"You're overtasked, good Simon Lee, Give me your tool to him I said; And at the word right gladly he I struck, and with a single blow At which the poor old man so long The tears into his eyes were brought, And thanks and praises seemed to run So fast out of his heart, I thought They never would have done. —I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds With coldness still returning. Alas! the gratitude of men Has oftner left me mourning. ANECDOTE FOR FATHERS, SHOWING HOW THE ART OF LYING MAY BE TAUGHT. I HAVE a boy of five years old, His limbs are cast in beauty's mould, And dearly he loves me. One morn we stroll'd on our dry walk, Our quiet house all full in view, And held such intermitted talk As we are wont to do. My thoughts on former pleasures ran; A day it was when I could bear My boy was by my side, so slim And graceful in his rustic dress! And oftentimes I talked to him, The young lambs ran a pretty race; The morning sun shone bright and warm; "Kilve," said I, " was a pleasant place, "And so is Liswyn farm. "My little boy, which like you more," "And tell me, had you rather be," I said and held him by the arm, "At Kilve's smooth shore by the green sea, "Or here at Liswyn farm? In careless mood he looked at me, "Now, little Edward, say why so; "For, here are woods and green-hills warm; 66 66 66 There surely must some reason be 'Why you would change sweet Liswyn farm For Kilve by the green sea." At this, my boy, so fair and slim, His head he raised-there was in sight, Then did the boy his tongue unlock, "At Kilve there was no weather-cock, "And that's the reason why." |