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His eye was on the bell and float:

Quoth he, "My men put out the boat,

And row me to the Inchcape rock,

And I'll plague the priest of Aberbrothock."

The boat is lower'd, the boatmen row,

And to the Inchcape rock they go :
Sir Ralph bent over from the boat,

And cut the warning bell from the float.

Down sunk the bell with a gurgling sound,

The bubbles arose, and burst around;

Quoth Sir Ralph, "The next who comes to this rock, Will not bless the priest of Aberbrothock.”

Sir Ralph the Rover sail'd away,

He scour'd the seas for many a day;
And now grown rich with plunder'd store,
He steers his course to Scotland's shore.

So thick a haze o'erspread the sky,
They cannot see the sun on high:
The wind had blown a gale all day,
At evening it had died away.

"Canst hear," said one," the breakers roar?

'Yonder, methinks, should be the shore:

"Now where we are I cannot tell,

"But I wish we could hear the Inchcape bell."

They hear no sound, the swell is strong,

Though the wind hath fallen, they drift along, Till the vessel strikes with a shiv'ring shock— Oh, Heavens! it is the Inchcape rock!

Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair,
He curst himself in his despair;
But the waves rush in on every side,

And the vessel sinks beneath the tide.

Conversation.

SOUTHEY,

I CANNOT talk with civit in the room,

A fine puss-gentleman that's all perfume;
The sight's enough-no need to smell a beau-
Who thrusts his nose into a rareeshow?
His odoriferous attempts to please

Perhaps might prosper with a swarm of bees;
But we that make no honey, though we sting,
Poets, are sometimes apt to maul the thing.
'Tis wrong to bring into a mix'd resort,
What makes some sick, and others a-la-mort,
An argument of cogence, we may say,
Why such a one should keep himself away.

A graver coxcomb we may sometimes see,
Quite as absurd, though not so light as he :
A shallow brain behind a serious mask,
An oracle within an empty cask,

The solemn fop; significant and budge,
A fool with judges, amongst fools a judge;
He says but little, and that little said
Owes all its weight, like loaded dice, to lead.
His wit invites you by his looks to come,
But when you knock, it never is at home.
'Tis like a parcel sent you by the stage,
Some handsome present, as your hopes presage;
'Tis heavy, bulky, and bids fair to prove
An absent friend's fidelity and love;

But when unpack'd your disappointment groans
To find it stuff'd with brickbats, earth, and stones.

Some men employ their health, an ugly trick, In making known how oft they have been sick, And give us in recitals of disease,

A doctor's trouble, but without the fees;
Relate how many weeks they kept their bed,
How an emetic or carthartic sped;

Nothing is slightly touch'd much less forgot,
Nose, ears, and eyes, seem present on the spot.
Now the distemper, spite of draught or pill,
Victorious seem'd and now the doctor's skill;
But now-alas for unforeseen mishaps !—
They put on a damp nightcap, and relapse;

They thought they must have died, they were so

bad;

Their peevish hearers almost wish they had.

Some fretful tempers wince at every touch,

You always do too little or too much :
You speak with life, in hopes to entertain-
Your elevated voice goes through the brain;
You fall at once into a lower key,

That's worse the drone pipe of an humble bee.
The southern sash admits too strong a light,
You rise and drop the curtain-now 'tis night.
He shakes with cold-you stir the fire, and strive
To make a blaze-that's roasting him alive.
Serve him with venison, and he chooses fish ;
With sole-that's just the sort he does not wish.
He takes what he at first profess'd to loath,
And in due time feeds heartily on both;
Yet still o'erclouded with a constant frown,
He does not swallow, but he gulps it down.
Your hopes to please him vain on every plan,
Himself should work the wonder, if he can-
Alas! his efforts double his distress,

He likes yours little, and his own still less.
Thus always teasing others, always teased,
His only pleasure is to be displeased.

COWPER.

The Erl-King.

WHO is it that rides through the forest so fast, While night frowns around him, while shrill roars the blast?

The father, who holds his young son in his arm, And close in his mantle has wrapp'd him up warm.

Father."Why trembles my darling? why shrinks he with fear?"

Child.-"Oh, father! my father! the Erl-King is near ! "The Erl-King, with his crown and his beard long and white!"

F.-"Oh!

night!"

your eyes are deceived by the vapours of

Erl King." Come, baby, sweet baby, with me go away!

"Fine clothes you shall wear, we will play a fine play; "Fine flowers are growing, white, scarlet, and blue, "On the banks of yon river, and all are for you."

C.-"Oh! father! my father! and dost thou not hear "What words the Erl-King whispers low in mine ear?"

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