Harrison's Amusing Picture and Poetry Book. Unknown

      Oh! on this green and mossy seat,

      In my hours of sweet retreat;

      Thus I would my soul employ,

      With sense of gratitude and joy.

      ! farewell! the trumpet calls,

      The banner waves in view;

      And I must bid these friendly halls,

      One long! one last adieu!

      The dappled herd of grazing deer,

      That seek the shades by day;

      Now started from their path with fear,

      To give the stranger way.

      This is the valiant Cornish man,

      Who slew the giant Cormoran;

      A horrid savage monster, who,

      Before he kill'd, would torture you.

      Why should we say 'tis yet too soon,

      To seek for Heaven or think of death;

      A flower may fade before 'tis noon,

      And we this day may lose our breath.

      Ah! who is this totters along,

      And leans on the top of his stick;

      His wrinkles are many and long,

      And his beard is grown silver and thick.

      I envy not thy ill-got riches,

      Sure oft remorse thy conscience twitches;

      I'd rather be yon little mouse,

      And seek my bread from house to house.

      Come, Goody Dobbs, with me I pray,

      'Tis only down a little way;

      And I will give you bread and meat,

      As much as ever you can eat.

      When we devote our youth to God,

      'Tis pleasing in his eyes;

      A flower, when offered in the bud,

      Is no vain sacrifice.

      Charles Polish so attentive grew,

      So civil and polite;

      That all admir'd and lov'd him too,

      For all he did was right.

      Upon a mountain's grassy side,

      Where firs and cedars grew;

      Young Sylvia wandered with her flocks,

      And many a hardship knew.

      Hold Monster, hold! forbear, forbear!

      Thou shalt not take her life;

      To me she is a sister dear,

      To this brave man a wife.

      I heard a noise of men and boys,

      The watchman's rattle too;

      And fire they cry; and then cry'd I,

      Oh dear! what shall I do.

      Unhappy youth! what hast thou done,

      Why urge thy steed so fast?

      Alas! I hear him scream and groan;

      Ah me! he breathes his last.

      Here Cinderella you may see,

      Weeping o'er her destiny;

      Her sisters to the Ball are gone,

      And she is left to toil alone.

      The laughing harvest folks, at John,

      Stood quizzing him askew,

      'Twas John's red face that set them on,

      And then they leer'd at Sue.

      Why should a weak and vain desire,

      For outward show, and gay attire,

      Engage your thoughts, employ your time,

      And waste the precious hours of prime?

      All praise to him who made the sun,

      The World by day to light;

      Who gave the gentle moon to cheer,

      The still and gloomy night.

      Alone beneath the gloom of night,

      Monimia went to mourn;

      She left her parents' fost'ring arms,