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The old shepherd's dog, like his master, was grey,

His teeth all departed, and feeble his tongue ;
Yet, where'er Corin went, he was followed by Tray:

Thus happy through life did they hobble along.

* "I do not love a cat,” says the author of this piece, “ his disposition is mean and suspicious. A friendship of years is cancelled in a moment, by an accidental tread on his tail or foot. He instantly spits, raises his rump, twirls his tail of malignity, and shuns you: turning back, as he goes off,

a staring vindictive face, full of horrid oaths and unforgiveness; seeming to say “Perdition catch you ! I hate you for ever.” But the Dog is my delight: tread on his tail or foot, he expresses, for a moment, the uneasiness of his feeling; but in a moment again, the complaint is ended. He runs around you; jumps up against you; seems to declare his sorrow for complaining, as it was not intentionally done ; nay, even to make himself the aggressor ; and begs, by whinings and lickings, that master will think of it no more," Dogs are, in general,, endued with wonderful sagacity; indeed no

animal has hitherto been found so entirely adapted to our use, and even to our protection ; his diligence, his ardour, and his obedience are inexhaustible, and, unlike any other animal, he seems to remember only the benefits be receives Such a one as this appears to have been our dog, Tray; he had endeared himself to Corin, his master, by every action of his life, and which had insensibly knit their hearts together they seemed to live only for each other, nor in the end could death part them. “ Bury me, neighbours, beside my old friend,” were the dying injunctions of the poor old shepherd. They indeed were friends.

SVhen fatigued, on the grass the old shepherd would lie,

For a nap in the sun; ʼmidst his slumbers so sweet, His faithful companion crawlid constantly nigh,

Plac'd his head on his lap, or lay down at his feet.

When winter was heard on the hill and the plain,

And torrents descended, and cold was the wind; If Corin went forth 'mid the tempest and rain,

Tray scorn'd to be left in the chimney behind.

At length in the straw Tray made his last bed ;

For vain, against death, is the stoutest endeavour : To lick Corin's hand he rear'd up his weak head,

Then fell back, clos'd his eyes, and, ah ! clos'd them for ever.

Not long after Tray did the shepherd remain,

Who oft o'er his grave with true sorrow would bend ; And, when dying, thus feebly was heard the poor swain,

Oh! bury me, neighbours, beside my old friend.




The lovely Ellen was laid in her shroud,

The tapers were round her burning;
And the nuns all sung an holy hymn,

Cad in their weeds of mourning.

They watch'd her the live-long day and night,

Till their eyes were dimm'd with weeping! She could not wake from her trance of death,

But lay like a sweet babe sleeping.

And beauty still seem'd to play on her cheek,

Tho' death's cold finger touch'd it, And the rose, as it wither’d, yet sweetly smil'd

Beneath the hand that crush'd it.

Vespers were said, and the hours pass'd on,

And long they were and weary,
But deep and sad came the matin bell;

The hall was dark and dreary.

And many a holy prayer was said,

As in their arms they bore her,
They laid her beneath the alder's shade,

And spread the green turf o'er her.

They pull’d the fairest flow'rs of the year,

And round her head they strew'd them, And long it was ere they wither'd away,

For the tears of heaven bedew'd them!




'Twas a keen frosty morn, and the snow heavy falling, When a child of misfortune was thus sadly calling,

Sweep! sweep! I am cold, and the snow's very deep; O pray, take compassion on poor little sweep!

The tears down his cheeks in large drops were fast rolling,
Unnotic'd, unpitied, by those by him strolling,
Who frequently warn'd him at distance to keep,
While he cried, “ take compassion on poor little sweep."

In vain he implor’d passing strangers for pity:
This smild at his plaints, and that banter'd his ditty:
Humanity's offspring, as yet lay asleep,
Nor heard the sad wailings of poor little sweep.

At the step of a door, half frozen and dejected,
He sat down and griev'd, to be shunn’d and neglected,
When a kind hearted damsel, by chance saw him weep,
And resolv'd to befriend the distressed little sweep!

Unmindful of sneers, to a neighbour's she led him,
Warm'd his limbs by the fire, and tenderly fed him :
And, oh! what delight did this fair maiden reap,
When she found a lost brother in poor little sweep,

In rapture she gaz'd, on each black sooty feature,
And hugg'd to her bosom, the foul-smelling creature!
Who sav'd by a sister, no longer need creep
Through lanes, courts, and alleys, a poor little sweep.



Syren's Song.

Steer, hither steer your winged pines,

All beaten mariners !
Here lie love's undiscover'd mines,

A prey to passengers :

*“ William Browne, the author of this song, seems to have been boni about 1590, at Tavistock, in Devonshire, where he was instructed in gramu... tical learning. Having passed some time at Exeter College, Oxford, be quited the University without a degree, entered into the society of the

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