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CAMBRIDGE. Tax not the royal Saint with vain expense, With ill-match'd aims the Architect who plann'd (Albeit labouring for a scanty band Of white-robed Scholars only) this immense And glorious work of fine intelligence! Give all thou canst ; high Heaven rejects the lore Of nicely calculated less or more:So deem'd the man who fashion'd for the sense These lofty pillars, spread that branching roof Self poised, and scoop'd into ten thousand cells Where light and shade repose, where music dwells Lingering and wandering on as loth to die Like thoughts whose very sweetness yieldeth proof That they were born for immortality



A NIGHTINGALE, that all day long
Had cheer'd the village with his song,
Nor yet at eve his note suspended,
Nor yet when eventide was ended,
Began to feel, as well he might,
The keen demands of appetite;
When looking eagerly around,
He spied far off upon the ground,
A something shining in the dark,
And knew the glow-worm by his spark ;
So, stooping down from hawthorn top,
He thought to put him in his crop.
The worm, aware of his intent,
Harangued him thus, right eloquent-

Did you admire my lamp, quoth he,
As much as I your minstrelsy,
You would abhor to do me wrong,
As much as I to spoil your song ;
For 'twas the self-same power divine
Taught you to sing, and me to shine ;
That you with music, I with light,
Might beautify and cheer the night.
The songster heard his short oration,
And warbling out his approbation,
Releas'd him, as my story tells,
And found a supper somewhere else.



On his morning rounds the master

Goes to learn how all things fare ;
Searches pasture after pasture,

Sheep and cattle eyes with care;
And for silence, or for talk,
He hath comrades in his walk ;
Four dogs, each of a different breed,
Distinguished, two for scent, and two for speed.
See a hare before him started;

Off they fly in earnest chase ;
Every dog is eager-hearted,

All the four are in the race!
And the hare whom they pursue
Knows from instinct what to do;
Her hope is near, no turn she makes :
But like an arrow to the river takes.
Deep the river was and crusted

Thinly by a one night's frost ;

But the nimble hare hath trusted

To the ice, and safely crost ;
She hath crost, and without heed
All are following at full speed,
When lo, the ice so thinly spread,
Breaks, and the greyhound Dart is overhead !
Better fate have Prince and Swallow-

See them cleaving to the sport!
Music has no heart to follow,

Little Music, she stops short. She hath neither wish nor heart, Hers is now another part: A loving creature she, and brave ! And fondly strives her struggling friend to save. From the brink her paws she stretches,

Very hands as you would say ! And afflicting moans she fetches,

As he breaks the ice away. For herself she hath no fears, Him alone she sees and hears, Makes efforts with complaining ; nor gives o'er, Until her fellow sinks to re-appear no more.



But are ye sure the news is true?

And are ye sure he's weel ?
Is this a time to think o'wark ?

Ye jades, fling by your wheel !
For there's nae luck about the house,

There's nae luck at a';
There's nae luck about the house,
When our gudeman's awa'.

Is this a time to think o' wark,

When Colin's at the door ?
Rax down my cloak—I'll to the quay,

And see him come ashore.
Rise up, and make a clean fireside,

Put on the mickle pot ;
Gie little Kate her cotton gown,

And Jock his Sunday coat.
Mak’ a' their shoon as black as sloes,

Their stockings white as snaw ;
It's a' to pleasure our gudeman-

He likes to see them braw.
There are twa hens into the crib,

Hae fed this month or mair;
Mak’ haste and thraw their necks about,

That Colin weel may fare.
And gie to me my bigonet 1

My bishop's satin gown;
For I maun tell the baillie's wife

That Colin's in the town.
My turkey slippers I'll put on,

My stockings pearly-blue-
It's a' to pleasure our gudeman,

For he's baith leal and true.
Sae sweet his voice, sae smooth his tongue,

His breath's like caller air ; His very foot hae music in't,

As he comes up the stair.
And will I see his face again ?

And will I hear him speak ?
I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought

In troth I'm like to greet.3

1 little cap.

2 fresh.

3 weep.

There's nae luck about the house,

There's nae luck at a';
There's nae luck about the house,

When our gudeman's away.



A wet sheet and a flowing sea,

A wind that follows fast,
And fills the white and rustling sail,

And tends the gallant mast.
And bends the gallant mast, my boys,

While, like the eagle free,
Away the good ship flies, and leaves

Old England on the lee.
“Oh! for a soft and gentle wind !"

I heard a fair one cry;
But give to me the swelling breeze,

And white waves heaving high.
And white waves heaving high, my lads,

The good ship tight and free,
The world of waters is our home,

And merry men are we.
There's tempest in yon hornèd moon,

And lightning in yon cloud:
And hark, the music, mariners !-

The wind is wakening loud.
The wind is wakening loud, my boys,

The lightning flashes free;
The hollow oak our palace is,
Our heritage the sea.

A. Cunningham.

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