Out of the frying-pan into the fire.

Penny wise and pound foolish.

Riches have wings.

Robin Hood's choice: this or nothing.

Rome was not built in a day.

Save at the spiggot, and lose at the bung.

Second thoughts are best.

Set a thief to take a thief.

A short horse is soon curried.

Take the will for the deed.

Take away my good name, take away my life.

Take time by the forelock.

FABLE.

The mountain and the squirrel Had a quarrel, And the former called the latter "Little Prig;"

Bun replied, "You are doubtless very big; But all sorts of things and weather Must be taken in together, To make up a year And a sphere.

And I think it no disgrace To occupy my place.

If I'm not so large as you, You are not so small as I, And not half so spry.

I'll not deny you make A very pretty squirrel track; Talents differ; all is well and wisely put; If I cannot carry forests on my back, Neither can you crack a nut."

WRITTEN IN MARCH

WHILE RESTING ON THE BRIDGE AT THE FOOT OF BROTHER'S WATER.

The c.o.c.k is crowing, The stream is flowing, The small birds twitter, The lake doth glitter, The green field sleeps in the sun; The oldest and youngest Are at work with the strongest; The cattle are grazing.

Their heads never raising; There are forty feeding like one!

Like an army defeated The snow hath retreated, And now doth fare ill On the top of the bare hill; The Ploughboy is whooping--anon--anon There's joy in the mountains; There's life in the fountains; Small clouds are sailing, Blue sky prevailing; The rain is over and gone!

THOSE EVENING BELLS.

Those evening bells! those evening bells!

How many a tale their music tells, Of youth, and home, and that sweet time, When last I heard their soothing chime.

Those joyous hours are pa.s.sed away; And many a heart, that then was gay, Within the tomb now darkly dwells, And hears no more those evening bells.

And so 't will be when I am gone; That tuneful peal will still ring on, While other bards shall walk these dells, And sing your praise, sweet evening bells.

TO A b.u.t.tERFLY.

I've watched you now a full half hour Self-poised upon that yellow flower; And, little b.u.t.terfly! indeed I know not if you sleep or feed.

How motionless!--not frozen seas More motionless!--and then What joy awaits you, when the breeze Hath found you out among the trees, And calls you forth again!

This plot of orchard-ground is ours; My trees they are, my Sister's flowers: Here rest your wings when they are weary, Here lodge as in a sanctuary!

Come often to us, fear no wrong; Sit near us on the bough!

We'll talk of sunshine and of song, And summer days, when we were young; Sweet childish days, that were as long As twenty days are now.

PROVERBS AND POPULAR SAYINGS.

To follow one's nose.

To have a finger in the pie.

To hit the nail on the head.

To kill two birds with one stone.

To make a spoon, or spoil a horn.

To pour oil into the fire is not the way to quench it.

Two heads are better than one.

Waste not, want not.

We easily forget our faults when n.o.body knows them.

We never know the worth of water till the well is dry.

When Adam delved and Eve span, who was then the gentleman?

When the cat is away, the mice will play.

Strike when the iron is hot.

Where there's a will, there's a way.

You cannot eat your cake and have it too.

You must take the fat with the lean.

LUCY.

She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove; A maid whom there were none to praise, And very few to love.

A violet by a mossy stone Half-hidden from the eye!-- Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky.

She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be; But she is in her grave, and oh!

The difference to me.

LUCY GRAY, OR SOLITUDE.

Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray; And, when I crossed the wild, I chanced to see, at break of day, The solitary child.

No mate, no comrade Lucy knew; She dwelt on a wide moor,-- The sweetest thing that ever grew Beside a human door!

You yet may spy the fawn at play, The hare upon the green; But the sweet face of Lucy Gray Will nevermore be seen.

"To-night will be a stormy night,-- You to the town must go; And take a lantern, Child, to light Your mother through the snow."

"That, Father! will I gladly do: 'T is scarcely afternoon,-- The minster-clock has just struck two, And yonder is the moon!"

At this the father raised his hook, And snapped a f.a.got-band; He plied his work;--and Lucy took The lantern in her hand.