74 JULIA AND HENRY. And Norman is shearing the dear little sheep; And see, Julia, see, how dark Lenington's steep Is wash'd by the waves in the bay! "We'll stop at Tom Norman's, and get some new milk, "Tis always so nice and so good: I'd twice rather have it than milk from the cow; They get it, you know, from some goats on the brow Of the hill by Jack Henderson's Wood. "Come, come."-" Stop," said Julia, "we'll go and ask leave." "O dear, no occasion at all. Quick! quick! what a slow, lazy being you are! It is late; and just look at the pale evening star; And the dew is beginning to fall." Well, Julia went on, as we're easily led To do whatsoever is wrong; And straight to Jack Henderson's cottage they stray'd, The gay little lad and the gay little maid, But just as they got to the edge of the stream The sky got quite dark, and the wind got so loud, "You're mad!" call'd out Henry: "don't go near that tree; Be assur'd it is wrong, very wrong. Mamma says we never should go near a tree; "Tis the maddest and very worst thing that can be, Whenever the lightning comes on. "But always-O dear! see that flash, Julia, see! Whenever the fork'd lightning glares, We always-hark! hark! did you hear that loud din? We always-another! I wish we were in! And now did the sky become awfully dark; The thunder roll'd loudly in peals through the air; When lo! one dread flash of the lightning's bright glare Depriv'd little Henry of breath! In horror poor Julia now started and shriek'd; And, bounding distractedly over the moor, The father, the mother, the grandfather old, But Death's icy fingers already were press'd THE OAK. THE wide-spreading oak in the lawn of St. Clair O, oft have I taken my marbles and top, How oft have I clamber'd its branches so green, To view all around me whate'er could be seen! And then would I watch the last gleam of the day Tinge softly its leaves, and die slowly away. How oft would'st thou shelter, O beautiful tree, From Sol's scorching beams John and William and me! And when the rude blast of the winter would blow, Thy shade was our screen from the rain and the snow. O, long may thy branches be toss'd in the breeze, And long may'st thou reign o'er the rest of the trees! O, long may the rook in thy leaves build her nest, And long may thy branches in beauty be dress'd! O, may no rude swain, with his rough, ruthless stroke, E'er aim at thy downfal, my beautiful oak! But long o'er thy leaves may the morning sun dawn, And long may'st thou flourish the pride of the lawn! NANETTE AND HER GRANDMOTHER. Suggested by a Fact which occurred in Ireland. NEAR Erriston Mountain an old abbey stands, and rue, And its numerous cells, and its wet dripping dew, And its tombs, and its tottering stones. And in this dark abbey an old woman liv'd, 78 NANETTE AND HER GRANDMOTHER. As grey as the abbey, and almost as old, And as shaking, while, trembling with age and with cold, She'd sit in her dark dripping cell. Her hair was all white, and her body was bent, A gay little grandaughter, six years of age, Whose father and mother once liv'd near the stream Of Glinburn; but they died, and the little thing came To live in this abbey so wild. Their curious abode was a cell in the wall, Their parlour, their kitchen, and room; Their bed at one end, and a fire made of peats, seats, Form'd the whole of this splendid saloon. And every morning the child would bring home Furze bushes, some large and some small; And then the old woman would light them so quick Her mouth for a bellows-a long piece of stick |