I look for Ghosts; but none will force

Their

way to me; 'tis falsely said

That there was ever intercourse

Betwixt the living and the dead;
For, surely, then I should have sight
Of Him I wait for day and night,
With love and longings infinite.

My apprehensions come in crowds;
I dread the rustling of the grass;
The very shadows of the clouds
Have power to shake me as they pass:
I question things, and do not find
One that will answer to my mind;
And all the world appears unkind.

Beyond participation lie

My troubles, and beyond relief:
If any chance to heave a sigh
They pity me, and not my grief.
Then come to me, my Son, or send
Some tidings that my woes may end;
I have no other earthly friend.

XVIII.

THE COTTAGER TO HER INFANT.

BY A FEMALE FRIEND.

THE days are cold, the nights are long,
The north-wind sings a doleful song;
Then hush again upon my breast;
All merry things are now at rest,

Save thee, my pretty Love!

The kitten sleeps upon the hearth,

The crickets long have ceased their mirth;
There's nothing stirring in the house
Save one wee, hungry, nibbling mouse,
Then why so busy thou?

Nay! start not at that sparkling light;
'Tis but the moon that shines so bright
On the window-pane bedropped with rain:
Then, little Darling! sleep again,

And wake when it is day.

XIX.

THE SAILOR'S MOTHER.

ONE morning (raw it was and wet,

A foggy day in winter time)

A Woman on the road I met,

Not old, though something past her prime: Majestic in her person, tall and straight; And like a Roman matron's was her mien and gait.

The ancient Spirit is not dead;

Old times, thought I, are breathing there;
Proud was I that my country bred

Such strength, a dignity so fair:

She begged an alms, like one in poor estate; I looked at her again, nor did my pride abate.

When from these lofty thoughts I woke,
"What treasure," said I, "do you bear,
Beneath the covert of your Cloak
Protected from the cold damp air?"

She answered, soon as she the question heard, "A simple burthen, Sir, a little Singing-bird.

"I had a Son,

- the waves might roar,

He feared them not, a Sailor gay!

But he will cross the waves no more:

In Denmark he was cast away;

And I have travelled many miles to see

If aught which he had owned might still remain

for me.

"The Bird and Cage they both were his ; 'Twas my Son's Bird; and neat and trim

He kept it: many voyages

This Singing-bird had gone with him;

When last he sailed he left the Bird behind;

As it might be, perhaps, from bodings of his mind.

"He to a Fellow-lodger's care

Had left it, to be watched and fed, Till he came back again; and there I found it when my Son was dead; And now, God help me for I trail it with me, Sir! he took so much delight in it.'

my little wit!

XX.

THE CHILDLESS FATHER.

"UP, Timothy, up with your Staff and away!
Not a soul in the village this morning will stay;
The Hare has just started from Hamilton's grounds,
And Skiddaw is glad with the cry of the hounds."

Of coats and of jackets gray, scarlet, and green, On the slopes of the pastures all colours were seen; With their comely blue aprons, and caps white as

snow,

The girls on the hills made a holiday show.

The bason had offered *, just six months before, Fresh sprigs of green box-wood at Timothy's door; A Coffin through Timothy's threshold had past; One Child did it bear, and that Child was his last.

* In several parts of the North of England, when a funeral takes place, a bason full of Sprigs of Box-wood is placed at the door of the house from which the Coffin is taken up, and each person who attends the funeral ordinarily takes a Sprig of this Box-wood, and throws it into the grave of the deceased.