"Twas little Barbara Lewthwaite, a Child of beauty rare!
I watched them with delight, they were a lovely pair.
Now with her empty Can the Maiden turned away;
But ere ten yards were gone her footsteps did she stay.

Towards the Lamb she looked; and from that shady place
I unobserved could see the workings of her face :
If Nature to her tongue could measured numbers bring,
Thus, thought I, to her Lamb that little Maid might sing.

"What ails thee, Young One? What? Why pull so at thy cord?

Is it not well with thee? Well both for bed and board?
Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as grass can be ;
Rest, little Young One, rest; what is't that aileth thee?

"What is it thou wouldst seek? What is wanting to thy heart?

Thy limbs are they not strong? And beautiful thou art : This grass is tender grass; these flowers they have no

peers;

And that green corn all day is rustling in thy ears!

"If the Sun be shining hot, do but stretch thy woollen

chain,

This beech is standing by, its covert thou canst gain;

For rain and mountain storms! the like thou need'st not

fear

The rain and storm are things which scarcely can come

here.

"Rest, little Young One, rest; thou hast forgot the day When my Father found thee first in places far away; Many flocks were on the hills, but thou wert owned by

none;

And thy mother from thy side for evermore was gone.

"He took thee in his arms, and in pity brought thee home:

A blessed day for thee! then whither wouldst thou roam? A faithful Nurse thou hast, the Dam that did thee yean Upon the mountain tops no kinder could have been.

"Thou know'st that twice a day I have brought thee in

this Can

Fresh water from the brook as clear as ever ran :

And twice in the day when the ground is wet with dew I bring thee draughts of milk, warm milk it is and new.

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Thy limbs will shortly be twice as stout as they are now, Then I'll yoke thee to my cart like a pony in the plough ; My Playmate thou shalt be; and when the wind is cold Our hearth shall be thy bed, our house shall be thy fold.

"It will not, will not rest!-poor Creature, can it be That 'tis thy mother's heart which is working so in thee? Things that I know not of belike to thee are dear,

And dreams of things which thou canst neither see nor hear.

"Alas, the mountain tops that look so green and fair! I've heard of fearful winds and darkness that come there; The little Brooks that seem all pastime and all play, When they are angry, roar like Lions for their prey.

"Here thou need'st not dread the raven in the sky; Night and day thou art safe,-our cottage is hard by. Why bleat so after me? Why pull so at thy chain? Sleep-and at break of day I will come to thee again !”

-As homeward through the lane I went with lazy feet, This song to myself did I oftentimes repeat;

And it seemed, as I retraced the ballad line by line, That but half of it was hers, and one half of it was mine.

Again, and once again did I repeat the song;

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'Nay," said I, "more than half to the Damsel must belong,

For she looked with such a look, and she spake with such

a tone,

That I almost received her heart into

my

own."

Written in GERMANY,

On one of the coldest days of the Century.

I must apprise the Reader that the stoves in North Germany generally have the impression of a galloping Horse upon them, this being part of the Brunswick Arms.

A fig for your languages, German and Norse!
Let me have the song of the Kettle;

And the tongs and the poker, instead of that Horse
That gallops away with such fury and force

On this dreary dull plate of black metal.

Our earth is no doubt made of excellent stuff;

But her pulses beat slower and slower :

The weather in Forty was cutting and rough,

And then, as Heaven knows, the Glass stood low

enough;

And now it is four degrees lower.