Nor leaping torrents when they howl; The babe I carry on my arm,

He saves for me my precious soul; Then happy lie; for blest am I; Without me my sweet babe would die.

VI.

"Then do not fear, my boy! for thee Bold as a lion will I be

And I will always be thy guide,
Through hollow snows and rivers wide.
I'll build an Indian bower; I know
The leaves that make the softest bed:
And, if from me thou wilt not go,
But still be true till I am dead,

My pretty thing! then thou shalt sing
As merry as the birds in spring.

VII.

"Thy father cares not for my breast, 'T is thine, sweet baby, there to rest; 'T is all thine own! and if its hue

Be changed, that was so fair to view, 'Tis fair enough for thee, my dove! My beauty, little child, is flown, But thou wilt live with me in love; And what if my poor check be brown? "T is well for me thou canst not see How pale and wan it else would be.

VIII.

"Dread not their taunts, my little Life
I am thy father's wedded wife ;
And underneath the spreading tree
We two will live in honesty.

If his sweet boy he could forsake,
With me he never would have stayed:
From him no harm my babe can take
But he, poor man, is wretched made;
And every day we two will pray
For him that 's gone and far away.

IX.

;

"I'll teach my boy the sweetest things:
I'll teach him how the owlet sings.
My little babe! thy lips are still,
And thou hast almost sucked thy fill.

- Where art thou gone, my own dear child? What wicked looks are those I see?

Alas! alas! that look so wild,

It never, never came from me:
If thou art mad, my pretty lad,
Then I must be for ever sad.

X.

"O smile on me, my little lamb !
For I thy own dear mother am:
My love for thee has well been tried:
I've sought thy father far and wide.

I know the poisons of the shade;
I know the earth-nuts fit for food:
Then, pretty dear, be not afraid :
We'll find thy father in the wood.

Now laugh and be gay, to the woods away! And there, my babe, we 'li live for aye."

1798.

NOTES.

Page 56.

· And, hovering, round it often did a raven fly.”

From a short MS. poem read to me when an undergradu ate, by my schoolfellow and friend, Charles Farish, long since deceased. The verses were by a brother of his, a man of promising genius, who died young.

Page 80.

"The Borderers."

This Dramatic Piece, as noticed in its title-page, was composed in 1795-6. It lay nearly from that time till within the last two or three months unregarded among my papers, with out being mentioned even to my most intimate friends. H& ing, however, impressions upon my mind which made mu unwilling to destroy the MS., I determined to undertake the responsibility of publishing it during my own life, rather tha impose upon my successors the task of deciding its fate. Ac cordingly, it has been revised with some care; but as it was at first written, and is now published, without any view to its exhibition upon the stage, not the slightest alteration has been made in the conduct of the story, or the composition of the characters; above all, in respect to the two leading Persons of the Drama, I felt no inducement to make any change. The study of human nature suggests this awful truth, that, as in.the

trials to which life subjects us, sin and crime are apt to start from their very opposite qualities, so are there no limits to the hardening of the heart and the perversion of the understanding to which they may carry their slaves. During my long residence in France, while the Revolution was rapidly advancing to its extreme of wickedness, I had frequent opportunities of being an eyewitness of this process, and it was while that knowledge was fresh upon my memory, that the Tragedy of "The Borderers" was composed.

Page 225.

"The Norman Boy."

Among ancient trees there are few, I believe, at least in France, so worthy of attention as an Oak which may be seen in the 'Pays de Caux,' about a league from Yvetot, close to the church, and in the burial-ground of Allonville.

"The height of this tree does not answer to its girth; the trunk, from the roots to the summit, forms a complete cone; and the inside of this cone is hollow throughout the whole of its height.

"Such is the Oak of Allonville, in its state of nature. The hand of man, however, has endeavored to impress upon it a character still more interesting, by adding a religious feeling to the respect which its age naturally inspires.

"The lower part of its hollow trunk has been transformed into a Chapel of six or seven feet in diameter, carefully wainscotted and paved, and an open iron gate guards the humble sanctuary.

"Leading to it there is a staircase, which twists round the body of the tree. At certain seasons of the year divine service is performed in this Chapel.

"The summit has been broken off many years, but there is a surface at the top of the trunk, of the diameter of a very large tree, and from it rises a pointed roof, covered with slates, in the form of a steeple, which is surmounted with an iron