Thomas Cowherd: Verses about Girl

One frosty night in bright moonlight,
I left my cheerful home;
My thoughts were such I cared not much
Which way I chanced to roam.
With firmest tread my way I thread
Through many a winding street
When drunkard's voice in tones not choice,
My startled ear did meet.

He cursed a girl whose hair in curl
Bespoke a tidy mother;
Whose clothes, though plain, wore not a stain,
Yet grief her words did smother
Her beauteous eyes told then no lies
While she looked at the man.
As nature brought the words she sought,
She this appeal began:

'Oh, father, leave this wretched place,
And hasten home with me;
For mother and the darling babe
Are in sad misery!
They have not tasted any food
Since morn of yesterday.
Yet you should hear that mother dear
For blessings on you pray.

'For when she prays aloud for you,
Her tears they flow apace,
And deepest crimson doth suffuse
Her ever lovely face.
She says that she must leave us all
Before 'tis very long,
To go to yonder Heaven above,
And join in Angel's song.

'And when she looks at our dear babe
Her tears flow forth again;
Yet never does she, father dear,
In words of you complain,
But says that she will try to make
A happy home for you.
Come ill, come well, whate'er betide,
She'll loving be and true.

'O, father, hasten with me, then,
Before my mother die!
When I left home, your charming boy
Most piteously did cry;
It would have moved a heart of stone
To see the tears he shed;
His shrieks make worse the dreadful pain
In mother's throbbing head!'

The drunkard stood in solemn mood,
In riveted attention.
This strong appeal did make him feel
Most serious apprehension.
He took the hand of maiden bland,
And hastened fast away;
Nor turned his face on that dread place
Which had made him its prey.

They reached the house where that dear spouse
Was breathing out her soul.
From sense of sin he rushes in,
Nor could himself control.
Upon his knees in agonies
He cries aloud, 'My wife,
Do speak to me, for I will be
A husband, dear, through life!'

No voice there came; the vital flame
Had fled, of child and mother.
He could not stay, so turned away,
With look that made me shudder.
That little girl with hair in curl
At last to him doth speak:
'My father dear, your heart I'll cheer,
And blessings for you seek.

'How We must pray, she taught the way
Who now has gone to bliss.
Nor would I be the least degree
In duty found remiss.'
Her artless strain made him refrain
From purposes most foul.
In after years she calmed his fears,
And saved at last his soul.

Near the side of Windermere,
Down a gentle rising hill,
Flowed a murmuring brook so clear
Every portion of the year,
And no doubt is flowing still.

Hard by stood a small, neat house,
Tenanted by peasants poor.
The mother was a loving spouse,
One who never was a blowze,
But most tidy evermore.

The husband was an honest man
Working hard on working days,
Deeming it the wisest plan.
Each day's labor he began
By pure prayer to God always.

We shall call them HUMBLEWORTH;
They such name deserved quite well.
In that country of the north
All would speak their praises forth,
With delight their worth would tell.

Three dear children graced their home,
Lovely were they in their youth.
When they chanced in woods to roam,
Fairies seemed they to become;
Full their hearts of love and truth.

AMIE, BESS and little ANN
We their names at present call;
AMIE'S bloom was richer than
Any rose which zephyrs fan.
She had, too, a lovely soul.

BESS was as a lily pale,
Graceful as a fawn could be.
She was never very hale,
Parents' eyes could see her fail,
And they felt anxiety.

Little ANN, a chubby lass,
Was the youngest and the pet;
Friends all thought naught could surpass
That sweet child in loveliness
Which they in their lives had met.

I have said that they were poor.
This was true of worldly things;
Yet they had an ample store,
They were skilled in Bible lore;
And from this sweet comfort springs.

Very close observers might
Deem them once of higher rank,
They defrauded of their right,
But still blest with gospel light,
Of rich consolation drank.


Near them lived a proud, rich man,
Wide his lands, but small his heart.
Of him a report there ran
That he to be rich began
Practicing a knavish part.

'GRIPEY' was the name he bore
'Mongst the country people round;
They could reckon up a score
Of vile actions, if not more,
And from these this name they found.

Call I him 'SIR FINGERNEED,'
Such a name is more genteel;
Had he done one worthy deed
I would not withold the meed
Of sweet praise I truly feel.

He had but an only son,
WILLIAM was his given name;
He to love had not begun,
Yet at times he liked to run
In the woods when AMIE came.

There for her he'd try to find
Hazel nuts and berries, too.
Thus he showed his heart was kind-
That he had no churlish mind
When such actions he could do.



Time flew past; poor BESSIE lay-
On her humble dying bed.
Parents now beside her pray,
AMIE watches her by day-
Moving round with softest tread.

WILLIAM oft some dainty brought
To her by his mother sent,
And returned with sober thought,
Musing as each mortal ought
On a death-bed scene intent.

He had heard fair AMIE speak
Of a place above the sky,
Where dear BESS with spirit meek
Would be taken, though so weak,
If at present she should die.

Now he reaches that fine place
Where he and his parents live.
Marks of sadness on his face
Make his father wish to trace
What could him such trouble give.

WILLIAM, not inclined to guile,
Did the truth at once disclose.
This creates a scornful smile
On that rich man's face the while,
Then unto his wife he goes,

And in stern and angry mood
Asks her why she sent the boy;
Did she call that doing good
Sending one of gentler blood,
Just to watch a cottar die?

He no reasons deigns to hear,
Bids the boy not go again.
WILLIAM drops a silent tear
While his parent still is near,
Yet strict silence does maintain.


BESS has left this earthly scene,
Sorrow therefore fills that home.
They have to the churchyard been,
And its clods are now between
Them and charming BESSIE'S form.

They were not alone in grief,
WILLIAM sorrowed much at heart,
Knew not yet the saint's belief,
And most slowly came relief
To remove from him his smart.

Those who seek to curb the mind
Of their offspring in their youth,
Should show reason why they bind,
Clothed in language very kind,
Lest they tempt them from the truth.

Soon the youth began to feel
Galled by most unjust restraint,
And did oft in secret steal
To enquire of AMIE'S weal,
And to her would make complaint.

Then she told her father all.
Calm but firm was his reply:-
'WILLIAM shall no longer call;
Some great ill might him befall,
And he must himself deny.'

This AMELIA saw was right
And informed the gentle boy.
Tears bedimmed his eyes that night
For the loss of his delight,
Which would all his peace destroy.

Said he now, 'I will refrain
From my visits, AMIE dear,
If you'll true to me remain
Till I can consent obtain
From my father, whom I fear.'

AMIE blushed, her word did pledge.
WILLIAM snatched a parting kiss
As he swiftly climbs the hedge,
Fairest dreams his mind engage
For he tastes of lovers' bliss.

Pass we o'er five tedious years.
Years which saw great changes come
To some thousands in all spheres,
Raised by hopes or sunk by fears,
Now alive, or in the tomb

WILLIAM had just come from school
Summoned to his father's bed
On an Autumn evening cool.
Now dread thoughts began to rule
Him who lay just like the dead.

Why that start, that vacant stare?
Does he know his son is by?
Guilty conscience who can bear?
Hope shut out or blank Despair,
When one's latter end is nigh?

Stood the youth with tearful eyes
Fixed upon the dying man.
He would speak, but when he tries
His young soul within him dies
As he views that face so wan.

Speaks the father now at last,
'WILLIAM, listen to my tale.
I through dreadful crime have passed,
But while life is ebbing fast
Now to you I would unveil

'My base heart, if yet I may
In some measure crime atone.
It is thirty years this day
Since a Will I made away,
To gain riches not my own.

'Him I wronged is HUMBLEWORTH,
Long a neighbor near this house:
His my wealth by right of birth;
All I own upon this earth
Is my family-and disgrace.

'I would make amends to him,
But grim death now shakes his dart;
Breathing fails me, eyes grow dim,
Spectres 'fore my vision skim,
And with terrors fill my heart.

'List, my son, your's be the task,
When I'm past this earthly scene,
Pardon for my sin to ask,
My vile conduct to unmask,
And make known what I have been.

'But, my boy, in pity spare,
Spare your mother's feelings dear.
Warning take, from me, nor dare
Sport with sin; of that beware,
For great danger lurketh near.

'I more would say, but now again
Death's strong fetters bind my tongue.'
Soon his struggles are in vain;
WILLIAM'S heart is wrung with pain,
And his nerves are all unstrung.

Startling groans break on his ear
Now that ill-spent life has fled.
WILLIAM sees his mother near
And attempts her heart to cheer,
As she sinks upon the bed.

Seems this stroke too hard to bear.
In the lack of Christian hope,
Her weak heart from grief and care
Droops too soon to dire despair;
With such foe she cannot cope.

Now the youth feels greatest need
To curb well his ardent grief,
Calls he loud for help with speed.
His commands the servants heed,
They obey his mandates brief.

First the mistress they convey
To her room and lay her down.
There would WILLIAM with her stay,
But he could not brook delay
Till his father's crime he own.

Goes he to the house once more
Where his dear AMELIA lives.
With a heart most truly sore,
Reaches he the cottage door,
Knocks; no one admittance gives.

Why is all so still around?
This place they did occupy!
'Where can HUMBLEWORTHS be found?'
Asks he loud, nor heeds the sound
Of man's footsteps passing by.

Turns the man in haste his head
And the youth does recognize,
Tells him, 'In the lake's clean bed
Some one found poor AMIE dead!'
And that thitherward he hies.

This like thrust of dagger came,
Near depriving him of sense.
In his breast's a raging flame,
Calls he AMIE'S lovely name
As he rushes o'er the fence.

Down toward the deep lake's side
Flies he now with greatest speed.
Forms among the bushes glide,
Sorely is the lover tried
In this saddest hour of need.

Who can paint his grief of mind
As the lifeless form he views?
Vainly strives he peace to find,
This stroke seems the most unkind;
He all comfort does refuse.

AMIE'S face has lost its bloom,
Though her countenance is fair.
Little ANN within the room
Deeply shares the general gloom,
In a dim lit corner there.

Some make efforts to restore
That sweet girl they loved so well.
Too long time elapsed before
Her dear form was drawn to shore.
Death has cast o'er her his spell.

Women kind now lay her out,
In pure white her corpse invest.
WILLIAM then, by nature taught,
With poetic feeling fraught,
This warm song to her addressed:



SONG TO AMELIA.

Still like to Luna wading,
Beneath yon silvery cloud,
Thy beauties are unfading,
Though mantled in a shroud.

As thou in death art lying,
Thy lovely form I view,
And ask if aught in dying
Has made thy charms seem new.

Say, wert thou conscious ever
That I to thee was true?
That naught but death could sever
The bond 'twixt me and you?

I came with heart nigh bursting
From thee to get relief.
My very soul was thirsting
To let thee share its grief.

And now this stroke has fallen
Like thunderbolt on me,
And my poor heart is swollen
With saddest misery.

Oh, where can I be flying
For strength and succor now?
If there were hope in dying,
I soon to death would bow.

But now my duty strongly
Bids me my task fulfil;
Thy family suffered wrongly,
To right them I've the will.

And then I would be leaving
Each bitter scene of woe,
Haply my loss retrieving,
If that can be below.

Thou wert to me oft speaking
Of God's sweet place of Rest,
I would that place be seeking,
To be with thee most blest.

Farewell, my young life's charmer,
A long, a last farewell;
I feel my heart grow warmer
As on thy love I dwell.


Calls he HUMBLEWORTH aside,
Speaks to him with faltering tongue:
'Father's sin I dare not hide;
Me he bade before he died,
Soon redress your grievous wrong.

'He destroyed your uncle's will,
When you were a little boy,
And did not his part fulfil
As your proper guardian still,
Losing peace of mind and joy.

'I'm prepared to give a deed
To you of that large estate,
But I strongly intercede
For my mother in her need,
In her sad affliction great.'

'My dear friend,' the good man said,
'Let some time now pass away.
I am not of you afraid,
His command you have obeyed,
Let us talk some other day.

'Go, my boy, and cheer the heart
Of your mother, still my friend;
See, I bid you now depart,
Lest delay increase her smart;
I will soon to it attend.

'Learn to place in Christ your trust;
Seek for pardon through His blood.
God alone can keep you just,
For we are at best but dust;
Naught have we ourselves of good.'

WILLIAM hastens to the Hall
With a somewhat easier mind.
Fearing that it might appal
Mother's heart, he tells not all
That befel their friends so kind.

Now an inquest has been held
O'er AMELIA'S corpse so fair,
Tears have from their fountains welled,
Grief immoderate has been quelled,
Which has brought of peace a share.

Now arrangements have been made
Suiting all who are concerned.
HUMBLEWORTHS such love displayed,
As proved all that I have said,
Showing in whose school they learned.

To the Hall, as theirs of right,
All the family removed;
And they strove with all their might
To make the widow's burden light,
For she was by them, beloved.

As assistant on the farm
WILLIAM proved of greatest use.
With a heart both young and warm,
He soon found that ANNIE'S charm
For lost time was some excuse.

Why should I prolong this tale?
All my object may divine.
Christian love will still prevail
O'er its foes when they assail,
And it will forever shine.

Sullen sat in jealous mood,
A most brutal-looking man;
Purpose foul served him for food.
Against a maid he lately wooed
His dreadful purpose ran.

Long he sat with vacant stare,
Large his eyes, quite gray and full;
Fell in tangled locks his hair,
O'er his dirty forehead there,
Fit covering for such skull.

Stands in the room a crazy bed
And two wretched, worn-out chairs.
That had rested limbs and head,
These now served for that instead;
Thus ill the villain fares.

Heard he on that gloomy night
Demon foul to urge the deed?
Would he tremble at the sight
If some horrid goblin sprite
Came his strong wrath to feed?

He would welcome as his friend
Ev'n proud Satan, prince of Hell,
If he would assistance lend
So that he could gain his end
In crime-so very fell.

She who thus had roused his ire,
Lived a little distance off.
With his jealous soul on fire
Cudgel stout suits his desire;
He has one stout and tough.

Soon he reached her shabby home,
Rapped aloud upon the door.
'Yes, John Bristol, you may come,'
Said a voice within that room
So high on the third floor.

Near the window, very sad,
Sat she, deeply wrapped in thought
And appeared but thinly clad.
Brown her hair, blue eyes she had
As e'en with love were fraught!

She asked the man to take a seat.
He 'preferred to stand awhile,
Had been sitting much of late.'
Now, as if impelled by fate,
He has recourse to guile.

Says she, 'Glad I am you've come
For I thought you took offense.'
Little dreams she of the doom
Hanging o'er her in that room,
Or she would flee from thence.

He her conduct now reproves,
She replies in innocence.
Softly he behind her moves,
Right behind the girl he loves,
In cowardly pretence.

Ere suspicion could arise
In the hapless victim's mind,
Up the sturdy cudgel flies,
Downward on its aim it flies,
And strikes her as designed.

Right upon her temples fair,
Murder foul has done its part.
Eyes assume a strange, fixed stare,
Flows the blood among her hair,
No longer throbs the heart.

Now the villain lifts her arm,
Now he finds the pulse has fled;
He can do no further harm;
Conscience sounds a loud alarm,
For surely she is dead.

Now he flees in haste away;
Shifts the scene again to her:
She is found by friends next day
Stiff and gory as she lay,
And they create a stir.

Quickly gathers round a mob,
Fleetly flies the horrid news,
Making hearts more strongly throb;
Women shriek, and cry, and sob
As each the body views.

Come the officers of law;
Cries are heard to let them pass.
Through, the crowd they forward go,
To behold the scene of woe;
Suspense now holds the mass.

Shifts the scene unto the sea,
Nears a port a stately sail;
Joyful seems the crew to be,
Dream they not of misery
From an approaching gale.

Swiftly comes-a dreadful storm;
Fast the rigging's torn away;
Broken masts the ship deform,
All is terror and alarm
Amidst the dashing spray.

Angry roars the foaming deep;
Death now stares them in the face;
There is found no time to sleep,
Nor would it avail to weep
In such a woeful case.

Lift they up a prayer to God;
Does He heat them in distress?
See, He waves his righteous Rod,
For they've on his precepts trod;
His might they now confess.

Two alone survive the rest,
These are clinging to a spar.
One with secret in his breast
Is by sense of guilt oppressed,
Which keeps his mind ajar.

Can the reader guess his name?
'Bristol?' yes, he was the one;
He a sailor soon became,
Nor felt any sense of shame
Till life had nearly gone.

Now Hell's terrors seize his soul;
Now he sees the murdered maid
In her blood before him fall;
Hears her for God's vengeance call,
And ask why it's delayed.

Feels the elements at war
Nothing to the strife within,
Therefore to his brother tar
His locked heart he does unbar,
To ease him of his sin.

Tells him how some months ago
He a harmless maiden slew.
Jealousy had wrought his woe,
Made him give the fatal blow;
'Twas very wrong he knew.

'Speak her name!' the other cries;
'Mary Markham,' Bristol screams.
Rage gleams from that other's eyes,
As he at John Bristol flies,
To end his mortal dreams.

Soon he's by the murderer's side,
Now he fiercely drags him down.
'Here thou shalt no longer bide;
Sink, fiend! sink into the tide,
And all thy baseness drown!'

Loud and louder roars the wind;
The new murderer is alone
And has lost his peace of mind.
Will he seek a port to find
And there his sin atone?

Fellow sinner, think not hard
Of the poor remaining one.
He from proper light debarred,
Thought it duty to reward
Bristol for that deed done.

Why? He to the murdered maid
Was a brother by his birth.
His love for her did not fade,
And this journey home he made
In hopes to yield her mirth.

Shifts the gloomy scene once more,
To a narrow, crooked street;
In a wretched liquor store
Sits a man we've seen before,
Musing on things not sweet.

He might seem to view intent
Watered spirits in a glass,
For his eyes on that are bent,
But his thoughts are wandering sent
Alter that murdered lass.

In this street-the very same,
That most shocking act was done;
It had nearly lost its fame,
Yet remembered was the name
Of that pool maiden lone.

When her name was spoke 'tis said
Chilling honor seized the soul
Of both high and lowly bred;
All who heard were filled with dread
Which they could scarce control.

Seems the man irresolute
About the drink before him placed.
Now, his gestures are not mute,
Showing feelings most acute,
And such as might be traced.

Bodingly he shakes his head,
Deep-drawn lengthy sigh then heaves
His broad chest, for her now dead!
Bitter tears are freely shed
As he for sister grieves.

In plain sailor's clothes he's dressed,
Anchor blue is on his hand.
A woman's eyes now on him rest,
Who, with babe upon her breast,
Speaks him in accents bland.

'Does the liquor suit your taste?
Is there nothing else you need?'
From his seat he rose with haste,
On the floor his feet he braced;
'I'm thinking of that deed!'

Quickly swallows he the drink,
Then asks, 'Is not this the street?'
'What street? Come, yourself bethink!'
'I will; yet from it I shrink.
Sweet girl, we ne'er shall meet!'

'Tell, good woman, if you can,
Where she '-Once again a pause.
Turns she now afresh to scan
The face of that most wretched man.
So very full of woes.

Anxious to relieve his mind,
Stays she still within the room;
Then says, 'Man, what would you find?
I to serve you am inclined.'
'Where met that girl her doom?'

Now she needs no other clue;
Says, 'You'll see the place from here.
Fouler deed I never knew;
Was she anything to you?
Come, tell me without fear.'

'Was my sister, that was all;'
Soft he said, then paid his bill.
Something seemed on him to call;
Speedily away he stole,
But not with ready will.

Radiant Sol is sinking low,
And Night coming on apace;
Roofs in the setting sunbeams glow,
And his purple tints they show,
Till he has run his race.

At this time does Markham sit
In that lonely, dirty room;
Heeds not how the shadows flit,
Asks not if such place be fit
To drive away his gloom.

Felt he quite constrained to see
That house, where his sister dwelt,
And refresh his memory,
Thinking what she used to be,
When he so happy felt.

Now he tries to realize
Scenes that harrow up his soul.
While, successfully, he tries,
Fancies he can hear her cries!
This does his heart appal.

Thus engaged, he quickly hears
Soft steps coming to the door!
This does not arouse his fears;
Strong his nerves, it now appears,
As ere they were before.

Timid hand has lift the latch;
One more man is now within.
Very soon he strikes a match;
Candle's lit! Can Markham catch
Those features-dark with sin?

Soon. But what a sight to see;
Eyeballs from their sockets start!
Trembles he convulsively;
Should he try he could not flee;
He's struck, as by a dart!

Bristol locks the door inside,
And scans well the room around;
His grey eyes are opened wide-
Who's that on the other side?
Too soon the truth he found!

Markham springs now on his feet,
While his eyes with passion glow;
Bristol's these defying meet!
Firm they stand, nor seek retreat;
They well each other know!

First the brother silence broke;
'Villain! Come you here again?
Who did your light doom revoke?
Died on not from my just stroke
Upon the stormy Main?

'You've the impudence to come
To the place she occupied!
Your foul presence taints the room
Which to her was as a home,
Till, by your hands, she died!

'You hardened wretch! Take, quickly take
Your polluted soul from here!
Who, for you, Death's fetters brake?
Satan his own child forsake!
He'll have you, never fear!

'Monster! you're not fit to live,
Neither yet to die, at all?'
Bristol does no answer give;
The torments no one can conceive,
Endured by his vile soul!

Again the brother spoke in rage:
'Think you to escape your doom?
Other story, I engage
To read, ere you quit this stage.
Stern Vengeance now doth loom!

'If there be no other way,
Law I'll take in my own hands.'
'This you've done'-did Bristol say-
'At the shipwreck yesterday;'
Now Markham shuddering stands.

Said he, 'Yes, I did it then,
And you are sent back to me;
You will ne'er escape again;
Trial will be but in vain-
You're doomed to misery!

'Mary, my own sister dear!
When I last time saw your face,
Dreamt you not of cause to fear
Murderer's hand upon you here,
Within this very place!

'No stain was upon your name;
Lively, modest girl you were;
Would you ne'er had felt love's flame!
Yet you had no cause to shame,
But bore good character.

'If I live, your murderer's neck
Pays the forfeit of his crime!
Loss of time I will not reck-
Nothing shall my ardor check,
Should he seek other clime!'

Speaking thus, he placed his back
Firm against the outer door;
As he had of voice no lack,
Shouted, till his face grew black,
And stamped upon the floor!

Presently the neighbors come,
While poor Bristol trembling stands.
Now they are within the room,
And proceed to seal his doom
By binding fast his hands.

Shifts the scene into a Court,
Near to suffocation full;
Counsel unto lies resort,
And the jury loud exhort
To make proceedings null.

Bristol's friends had paid them gold,
And they do their best to show
Black is white: as, when of old,
Satan, without fee, lies told,
To work our Parents' woe.

Let them do their very best,
There's a witness all must hear!
It is in John Bristol's breast,
And it cannot, will not rest,
Till all the truth appear!

All his quivering lips observe,
While he now attempts to speak.
Conscience cries, 'Come, muster nerve.
You must not from duty swerve;
You shall proceedings check!'

He speaks; all eyes quickly turn
On the wretched culprit's face.
'I my crime most deeply mourn!
Thoughts of it my vitals burn;
I dare not hope for grace!'

Verdict found, and sentence passed.
In three days condemned to die;
Thus he's caught by Law at last;
Fetters bind his limbs quite fast.
As he, in cell, doth lie.

Now the Devil steels his heart
To refuse religion's aid;
'In that thing he'll have no part,
It would but increase his smart-
Of death he's not afraid!'

Vainly strive God's messengers
To lead him to Jesus' blood;
'There's no need,' he still avers,
And good victuals much prefers,
So asks, again, for food.

'Tis the night before he die;
Swiftly speed the hours away;
They, like seconds, seem to fly
To a Record, kept on high,
Against the Judgment Day!

Two-three-four-five! from the clock,
Sound like guns fired in distress.
Yet appear to give no shock
To that man, with heart of rock,
Though full of wretchedness!

Six! More dismal sounds are heard
Than the striking of the hour;
Workmen's blows loud echoes stirred,
Fixing scaffold-we inferred,
To rouse him has this power?

Not the least; it scarcely went
To the chambers of his brain;
Others thought it cried, 'Repent,
Bristol, ere your life be spent!'
But yet the cry was vain!

Still he hardens his vile heart,
And hangs sullenly his head,
Seven-eight-nine-ten! Did he start?
No; but fiends from him depart,
And he will soon be dead.

Comes the Sheriff to his cell;
Puts the cord around his neck;
Now his feelings, who can tell?
Still he careth not for Hell-
But wait the Sheriff's beck.

Slow the dull procession moves
To the fatal gallows-tree;
There he sees no face he loves,
Though the people come in droves
His dying throes to see.

Now he hears the warrant read,
Bids adieu to all around;
Solemn prayer again is made,
And the cap's drawn o'er his head;
Signal's given; his soul has fled!
The body sinks to th' ground.

'I've followed him unto the end!'
Said a voice among the crowd.
Warning take! Young men, attend!
See the murderer's dreadful end!
It speaks like thunder loud.

Hail, Holidays! To you, with great delight,
The schoolboy looks-exulting with his might
At the fair prospect of enjoying play,
Or visiting relations far away.
Ere your propitious dawn he lays his schemes,
And pleased, rejoices in his bright day dreams.
He, in anticipation, views the charm
Of being for days exempt from birchen harm!
When, free from tasks-nor caring much for books-
With some companion he can fish the brooks;
Can ramble through the woods for flowers or nuts,
Play with fair girls who live in sylvan huts,
Mount with agility some green hill top,
And, with a mate, roll full length down the slope;
Or take his fill from loaded bramble bushes,
Or from rich fruit bedecked in Autumn's blushes.
Such is the bliss that's placed before his view,
In all its fulness, Holidays! by you.
And thus, without a single shade of sorrow,
He greets his mates with 'Holiday to-morrow!'
These pleasures seem unto his boyish mind
Of the right sort-and for schoolboys designed.
He seldom thinks of all the anxious care
His parents feel, to give their son a share
Of useful learning, that he may discharge
His part to God, to them, and men at large.

Apprentices as well with pleasure hail
Their holidays-O, may they never fail!
These are too often spent in idleness,
Or such sad courses as brings them distress.
This is the case when grog-shops they frequent;
For ruin follows time and means ill spent.
Pause, O, ye youths! before you yet begin
A course that may lead you to every sin!
Restrain your feet from entering those holes
Which prove the ruin of so many souls.
Would ye not pause, if right across your path
There lay a monstrous serpent, full of wrath?
Would we, fool-hardy, rush into his jaws
To certain death? or would ye rather pause?
Youths, ye have cause, yea, weighty cause, to dread
This horrid serpent, on strong liquor fed,
Which lurks in every place where Rum is sold,
Though they may be all covered o'er with gold-
They often are; nor deem it hard of faith-
The way to present and eternal death!

God does by His most holy Book declare,
'Into God's kingdom none shall enter there,
Who liquor drink till drunkards they become!'
Yet, day by day, some meet this awful doom.
Oh, warning take! Flee from this dreadful crime!
Pause and consider, while you yet have time!

Listen the story which to you I tell;
Dwell on its moral-mark the sequel well;
Then look abroad, and see its counterpart
In many a case that shows a broken heart.

DAYCOURT was a youth, possessed of wealth-
Had manly beauty and the best of health;
In learning he excelled-was quite a wit-
And oft indulged in a deep musing fit.
Of very warm and truly tender heart,
He did his best to act a proper part;
Which made him much respected all around-
Against him, filled with envy, none were found.
His widowed mother, then, might well be proud
Of such a son, and speak his praises loud.
He bore for her respect, and strove to prove
In many ways the fulness of his love.

For many years this widow, in her grief,
Looked up to God, and found from him relief.
She knew the Lord, before her husband died,
And found Him one in whom she could confide;
In all her trials meekly bowed her head,
And found sweet peace was o'er her bosom shed.
Her son, to her, was all a son could be-
Yet on one point she felt anxiety:
He had not then experienced the New Birth,
And his best thoughts had all been of the Earth.

Adjoining their estate was living one-
A blithe young lady, who in beauty shone;
With health endowed, and with fair learning graced,
By wealth in easy circumstances placed.
AMELIA DOVE we well may call her name-
Like that sweet bird she seemed exempt from blame.
Her parents loved her-they could do no less-
She was the soul of all their happiness!
Early she rose, and, dressed in neat array,
Assisted her dear mother through the day.
Thus passed her time, beloved by all around-
She was as good a girl as could be found;
And a fair match for DAYCOURT all conceived-
This he himself had for some time believed.
They loved each other, and obtained consent
From their kind parents, and were well content.
And, having leisure, they would often walk,
Or, sitting in some bower, would sing and talk;
Or else they read some book which both admired,
Till their young hearts with ecstacy were fired;
Through hill and dale-through woods-were wont to rove,
Well pleased with all they saw, they drank in love!

The day arrived when DAYCOURT and his bride
Were at the altar in pure wedlock tied.
The day was spent as such like days have been,
And passed away in happiness serene.
At night, a bounteous marriage-feast was spread,
And Love's sweet influence over all seemed shed.
The friends invited strove to show their joy,
In wishing happiness without alloy
To that young couple, who, in youthful bloom,
Were the admired of all in that large room.
But, Oh! I shrink! 'Tis my ungracious task
From bliss like this to tear away the mask!
On such occasions wine's oft made to flow-
As if it were the source of joy below!

The bridegroom felt in a most merry mood,
And drank each health till his young, joyous blood
Coursed through his veins as if quite all on fire,
And his kind thoughts gave place to bad desire.
His brain began to whirl-he boisterous grew-
All eyes on him, observant, quickly drew-
He seized a bottle, which he madly threw.
Sad to relate! it struck his beauteous bride!
And she fell dead, by her dear mother's side.
This dread catastrophe soon sobered him,
And he was sick, and felt his eyes grow dim.
But while all stood in terror and dismay,
He roused himself, and fled from thence away;
Then headlong rushed into a deep, deep, stream-
And thus was ended that bright, youthful dream!
The pious mother tried in God to trust,
But this dire blow soon sank her in the dust.
Her parents, too, felt this most dreadful stroke
Too hard to bear, for both their hearts it broke!

Oh, cruel Liquor! Thou hast millions slain,
And still their death-throes cry to thee in vain!
Ten thousand broken hearts may soon be found
In almost every land the world around.
Millions of orphans' cries thine ears assail,
While parents' early death they loud bewail;
The prisons and asylums which we build,
From thy sad victims' ranks are chiefly filled.
War's dreadful ravages are justly blamed;
But war with thee deserves not to be named!
And still, insatiate monster! thy dread jaws
Are daily filled-being unrestrained by laws!
When will the day, the happy day, arrive,
When thee the injured nations forth shall drive?

Beware, Apprentices! In time beware!
Flee from those places which would you insnare;
Regard that man as your real enemy,
Who, tempting, leads to inebriety!
Now, while you daily toil, I wish you may
Have many a truly happy holiday!

The hero of my tale of such had some,
And felt well pleased whenever they did come.
On such occasions he was wont to go
To visit friends, who did much kindness show.
With ardent joy full beaming in his face,
He more than once revisited the place
Where his dear father spent his youthful days,
In toilsome labor, or in childish plays.
To him 'twas still a sweetly quiet spot,
A picture of content-a small, neat cot-
And just beneath the hill called Farleton Knot.

He had a strange, romantic turn of mind;
To taste adventure ever felt inclined.
This being premised, we may expect to see,
That by slight dangers undeterred was he
From venturing to the edge of precipice,
To have a peep into some dark abyss.
The hill of which I spoke has sometimes been,
As was well known, the site of tragic scene.
It is a solid mass of limestone rock-
And there oft falls some huge misshapen block.
On one occasion a poor quarryman
Saw danger pending, and away he ran;
'Twas all in vain! the lately-riven stone
Came thundering down, and crushed his every bone!
A tale like this might well some minds appal-
But WILLIAM felt, just then, of dauntless soul;
And, with his cousin, hasted up the hill,
With eager steps and most unyielding will;
A scene there met his gaze which him repaid,
And threw the toil required far in the shade.

On every hand a charming prospect lay,
In all the beauty of a bright Spring day.
All Nature smiled, in loveliest green confessed,
Like a fair maiden for her bridal drest.
And songsters of the grove, no longer sad,
Their notes were warbling forth to make her glad.
And need we wonder then, if there he stood,
With glowing heart, and wrapt in musing mood?
As was his wont, he felt a strong desire
From such sweet views to draw poetic fire.
And so it was, for out his numbers flowed,
Which, quickly penned, he on his friends bestowed.
And though these numbers were but very rude,
They were, by rustic friends, with wonder viewed.
While he stood there his thoughts were backward thrown
To days which on Time's fleetest wing had flown-
When his grandfather, in that humble cot,
With sweet contentedness enjoyed his lot;
Wrought quietly at his most lowly trade,
And honest lived-though small the profits made.
In his mind's eye, he saw his father climb
Those rugged cliffs, in youth, or manhood's prime;
Or, with his brothers join in lively play,
On the long evenings of each Summer day.
Anon would view the time when each forsook
That humble cottage, some fresh toil to brook;
Saw them all settled in a wedded life-
In honest work employed, exempt from strife.
Or glanced at some of his own early days-
When he gave up, on Saturdays, his plays,
To go with his dear grandfather, to sell
The neat bee-hives the old man framed so well.
And often wondered what made selfish men
Try at less price those bee-hives to obtain;
And why the tears would oft the eyes bedim
Of that old man, when they thus bantered him?
And then with lightning speed his thoughts would stray,
To when his grandfather was ta'en away,
To meet in church-yard with his kindred clay.
As thus he stood and mused, his cousin's call
Roused him again to consciousness of all
The widespread beauties of that landscape bright
And he, reluctant, left the beauteous sight.

To hint at all he saw my time would fail,
And might too much but lengthen out my tale.
Suffice it, therefore, just for me to say,
That he spent pleasantly each holiday.

Ere this, when he was in his fourteenth year,
Amongst the Temperance ranks he did appear;
Attended meetings, heard the speeches made,
And grew indignant at the liquor trade.
He signed the pledge-the strict 'teetotal' pledge-
And felt determined constant war to wage
Against the huge, fierce monster, Drunkenness
Which caused, on every hand, such sore distress.
A drunken parent he had never had-
The Lord preserved him from a fate so sad!
But still his fervent soul was filled with grief,
From which he vainly strove to gain relief,
So long as this dread vice o'erspread the land,
And strong drink's victims died, on every hand.
He thought upon the thing till bold he grew,
And framed a speech to tell of all he knew
Of this vile demon's doings in the world,
And wished that out of it he might be hurled.

Soon after this, from Canada there came
A Christian man; no matter what his name.
He long to WILLIAM'S parents had been known,
And hospitality to him was shown.
On that good country's merits much he dwelt,
And COOPER'S ears being open, soon he felt
A strong desire to reach that distant shore,
And all its giant wonders to explore.
Oft he had heard of its vast, splendid lakes,
Stupendous cataracts, and great cane-brakes;
Of boundless woods, well filled with noble trees
And hugest rivers rolling to the seas.
The man described quite well Niagara's falls,
Its thundering sound as it o'erleaps its walls;
He told the distance they could hear the sound,
And how with ceaseless roar it shook the ground;
Of Summer's heat, of the long Winter's cold,
And at what price the finest lands were sold.
This, and far more, the settler told the youth,
Who did regard it all as sterling truth,
And wished-but wished in vain-that he was free
To cross at once the stormy, deep blue sea.
No way appeared but quietly to wait
Till he was loosed, and grown to man's estate.
Some years must pass before that day arrive,
So to be patient he thought fit to strive.

One-half of his apprenticeship had fled,
And now he fairly earned his daily bread.
Of clothes, his parents' ever constant care
Provided him with quite a decent share.
Of pocket money he ne'er had a store,
His needs supplied, he did not care for more;
And his step-mother oft thought fit to say
That 'money burned his pockets all away.'
Howe'er it was, he never had a cent
But found a hole, and out of that it went!
Though still close-worked, he did contrive to spare
Some precious, time to spend in rhyming ware.
He read sweet COWPER'S poems through and through-
And, more he read, the more he liked them, too;
His 'Task' the most of all-an ample field-
What heart-felt pleasure it did to him yield!
Then MILTON'S lofty genius fired his soul,
Nor did he tire till he had read the whole.
Again began, and o'er the pages pored,
And drank the sweets with which they are well stored.
Then THOMPSON'S Seasons with delight he read,
And YOUNG'S Night Thoughts in mournful dress arrayed.
Some few sweet pieces he from BYRON drew,
And read poor BURNS with much advantage, too.
But of all poets he loved COWPER most,
For in Miltonic grandeur he was lost;
And THOMSON lacked that great variety
Which in sweet Olney's bard we clearly see.
Afflicted Poet! Thou didst well thy part,
By pouring balm into the wounded heart;
And while the world endures, thy verse will cheer
Poor down-cast souls, and bid them not to fear!

Nor did he read alone the poet's page,
Good books in prose would oft his mind engage:
For he had joined th' Mechanics' Institute-
And in its praises I would not be mute.
Mechanics! It deserves your best support,
And to its rooms you often should resort.
There you may learn from books to act your parts,
While they refine and elevate your hearts.

He with great travelers took delight to roam
In distant countries, far away from home;
And frequently has dropped a silent tear
O'er PARK'S great trials in the desert drear.
Oh! who can read of all his heart-felt woes-
His frequent sufferings, and his dying throes-
And fail to dropp a sympathetic tear
For his sad end-without a friend to cheer!

In LANDERS' patient, persevering toil,
Through greatest dangers, on wild Afric's soil,
He felt the deepest interest, and partook
Their joys and sorrows, while he read their book.
And hailed, with pleasure and unfeigned delight,
The happy moment when the welcome sight
Of Niger's junction with the great deep sea
A period put to their sad misery!

Read BRUCE, whose book, received with cold distrust,
Was only prized when he was laid in dust.
And HUMBOLDT, the admired of all mankind,
Of gentle manners and accomplished mind;
Who scaled the lofty Andes' snow-clad towers,
Where danger lurks, and fell destruction lowers.
And COOK, who bravely sailed around the Earth-
A friend to man-ev'n man of lowest birth.
Whose peaceful voyages to each far coast
Were for man's benefit-as we may boast--
Yet at sad price, since his dear life was lost!
Of warlike heroes' lives he read a few,
And of War's horrors thus obtained a view-
Which made him sick at heart, nor wish to know
More of man's bloody doings here below.

His sober and industrious conduct gained
The Master's confidence-which he retained;
And so, in services requiring trust
He was employed, and still continued just.
Sometimes to distant places he was sent-
And well he did enjoy the time thus spent.
It scope afforded to reflective powers-
And thus he profited by these spare hours.
Greatly did it delight him to behold
Fair Nature glittering in green and gold:
And the pure melody in different groves
Reminded him of his own early loves;
Or led him to break out, with tuneful voice,
In some sweet hymn, which made his heart rejoice.
For he had now begun to feel the worth
Of Heavenly things, and pour God's praises forth.

In this way, once he passed through Dallam Park,
To see its deer, and other objects mark.
These lovely creatures to his mind did seem
Most unfit objects of man's sporting dream.
He greatly wondered how some men could be
E'er guilty of, such wanton cruelty,
As to pursue, with horses and with hounds,
Such harmless creature over all their grounds;
Hunt him o'er swamps and fields, and mountain slopes,
Through pebbly streams, or shady hazel copse,
Till they have driven him at last to bay,
Toward the close of some most sultry day.
Wondered how any one, with tearless eye,
Could mark his sufferings, and then watch him die.
Oh, cruel man! when will thy thirst for blood
Be turned to energy in doing good?
When will Creation's groans come to an end,
And men delight in love their days to spend?
While such reflections occupied his mind,
The place he went to seek he strives to find,
And is successful; gets his business done,
Then back pursues his homeward way alone.

Now Fancy wings her flight; I view again
Scenes which my memory will long retain;
See Kent-unsung-flow on in winding course
Through woods and fields, with very gentle force;
Or where, by Sedgwick's side, its waters pour
O'er jagged rocks, with never-ceasing roar;
Or where they smoothly glide past Leven's hall,
Sweet landscapes forming, which can never pall
The minds of those who love a beauteous scene,
And wish to spend a day in bliss serene.
For there this stream just flows as if by stealth
Through splendid parks-past gardens formed by wealth!
I oft look back to those most gladsome hours
Spent, while a schoolboy, in those garden bowers;
Where tall box-trees are trimmed to various shapes-
Old women-pitchers-or, it may be-apes!
Where plants and beauteous flowers are ever found,
To breathe out fragrance all the garden round.

'Tis time for me to curb my vagrant Muse;
A subject waits my pen she well may choose.
Now aid me, O my God! who dwell'st above,
While I attempt to sing Redeeming Love!
Nor let one line, or word, be writ by me
Not in accordance with that Mystery!
May I, to profit fellow-sinners, strive,
And good from this for my own soul derive.

O, Memory! What art thou? Whence thy power?
Thy wonders are displayed from hour to hour
Of my existence. By thy powerful aid
Sweet Childhood's scenes most truthfully are made
To pass before me in such vividness,
I stand amazed, and thy great skill confess!
By thy assistance, things long lost to view
Spring forth surprisingly-both fresh and new.
I travel back through more than thirty years,
With all their toils and pleasures, griefs and fears.
Go where I may, thou ever art with me,
As Counsellor and Friend, dear Memory!
Thy secret depths I would again explore,
And must draw largely ere my task be o'er.
Be thou no ignis fatuus to allure
Me from the paths of truth, nor it obscure,
While I attempt to paint the coming scenes,
Which COOPER passed through with such slender means,
'Tis early Spring-time, and the opening buds
Bestud the boughs of trees through all the woods.
The snow and frost remain till rather late;
But Sol's great power for this will compensate.
He, aided by soft winds and copious rain,
Will melt the snow, and break stern Winter's chain.
The Frost-King, thus so suddenly dethroned,
May vent his rage, as if a giant groaned;
Or muster scattered forces and come back
Once and again, to the repulsed attack!
And when he finds his efforts all in vain,
May hurl defiance on Spring's beauteous train;
And, from his region of eternal snow,
Send rude North winds to strike a deadly blow;
To nip the fairest blossoms in the bud,
And blast, in spite, the gardener's prospects good.
Yet One, Almighty, will his rage control;
His fiat has gone forth, 'Let Seasons roll
In quick succession, while the Earth endures!'
And this, great benefits to us secures.

The birds begin to pair; the grass to spring;
And Maple sap is scarce worth gathering;
Yet, when it won't make sugar, some prepare
Syrup, and vinegar, of flavor rare.
On every hand the brightly green-robed trees
May hear their finery rustling in the breeze;
And pleased, like mortals, with their gay attire,
May feel a strong, vain-glorious desire
To have a glass in which to view their charms,
Or mark the effect of each rude blast's alarms.
Some, far more highly favored than the rest,
Have such a mirror as may suit them best.
Of these are they which grow beside a stream,
And, all day long, of their own beautv dream;
Or those that grace the margins of a lake,
Whose face reflects the grand display they make.
Ah, these imaginings are far from just;
Fair Nature would much rather sink to dust
Than thus dishonor her great Maker's name!
And we, vain sinners, should be filled with shame,
To be so far behind in praises meet-
Neglecting duty that should still be sweet.
Up to this time our Emigrants contrived
To keep from debt, though they themselves deprived
Far, far too often, of substantial food-
Which, in the end, did them but little good.
Yet day by day they toiled with eagerness,
In hope that God would their joint efforts bless.

To build a barn of logs they now prepare;
This gives them much hard labor, and some care.
To put it up they call a 'Raising Bee;'
And, wishful to prevent ebriety,
They buy no whisky; but, instead of it,
Have cakes and coffee, which are far more fit.
The work was gone through in true Bush-man style,
Although a few assumed a scornful smile,
And would, no doubt, have been well satisfied
To have the liquor-jug still by their side.
This job completed, Spring work next came on,
And, truly, there was plenty to be done!
The man from whom they bought their 'Indian lease'
Had made brush fences, and there was no peace
From 'breachy' cattle, breaking through with ease,
To eat the crops as often as they please!
To cut down trees, and split them into rails
For laying fence, is work which seldom fails
The new Bush farmer, who must ever be
Upon the move, and used to industry.
Such was their case; and. Oh! the aching limb,
And sinking heart, as prospects grew more dim!

Anon, the sun shoots down such powerful rays,
As seems to set the air almost a-blaze!
They felt the previous Summer very hot;
But that, through Winter's cold, was quite forgot.
Besides, as yet 'twas Spring; then why this heat?
Their strength was small from lack of proper meat.
'Tis true, they did not want for daily bread;
But Bush-life should with stronger food be fed.
In lieu of tea, they used root sassafras
So much and often, that they all, alas!
Not only cleansed their moderate share of blood,
But thinned it far too much to do them good!
WILLIAM, especially, became so weak
He could scarce bear to work, or e'en to speak.
When he essayed to stoop, his back seemed broke;
And courage failed beneath the heavy stroke.

The different remedies which friends advised,
All failed to bring the health he so much prized.
His fond hopes crushed, he tried to bow his head,
Submissive to the will of Him who bled
For such poor sinners, on the 'cursed tree;'
And found some comfort in his misery.
One day his spirits sank extremely low-
And Faith, herself, fled from him in his woe;
When, like a flash of lightning, to his mind
A passage came, sent by his FATHER kind!
'Fight the good fight of Faith,' with magic worth
Rang through his soul, and very soon gave birth
To a most lively, energetic Song,
On Christian Warfare-in which he was long.
I give the verses, with an earnest prayer
That all my Readers may their spirit share,
And seek for grace to help them still to fight
The 'Fight of Faith,' as in their Maker's sight!


THE CHRISTIAN'S BATTLE-SONG.
'Fight the Good Fight of Faith.'

Soldiers of Jesus! say-Where is your armor?
The word has gone forth; you are called on to fight!
Still doth the conflict grow warmer and warmer;
Then trust in your Captain for wisdom and might!

Soldiers of Jesus! mind well your behavior;
See those proud foes, how undaunted they stand!
Hark well to the words of your loving Savior:
'Be ye also ready!' Regard this command.

Soldiers of Jesus! O, be not alarmed!
Your glorious Captain has conquered them all!
Rouse, then, your courage! Be never disarmed!
Your enemies seek to accomplish your fall.

Soldiers of Jesus! Immanuel's banner-
Most glorious of Ensigns-is reared up on high;
Fight ye! O, fight ye! in soldier-like manner;
Jehovah, to help you, forever is nigh!

Soldiers of Jesus! the foes you contend with
Are subtle, expert, they are many and great;
Your armor's so tempered, that it will ne'er bend with
Being used well against them; nor early, nor late.

Take Breastplate of Righteousness-take Shield of Faith!
By which you are able to quench all the darts
Of your great Antagonist! For, so He saith
Who styles Himself 'Faithful,' and who strength imparts.

To these be there added 'Salvation's bright Helmet,
And Sword of the Spirit-the Word of your God.'
That God who your Foes with destruction o'erwhelmeth,
And rules both the Heavens and Earth with his nod.

Still praying 'with prayer and great supplication,
In the spirit of Truth, and watching thereto,
With all perseverence, for the edification
Of Brethren-the Saints,' who are Soldiers like you.

Soldiers of Jesus! now fight with all ardor
Beneath that bright Banner now high and unfurled!
O, doubt not but Jesus will be your Rewarder,
When from their proud standing your foes He has hurled!

Soldiers of Jesus! your Captain is waiting
To give you a Crown-a most glorious reward!
Forward! press forward! success contemplating;
He'll give you the Victory; this promise regard.

Soldiers of Jesus! behold Him descending
Upon a White Throne, His bright Angels around!
The 'glorified throng' are upon Him attending;
Before Him all Nations and Kindreds are found.

Hear those glad words, 'Come, ye bless'd of my Father!
Inherit the Kingdom prepared long for you!'
Then glory to Him and the Father together;
With the blest Holy Spirit, to whom it is due!



The composition of these lively verses,
Was made to him one of his greatest mercies;
They roused his courage by their warlike tone,
And made him feel he was not left alone
To fight against a host of watchful foes:
For One was with him who felt all his woes;
Who had Himself through every trial been,
And still is with his people, though unseen!
Such sweet reflections had this good effect
Upon his mind: they led him to respect,
More than he yet had done, pure Bible truth;
And thus he learned to bear Christ's yoke in youth.
His soul-so sensitive-was led, at last,
Her every grief, her every fear to cast
Upon her God, with simple faith-unfeigned;
And found His promise true; she was sustained.

His body still was weak; and on the farm
He could not work without receiving harm.
To be a clerk he was not now inclined-
'Twas not a life congenial to his mind;
To work at his own trade he thought was best,
Which thought to several friends he then expressed.
These all agreed it would be right to try
To find employment in the Village nigh.
In it was one who carried on the trade,
Who, to appearance, had a fortune made.
To him he then applied, with some success,
To get a job, and wrought with eagerness.
Alas! it only lasted for a week,
And he was thus compelled fresh work to seek.
That Brother, who before had stood his friend,
Now kindly offered ample means to lend
To start in business on his own account;
But COOPER dreamt he never could surmount
The difficulties which beset him round,
So inexperienced as he should be found.
The work required, to him, was mostly new,
And made up by machines, as well he knew.
To work with these must be his chief concern;
But where was he to go such work to learn,
Unless he made too great a sacrifice
Of Christian privilege? This, in his eyes,
Was of such moment, that he rather chose
To struggle with chill Want, and other woes,
Until such time as God saw fit to show
To him the path in which he ought to go.

Meanwhile, as tinker, he two irons took,
With solder, rosin, and the Christian's Book!
Equipped in this way 'mongst his friends he went,
And happy hours in work and trav'ling spent.
Of mending tins he had enough to do;
And got good board, and decent wages, too.
Ere long he visited more distant farms,
And found his calling not devoid of charms.
On Nature's varied face he still could gaze,
And each new scene presented fresh displays
Of God's Omnipotence and boundless love,
Which raised his thoughts from Earth to things above.
While, ever and anon, he found a friend
To give him work, and press on him to spend
The night, in comfort, 'neath his friendly roof;
And thus afford the most substantial proof,
That Human-kindness in its warmest glow
Wants but Occasion, its full worth to show!
Sometimes a Settler viewed him with suspicion,
And paused ere he would give the least permission
For him to enter his small, rude, log dwelling,
While WILLIAM'S heart was with keen feelings swelling.
Anon, a gentle word would turn the scale-
The man would list the youthful tinker's tale;
Would give a hearty welcome to his house,
And introduce him to his thrifty spouse;
Would bid her bring; that leaky pail, or pan,
Which had been tinkered by 'that other man,'
Who got from her the pewter spoons, and lead,
His supper, breakfast, and a nice clean bed;
Then took the metal every bit away,
Saying he got not half enough for pay!
When WILLIAM heard such things he did not wonder
That farmers, sometimes, looked as black as thunder
When he applied for work, or lodging sought
With earnestness, which fear of want had taught.
All he now earned went to the family store,
And thus he kept 'as poor as heretofore.

About this time, an invitation came
To their small Church, to spread Christ's glorious name.
Two Brethren were deputed each Lord's Day
To do the work, but not for worldly pay.
They tried to carry out the Lord's command,
Which few, in this our day, can understand:
'Freely ye have received-so freely give;
More blessed 'tis to give than to receive.'

On one of these occasions COOPER went
With a dear Brother, who to preach was sent.
That Brother was ta'en sick, and could not preach;
WILLIAM, in public, was not wont to teach.
But He, whose sacred name they bore, was there;
On Him the youth now strove to cast his care.
The school-room-such it was-was crowded quite,
Yet he felt nothing daunted at the sight.
'Twas well, perhaps, that every face was new
To him, and all the future hid from view;
For in that very room two maidens sate,
Both destined to be his in marriage state.
And greatly influence his future fate!
Had he known this-so sensitive was he-
It might have him unmanned to such degree,
As to prevent completely the discharge
Of duties which, to him, looked very large.
But as it was, he saw before him there
The old and young, whose looks bespoke some care
For their salvation. That most precious theme,
Of whose great worth the worldly-wise ne'er dream,
He with strong feelings urged upon them all;
And there were hearts responding to the call!
Such deep attention never had he seen
In any Meeting, in his life, I ween!
It thrilled his very soul, and made him speak,
In glowing language, of the Savior meek-
Whose love to sinners moved him to lay by
His own great Glory, and come here to die!
The good accomplished on that Sabbath day,
Ten thousand fold his labor did repay.
His unpremeditated preaching went
Home to some hearts-a Heavenly message, sent
By God's good Spirit, as a proof to be
Of Grace most wondrous to Eternity!

The simple service reached at last its close;
When the sick Brother to some hearers goes
To learn their welfare, and his own impart,
With strongest tokens of a friendly heart.
Those persons were both English-man and wife-
Who knew, for years, the toils of Bush-farm life.
To them was introduced the new-made preacher,
Just then mistaken for an older teacher.
Due explanations made, they him invite
To call and see them, and stay over night.
He, nothing loath, the invitation kind
At once accepted, with delighted mind.
The two return, and with their Brethren meet
To join in worship-simple, pure and sweet.

The incidents of that blest Sabbath day
Haunted his mind, till he could not delay
A visit to his new-made, kindly friends,
In hopes that it might tend to make amends
For great privations, every day endured,
Whilst but a mere subsistence was secured.
He therefore took his bag and tools once more,
To call at places never seen before.
He, in his wanderings, to a Village came,
Which had, for water-power, acquired some fame;
There he found work that did a day employ,
And learned what gave to him much greater joy-
How some five miles would bring him to the farm,
Where he might hope to meet a welcome warm.
Fatigued, he reached the house in strangest plight-
For sweat and dust made him a sorry sight.
The mother was engaged in converse there
With her first-born-a daughter blithe and fair.
These knew him not-so different his array
From What it was upon that Sabbath day.
And though he gave to each a friendly greeting,
It might have proved a rather chilly meeting,
Had not the youngest daughter whispered thus;
''Tis the young preacher come to visit us.'
This was enough; apologies were made,
And perfect welcome speedily displayed.
In sweet discourse they sat a little while,
When tea was served, in most superior style,
Cooper of such a meal had never tasted,
Since he from his dear native land had hasted.
This o'er, the conversation they resume,
While truth's clear rays afresh their minds illume.
This was to him a most important day;
For gloomy clouds then broke and fled away.
His future, once so dark, now brighter grew,
And filled his soul with gratitude anew.

That mother's care assigned him the 'best bed,'
On which to lay his weary limbs and head.
Most sweetly did the Wanderer sleep and rest,
As though by grief he ne'er had been oppressed,
He rose, refreshed, soon after break of day,
And thankfully his 'Orisons did pay.'

While these dear folks the breakfast were preparing,
He to mend leaky tins no pains was sparing.
For what he did he would not make a charge-
His Independence was a trait too large;
But that kind mother would not be repaid
In work or money for her love displayed.
She fixed the price-a very liberal one-
And paid the cash for all that he had done.
Perhaps my readers think this matron's eyes
Saw, in the tinker, a most likely prize
To win, as husband, for her daughter fair;
But surely they must be mistaken there!
This family's standing was considered good;
WILLIAM, amongst the very poorest stood:
And, in his tinkering garb, was not a match
For that fair girl, whom many strove to catch.
Let this be as it might; he left the house
Without proposing to make her his spouse.
Yet not without the strongest inclination
To make short intervals of separation.

Their daughter, Jane, was in her twentieth year,
And did to him a lovely maid appeal.
He knew her soon as skilled in house affairs,
But ever lacking vain, coquettish airs.
Her form was graceful, and of medium size,
And sweet good nature beamed in her bright eyes.
Her face, for most part, wore a pleasant smile,
While her dear heart ne'er harbored aught of guile.
Her charms were such that COOPER'S heart, ere long,
Could not resist their influence so strong.
Nor need we wonder much, for soon he learned
She had good offers, in great plenty, spurned,
Before she knew the Tinsmith-so forlorn-
Whose poor appearance ne'er drew forth her scorn.

Phebe, the youngest girl, was quite a lass,
Who might not yet have used a looking-glass.
Possessed of bright brown eyes and cheerful face,
On which, of sorrow, none could find a trace-
Unless her paleness might be viewed as such;
Yet all who read her eyes would doubt it much.
Of lively spirits, and most active turn,
Still fond of work, she could not fail to learn
Such household duties as her mother thought
Best that her girls should, in their youth, be taught.
To be a favorite, Phebe scarce could fail;
And parents rightly named her, 'Nightingale!'
For, while asleep, she oft would sing at night
Some lively tune, and always sing it right.
Between these two, in age and temperament,
Another girl was to that couple lent.
She, than her sisters, always seemed more shy,
At least, if strangers happened to be nigh.
All three grew up good-looking, and became
As faithful wives as e'er were known to fame.
One chubby babe, and three more sprightly boys,
Ranked 'mongst the number of this family's joys.

Meanwhile a curious incident occurred,
To mention which may harmless mirth afford.
Our hero long had wished to take a tour
Still further North, 'mongst farmers far from poor;
And when returning-say on Friday night-
To hold a meeting, if his friends thought right.
The place agreed upon was their 'large room'-
One large enough, if neighbors all should come.
This, settled, off he went for several days,
Toiling and sweating under Sol's strong rays.
Sometimes with Christians of most generous souls;
Anon, with those whose conduct him appals,
Till the important day at last came round;
When at a house, hard by, he tinkering found.
The work all done, they ask him to partake
Refreshment with them, for pure kindness' sake.
He thankfully complied with their request,
And found their cheer was of the very best.
The meal was served beneath a pleasant shade,
And he, to each good thing was welcome made.
Soon there rode by a gentleman well dressed,
And the host's daughter thus herself expressed:
'Most likely that's the Preacher just gone by;
He's dressed in black, and wears a white neck-tie.'
'Perhaps so,' said the father; ''tis the night
The Meeting's held, and they did us invite.'
WILLIAM, meanwhile, beheld the mother's eyes
Cast oft upon him; and, with some surprise,
She asked, 'Did you not preach a month ago
At the Plains School House?' He replied, ''Twas so.'
'And is it you that's going to preach ere long
At our near neighbors?' He asked, 'Is it wrong?'
'No; only-' There's the rub! O contrast great,
Betwixt the well-dressed man, and tinker's state!
To do them justice, 'tis but right to add-
They went to hear him, and for it were glad.

Ere many weeks he is prevailed upon
To take that kind friend's offer, and has gone
To Buffalo for tools; and on his way
Makes for Niagara, without delay.
Years he had longed to see that splendid sight,
And now this journey took with great delight.
'Twas in the month of August; when, he found
Himself for Lewiston, by steamer, bound.
The night he reached that was a sultry one-
And such excitement he had never known.
The room in which he tried to get some sleep
Had six poor drunkards in it! [Footnote: Fact] 'So, at peep
Of early dawn, he rose; then washed his face;
Paid off his bill, and strove his nerves to brace
By walking o'er the seen remaining miles,
With glowing feelings, and face clad in smiles.
O, what a morn was that! A cooling breeze
Blew from Ontario, and just moved the trees.
Around, no clouds obscured the bright, blue sky;
Yet o'er the Falls a mist was rising high!
He clomb the 'Mountain's' rugged, stony height,
And often turned to gaze with fond delight
Upon the scene before him. The blue Lake
One sheet of golden splendor! Sol, awake,
Had sent his rays athwart that inland Sea,
Ere He rose high, in glorious majesty!
On either hand lay woods, and fields of grain,
Stretched out, for miles, in one vast fertile plain.
Upon his left rose BROCK'S plain Monument;
By 'sympathy'-false named-now sadly rent!
The genuine fruit of murderous Civil war,
Whose dogs-let loose-stop not at Virtue's bar;
But oft, by their vile deeds, dare to pollute
What men most sacred deem as worth repute.
May thou, my dear, my own Adopted Land!
Ne'er hear again the tramp of hostile band;
Whether poured forth from neighboring foreign shore,
Or fruit of thy own sons' deep thirst for gore!
WILLIAM, arrived upon the mountain top,
Pauses not long; he had scarce time to stop.
He took the River bank, and there, below,
The wondrous rapids for the first time saw.
His thoughts and feelings would be hard to tell,
While he stood there-bound as by magic spell.
Ere long he felt a very strange desire
To brave that Water-Spirit's foaming ire!
And once or twice essay'd e'en to descend
The precipice's front, to gain his end!

'O for a bathe'-thought he-'in that pure stream!
Is it reality? or do I dream?
Am I now standing on Niagara's brink?
O that I could of its pure waters drink!'
Soliloquizing thus, a thundering sound
Broke on his ear, and noise of Rapids drowned!
Aroused by this, he hurried faster on-
The veil of mist his guide-until, anon,
He reached a bend, which brought before his view
The mighty Cataract's wonders, ever new;
Yet at such distance he could not well trace
The varied beauties of that matchless place!
Most eagerly he took the road again;
Nor paused to seek the company of men,
Who, reared amid these wonders, seldom feel
The deep emotions, or the fervid zeal
Which he then felt, as nearer still he drew,
And found his dreams of the Great Falls all true.
At last he stood there; and, in earnest, gazed
As though he could not weary: quite amazed
At the vast grandeur of the beauteous scene,
And half inclined to look on all as mean
That he had viewed before! Musing, he stood
Still as a statue, while the mighty flood
Dashed madly onward, as if eager still
To take the leap, obedient to God's will!

Again he's roused by shout, away below,
'Twas from a Boatman, anxious now to know
If he would cross to the Canadian side?
COOPER obeyed, with Fancy for his guide;
And soon was bouncing o'er the heaving deep,
Whose current forced the boat to take a sweep;
While, ever and anon, a dash of spray
Made wet his clothes, as would a rainy day.
They reached the landing; and he now has gone
To Table-Rock, and muses still alone.
The song which follows does express in part
The strong, warm feelings of his raptured heart:


SONG TO NIAGARA.

Niagara! I hail thy magnificent wonders,
The work of my Father-the maker of All!
His voice 'tis I hear, in thy earth-shaking thunders,
As 'Deep unto Deep' every moment 'doth call!'
Waters rushing, always pushing
Over the ledge of crumbling rocks;
Ever leaping, never sleeping,
Sound His praise in ceaseless shocks.

Thy mist to my mind seems a Pillar enshrining
His All-glorious Presence, by day and by night!
Thy rainbows bespeak Him to Mercy inclining-
Though none who gaze on thee are clean in His sight!
Colors blending, mist ascending;
All are displaying His great power!
Rapids roaring, are adoring
Him-their Maker-every hour!

The myriads of pearls, and bright emerald glories,
Encircling thy brow, 'midst the foam and the spray,
Unite in presenting the most vivid stories
Of splendor and riches which He can display!
Pearls descending, without ending,
Down that giddy precipice,
Seem deriding our vain pride in
Works which can't compare with this.

The trees on thy banks look like worshippers standing,
To pay at Thy shrine their just tribute of praise;
And loudly, indeed, are their voices demanding,
That man unto God his sweet anthems should raise!
Each tree growing, oft is bowing,
Lowly its tall majestic head;
Man, still scheming, 's seldom dreaming
Of this feast before him spread!

My soul, quite enraptured, could stay here forever,
And drink in thy beauties with constant delight;
But something within me is whispering, 'Never
Be so taken up with sublunary sight!'
Paths of Duty should have beauty
More than what I find in thee;
For thy glories tell no stories
Of some things worth much to me.

But yet I can gaze on thy dazzling brightness-
Thy rainbows, thy pearls, thy clear emerald green;
On rapids still toss'd into foam of pure whiteness;
On falls the most glorious that Earth has e'er seen!
Strength acquiring, in admiring
All as the matchless work of God;
Can, with pleasure, leave such treasure,
And my journey onward plod.



Around the Falls he lingered till past noon,
And still felt grieved to have to leave thus soon.
So loath was he a single charm to miss,
He oft went down and up the precipice,
By means of spiral stairs which constant shook,
As if by palsy-fit they had been struck.
The engine's whistle warns him now to go,
And take the cars for rising Buffalo.
In that new City he arrived ere night,
Which gave to him but very small delight.
Tools soon he found-sold only by the set;
And with his funds, the price could not be met.
Here was a fix! Naught for him now remained
But to return, with just his pleasure gained!
This, as an offset, stood against the debt
He had incurred, and kept him from a fret.
Once more I pause, but with a hope quite strong,
That I may soon resume my simple song.