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With all the deathless bards of Greece and Rome,
"Well, Tom-the road, what saw you worth discerning, "How goes study, boy-what is't you're learning?" Logic, Sir, but not the shallow rules "Of Locke and Bacon-antiquated fools! ""Tis wits' and wranglers' Logic!-Thus, d'ye see, "I'll prove at once, as plain as A, B, C, "That an eel-pie's a pigeon :-to deny it,
"Would be to swear black's white."-"Well come, let's try it."
"An eel-pie is a pie of fish."-"Agreed."
"A fish-pie may be a Jack-pie."-"Well, proceed. "A Jack-pie must be a John-pie-thus, 'tis done, "For every John-pie, must be a pie-John!" "Bravo!" Sir Peter cries, "Logic for ever! "That beats my grandmother and she was clever! "But hold, my boy-it surely must be hard, "That wit and learning should meet no reward! "To-morrow, for a stroll, the park we'll cross, "And there I'll give you"- "What?" "A chestnut-horse." "A horse!" cries Tom, "blood, pedigree, and paces, "Oh what a dash I'll cut at Epsom races!"To bed he went, and wept for downright sorrow, To think the night must pass before the morrow; Dreamt of his boots, and spurs, and leather breeches, His hunting whip, and leaping rails and ditches; Rose in the morn an hour before the lark, Dragged his old Uncle fasting through the park :Each craggy vale he scours, quite at a loss, To find out something like a chestnut-horse; But no such animal the meadow cropt; At length, beneath a tree, Sir Peter stopped; Caught a bough and shook it, when straight down fell A fine horse-chestnut in its prickly shell.
There, Tom, take that."-"Well, Sir, and what beside?" "Nay, since you're booted-saddle it, and ride !"
"Ride what?"-"Why a chestnut-come get across, "I tell you, Tom, that chestnut is a horse, "And all the horse you'll get-for I can plainly show, "As clear as sunshine, that 'tis even so"Not by your musty, fusty, worn-out rules "Of Locke and Bacon-antiquated fools! "Of old Malebranche, blind Pilot into knowledge, "But by the laws of wit and Eton College; "All Logic!-but the wranglers' I disown, "And stick to one sound argument-your own. "That you have proved to me, I don't deny "That a pie-John is the same as a John-pie! "What follows then, but as a thing of course, "That a horse-chestnut must be a chestnut-horse?"
O! heard ye yon pibroch sound sad in the gale,
"And tell me, I charge you! ye clan of my spouse,
Why fold ye your mantles? why cloud ye your brows?" So spake the rude chieftain :-no answer is made, But each mantle unfolding, a dagger displayed. "I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her shroud," Cried a voice from the kinsmen, all wrathful and loud; "And empty that shroud, and that coffin, did seem; "Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream!"
O! pale grew the cheek of that chieftain, I ween,
"I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her grief,
A MOTHER'S LOVE.
A MOTHER'S love,-how sweet the name!
To bless a heart of earthly mould;
To bring a helpless babe to light,
In its existence lose her own,
This is a mother's love.
Its weakness in her arms to bear;
Feed it from love's own fountain there,
Then while it slumbers watch its breath,
As if to guard from instant death;
To mark its growth from day to day,
To smile and listen while it talks,
And can a mother's love grow cold?
Ten thousand voices answer "No!"
The infant, reared alone for earth,
A parent's heart may prove a snare;
Her hand may lead, with gentlest care,
Blest infant! whom his mother taught
And poured upon his dawning thought
Behold that mother's love.
Blest mother! who, in wisdom's path,
Thus taught her son to flee the wrath,
Ah! youth, like him enjoy your prime,
Taught by that mother's love.
That mother's love!-how sweet the name !
THE INFIDEL AND THE CHRISTIAN.
THE path to bliss abounds with many a snare;
(Mention him, if you please. Voltaire?-The same.) With spirit, genius, eloquence, supplied,
Lived long, wrote much, laughed heartily, and died;
And fumed with frankincense on every side,