And we should see him soon,
Either the latter end of May,
Or by the first of June.

"The end of May was yesterday,
We all expected him;
And in our best clothes we were drest,
Susan, and I, and Jim.

"O how my poor dear mother smil'd,
And clapt her hands for joy;
She said to me, 'Come here, my child,
And Susan, and my boy.

"'Come all, and let us think,' said she,
'What we can do to please
Your father, for to-day will he
Come home from off the seas.

"'That you have won, my dear young son,
A prize at school, we'll tell,
Because you can, my little man,
In writing all excel;

"'And you have made a poem, nearly
All of your own invention:
Will not your father love you dearly,
When this to him I mention?

"'Your sister Mary, she can say
Your poetry by heart;
And to repeat your verses may
Be little Mary's part,

"'Susan, for you, I'll say you do
Your needlework with care,
And stitch so true the wristbands new,
Dear father's soon to wear!'

"'O hark!' said James; 'I hear one speak;
'Tis like a seaman's voice.'--
Our mother gave a joyful shriek;
How did we all rejoice!

"'My husband's come!' 'My father's here!
But O, alas, it was not so;
It was not as we said:
A stranger seaman did appear,
On his rough cheek there stood a tear,
For he brought to us a tale of woe,
Our father dear was dead."

FEIGNED COURAGE

Horatio, of ideal courage vain,
Was flourishing in air his father's cane,
And, as the fumes of valour swell'd his pate,
Now thought himself _this_ Hero, and now _that_:
"And now," he cried, "I will Achilles be;
My sword I brandish; see, the Trojans flee.
Now I'll be Hector, when his angry blade
A lane through heaps of slaughter'd Grecians made!
And now by deeds still braver I'll evince,
I am no less than Edward the Black Prince.--
Give way, ye coward French:--" as thus he spoke,
And aim'd in fancy a sufficient stroke
To fix the fate of Cressy or Poictiers;
(The Muse relates the Hero's fate with tears)
He struck his milk-white hand against a nail,
Sees his own blood, and feels his courage fail.
Ah! where is now that boasted valour flown,
That in the tented field so late was shown!
Achilles weeps, Great Hector hangs the head,
And the Black Prince goes whimpering to bed.

THE BROKEN DOLL

An infant is a selfish sprit