meant, The frighten'd steed he frighten'd more Away went Gilpin, and away The postboy's horse right glad to miss Six gentlemen upon the road With postboy scampering in the rear, Stop thief!-stop thief!-a highwayman! And all and each that pass'd that way And now the turnpike gates again Flew open in short space, The toll-men thinking as before That Gilpin rode a race, And so he did and won it too, For he got first to town, Nor stopp'd till where he had got up -Now let us sing, Long live the king, And when he next doth ride abroad, W. COWPER, Hohenlinden ON Linden, when the sun was low, Of Iser, rolling rapidly. But Linden saw another sight, When the drum beat, at dead of night By torch and trumpet fast array'd To join the dreadful revelry. Then shook the hills with thunder riven; But redder yet that light shall glow 'Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun The combat deepens. On, ye brave Few, few, shall part, where many meet! Shall be a soldier's sepulchre. T. CAMPBELL. The Village Blacksmith UNDER a spreading chestnut tree His hair is crisp, and black, and long, His face is like the tan; His brow is wet with honest sweat, And looks the whole world in the face, Week in, week out, from morn till night, You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, And children coming home from school And catch the burning sparks that fly He goes on Sunday to the church, And it makes his heart rejoice. It sounds to him like her mother's voice, Singing in Paradise! He needs must think of her once more, How in the grave she lies; And with his hard, rough hand he wipes A tear out of his eyes. Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing, Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, LONGFELLOW. Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog GOOD people all, of every sort, Give ear unto my song; In Islington there was a Man, Of whom the world might say, A kind and gentle heart he had, And in that town a Dog was found, Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, And curs of low degree. This Dog and Man at first were friends; The Dog, to gain some private ends, Around from all the neighbouring streets The wound it seem'd both sore and sad And while they swore the Dog was mad, But soon a wonder came to light, The Man recover'd of the bite, The Dog it was that died. O. GOLDSMITH. The Outlaw O, BRIGNALL banks are wild and fair, A Maiden on the castle wall 'O, Brignall banks are fresh and fair, I'd rather rove with Edmund there, -'If, Maiden, thou wouldst wend with me, Thou first must guess what life lead we, And if thou canst that riddle read, Then to the greenwood shalt thou speed Yet sung she, 'Brignall banks are fair, I'd rather rove with Edmund there, |