But while I take this shay brain'd course, And like a fool run to and fro, Master, perhaps, may sell the horse! Therefore this instant home I'll go. The nightly rains had drench'd the grove, He plung'd right on with headlong pace; A man but half as much in love Perhaps had found a cleaner place. The day rose fair; with team a-field, He watch'd the farmer's cheerful brow; And in a lucky hour reveal'd His secret at his post, the plough. Coming to the Point--Generosity And there without a whine began, "Master, you'll give me your advice; I'm going to marry--if I can-- And want old Bayard; what's his price! "For Mary Jones last night agreed, Or near upon't, to be my wife: The horse's value I don't heed, I only want to save his life." "Buy him, hey! Abner! trust me I Have not the thought of gain in view; Bayard's best days we've seen go by; He shall be cheap enough to you." Symptoms of good Feelings. The wages paid, the horse brought out, The hour of separation come; The farmer turn'd his chair about, "Good fellow, take him, take him home. "You're welcome, Abner, to the beast, For you're a faithful servant been; They'll thrive I doubt not in the least, Who know what work and service mean." The maids at parting, one and all, From different windows different tones; Bade him farewel with many a bawl, And sent their love to Mary Jones. Victory! He wav'd his hat, and turn'd away, When loud the cry of children rose; "Abner, good bye!" they stopt their play; "There goes poor Bayard! there he goes!" Half choak'd with joy, with love, and pride, He now with dainty clover fed him, Now took a short triumphant ride, And then again got down and led him. And hobbling onward up the hill, The widow's house was full in sight, He pull'd the bridle harder still, "Come on, we shan't be there to-night." Victory! She met them with a smile so sweet, The stable-door was open thrown; The blind horse lifted high his feet, And loudly snorting, laid him down. O Victory! from that stock of laurels You keep so snug for camps and thrones, Spare us _one twig_ from all their quarrels For Abner and the Widow Jones. [Illustration: a table.] TO MY OLD OAK TABLE. Friend of my peaceful days! substantial friend, Whom wealth can never change, nor int'rest bend, I love thee like a child. Thou wert to me The dumb companion of my misery, And oftner of my joys;--then as I spoke, I shar'd thy sympathy, Old Heart of Oak! For surely when my labour ceas'd at night, With trembling, feverish hands, and aching sight, The draught that cheer'd me and subdu'd my care, On thy broad shoulders thou wert proud to bear O'er thee, with expectation's fire elate, I've sat and ponder'd on my future fate: On thee, with winter muffins for thy store, I've lean'd, and quite forgot that I was poor.