Now crowding in the narrow road,
In thick and struggling masses,
They glare upon the teamster's load,
Or rattling coach that passes.

Anon, with toss of horn and tail,
And paw of hoof, and bellow,

They leap some farmer's broken pale,
O'er meadow-close or fallow.

Forth comes the startled good-man; forth
Wife, children, house-dog, sally,
Till once more on their dusty path

The baffled truants rally.

We drive no starvelings, scraggy grown, Loose-legged, and ribbed and bony,

Like those who grind their noses down

On pastures bare and stony —

Lank oxen, rough as Indian dogs,

And cows too lean for shadows,

Disputing feebly with the frogs

The

crop of saw-grass meadows!

In our good drove, so sleek and fair,

No bones of leanness rattle;

No tottering hide-bound ghosts are there,

Or Pharaoh's evil cattle.

Each stately beeve bespeaks the hand

That fed him unrepining;

The fatness of a goodly land

In each dun hide is shining.

We've sought them where, in warmest nooks,

The freshest feed is growing,

By sweetest springs and clearest brooks

Through honeysuckle flowing; Wherever hill-sides, sloping south,

Are bright with early grasses,

Or, trackling green the lowland's drouth,
The mountain streamlet passes.

But now the day is closing cool,

The woods are dim before us, The white fog of the way-side pool Is creeping slowly o'er us.

The cricket to the frog's bassoon
His shrillest time is keeping;

The sickle of yon setting moon

The meadow-mist is reaping.

The night is falling, comrades mine,
Our foot-sore beasts are weary,

And through yon elms the tavern sign
Looks out upon us cheery.

To-morrow, eastward with our charge

We'll go to meet the dawning,

Ere yet the pines of Kéarsarge

Have seen the sun of morning.

When snow-flakes o'er the frozen earth,

Instead of birds, are flitting;

When children throng the glowing hearth,

And quiet wives are knitting;

While in the fire-light strong and clear
Young eyes of pleasure glisten,
To tales of all we see and hear

The ears of home shall listen.

By many a Northern lake and hill,
From many a mountain pasture,
Shall Fancy play the Drover still,
And speed the long night faster.
Then let us on, through shower and sun,
And heat and cold, be driving;
There's life alone in duty done,

And rest alone in striving.

THE FISHERMEN.

HURRAH! the seaward breezes

Sweep down the bay amain;

Heave up, my lads, the anchor!
Run up the sail again!

Leave to the lubber landsmen

The rail-car and the steed;

The stars of heaven shall guide us, The breath of heaven shall speed.

From the hill-top looks the steeple,

And the light-house from the sand; And the scattered pines are waving Their farewell from the land.

One glance, my lads, behind us,

For the homes we leave one sigh,

Ere we take the change and chances

Of the ocean and the sky.