They oppened it wi' tremblin hands,
An when they saw the treasure;
'Twor hard to say which filled 'em mooast,
Astonishment or pleasur.
Ther wor a letter for 'em too,
An this wor ha it ended,—
"You once helped me, may this help you,—
From one you once befriended,"
————-
They nivver faand aght who he wor,
Altho' they spared noa labor;
But for his sake they ne'er refuse
To help ther needy naybor.
Fugitive poems.
By John Hartley.
Not written in the Yorkshire Dialect.
Angels of Sunderland. In Memoriam, June 16th, 1893.
On the sixteenth of June, eighteen eighty-three,
The children of Sunderland hastened to see,
Strange wonders performed by a mystic man,
Believing,—as only young children can.
And merry groups chattered, as hand in hand,
They careered through the streets of Sunderland.
In holiday dress, and with faces clean,
And hearts as light as the lightest, I ween;—
The hall was soon crowded, and wondering eyes,
Expressed their delight at each fresh surprise;
The sight of their bright, eager faces was grand,—
Such a mass of fair blossoms of Sunderland.
With wonder and laughter the moments fly,
And the wizard at last bade them all good-bye,
But not till he promised that each one there,
In his magical fortune should have a share;—
Such a wonderful man with such liberal hand,
Had never before been in Sunderland.