My Sister! ('tis a wish of mine) Now that our morning meal is done,

Make haste, your morning task resign; Come forth and feel the sun.

Edward will come with you, and pray, Put on with speed your woodland dress, And bring no book, for this one day We'll give to idleness.

No joyless forms shall regulate

Our living Calendar:

We from to-day, my friend, will date

The opening of the year.

Love, now an universal birth,

From heart to heart is stealing,

From earth to man, from man to earth,

-It is the hour of feeling.

1

One moment now may give us more

Than fifty years of reason;

Our minds shall drink at every pore

The spirit of the season.

Some silent laws our hearts may make,

Which they shall long obey ;

We for the year to come may take

Our temper from to-day.

And from the blessed power that rolls

About, below, above;

We'll frame the measure of our souls,

They shall be tuned to love.

Then come, my sister! come, I pray,

With speed put on your woodland dress, And bring no book; for this one day We'll give to idleness.

G

SIMON LEE,

THE OLD HUNTSMAN,

WITH AN INCIDENT IN WHICH HE WAS

CONCERNED.

In the sweet shire of Cardigan,
Not far from pleasant Ivor-hall,
An old man dwells, a little man,
I've heard he once was tall.

Of years he has upon his back,
No doubt, a burthen weighty;

He

say's

he is three score and ten,

But others say he's eighty.

A long blue livery-coat has he,

That's fair behind, and fair before;

Yet, meet him where you will, you see

At once that he is poor.

Fall five and twenty years he lived

A running huntsman merry;

And, though he has but one eye left,

His cheek is like a cherry.

No man like him the horn could sound,

And no man was so full of glee;

To say the least, four counties round

Had heard of Simon Lee;

His master's dead, and no one now

Dwells in the hall of Ivor;

Men, dogs, and horses, all are dead;

He is the sole survivor.

His hunting feats have him bereft

Of his right eye, as you may see:

And then, what limbs those feats have left

To

poor old Simon Lee!

He has no son, he has no child,

His wife, an aged woman,

Lives with him, near the waterfall,

Upon the village common.

And he is lean and he is sick,

His little body's half awry

His ancles they are swoln and thick;

His legs are thin and dry.

When he was young he little knew

Of husbandry or tillage;

And now he's forced to work, though weak,

-The weakest in the village.