No Goblin he; no imp of sin:
No crimes had ever known.
They took the shaggy stranger in,
And rear'd him as their own.
His little hoofs would rattle round
Upon the Cottage floor:
The Matron learn'd to love the sound
That frighten'd her before.
A favorite the Ghost became;
And, 'twas his fate to thrive:
And long he liv'd and spread his fame,
And kept the joke alive.
For many a laugh went through the Vale;
And some conviction tod:—
Each thought some other Goblin
Perhaps, was just as true.
[Illustration]
THE FRENCH MARINER.
A Ballad.
An Old French Mariner am I,
Whom Time hath render'd poor and gray;
Hear, conquering Britons, ere I die,
What anguish prompts me thus to say.
I've rode o'er many a dreadful wave,
I've seen the reeking blood descend:
I've heard the last groans of the brave;—
The shipmate dear, the steady Friend.
'Twas when De Grasse the battle join'd
And struck, on April's fatal morn:
I left three smiling boys behind,
And saw my Country's Lily torn.