The lark, a mile above his nest,

Was cheering o'er my head.

The stars had vanish'd, all but one,
The darling of the sky,
That glitter'd like a tiny sun,
No bigger than my eye.

I look'd at this, I thought it smiled,
Which made me feel so glad,

That I became another child,
And not the climbing lad:

A child as fair as you may see,
Whom soot has never soil'd
As rosy-cheek'd as I might be
If I had not been spoil'd.

Wings, of themselves, about me grew,

And, free as morning-light,

Up to that single star I flew,

So beautiful and bright.

Through the blue heaven I stretch'd my hand
To touch its beams,-it broke

Like a sea-bubble on the sand;
Then all fell dark.-I woke.

NO. III.-EASTER-MONDAY AT SHEFFIELD.

YES, there are some that think of me;
The blessing on their heads! I say;
May all their lives as happy be,

As mine has been with them to-day!
When I was sold, from Lincolnshire

To this good town, I heard a noise, What merry-making would be here At Easter-tide, for climbing boys.

'Twas strange, because where I had been,
The better people cared no more
For such as me, than had they seen
A young crab crawling on their shore.

Well, Easter came ;-in all the land
Was e'er a 'prentice lad so fine!
A bran-new suit at second-hand,

Cap, shoes, and stockings, all were mine.

The coat was green, the waistcoat red,
The breeches leather, white and clean;

I thought I must go off my head,

I could have jump'd out of my skin.

All Sunday through the streets I stroll'd,
Fierce as a turkey-cock, to see

How all the people, young and old,

At least I thought so, look'd at me.

At night, upon my truss of straw,

Those gaudy clothes hung round the room;
By moon-glimpse oft their shapes I saw
Like bits of rainbow in the gloom.

Yet scarce I heeded them at all,
Although I never slept a wink;
The feast, next day, at Cutlers' Hall,
Of that I could not help but think.
Wearily trail'd the night away;

Between the watchman and the clock,
I thought it never would be day;
At length out-crew the earliest cock.

A second answer'd, then a third,

At a long distance,-one, two, three,—
A dozen more in turn were heard;
-I crew among the rest for glee.

Up gat we, I and little Bill,

And donn'd our newest and our best:

Nay, let the proud say what they will,
As grand as fiddlers we were drest.
We left our litter in the nook,

And wash'd ourselves as white as snow;
On brush and bag we scorn'd to look,
-It was a holiday, you know.

What ail'd me then I could not tell,

I yawn'd the whole forenoon away, And hearken'd while the vicar's bell

Went ding dong, ding dong, pay, pay, pay!
The clock struck twelve-I love the twelves
Of all the hours 'twixt sun and moon;
For then poor lads enjoy themselves,
-We sleep at midnight, rest at noon.

This noon was not a resting time!
At the first stroke we started all,
And, while the tune rang through the chime,
Muster'd, like soldiers, at the hall.

Not much like soldiers in our gait;

Yet never soldier, in his life,

Tried, as he march'd, to look more straight
Than Bill and I,-to drum and fife.

But now I think on't, what with scars,
Lank, bony limbs, and spavin'd feet,
Like broken soldiers from the wars,

We limp'd, yet strutted through the street.

Then, while our meagre, motley crew

Came from all quarters of the town,

Folks to their doors and windows flew ;
I thought the world turn'd upside down.

For now, instead of oaths and jeers,

The sauce that I have found elsewhere, Kind words, and smiles, and hearty cheers Met us, with halfpence here and there.

The mothers held their babies high,
To chuckle at our hobbling train,
But clipt them close while we went by;
-I heard their kisses fall like rain,—

And wiped my cheek, that never felt
The sweetness of a mother's kiss;
For heart and eyes began to melt,

And I was sad, yet pleased, with this.
At Cutlers' Hall we found the crowd,

That shout the gentry to their feast; They made us way, and bawl'd so loud, We might have been young lords at least. We enter'd, twenty lads and more,

While gentlemen, and ladies too, All bade us welcome at the door,

66

And kindly ask'd us,-"How d'ye do?"

Bravely," I answer'd, but my eye Prickled, and leak'd, and twinkled still; I long'd to be alone, to cry,

-To be alone, and cry my fill.

Our other lads were blithe and bold,
And nestling, nodding as they sat,
Till dinner came, their tales they told,
And talk'd of this, and laugh'd at that.
I pluck'd up courage, gaped, and gazed
On the fine room, fine folks, fine things,
Chairs, tables, knives, and forks, amazed,
With pots and platters fit for kings.

Roast-beef, plum-pudding, and what not,
Soon smoked before us,-such a size,
Giants their dinners might have got;
We open'd all our mouths and eyes.
Anon, upon the board, a stroke

Warn'd each to stand up in his place;

One of our generous friends then spoke
Three or four words-they call'd it Grace.

I think he said-"GOD bless our food!"
-Oft had I heard that name, in tones
Which ran like ice, cold through my blood,
And made the flesh creep on my bones.

But now, and with a power so sweet,

The name of God went through my heart, That my lips trembled to repeat

Those words, and tears were fain to start.

Tears, words, were in a twinkle gone,

Like sparrows whirring through the street, When, at a sign, we all fell on,

As geese in stubble, to our meat.

The large plum-puddings first were carved,
And well we younkers plied them o'er;
You would have thought we had been starved,
Or were to be,-a month or more.

Next the roast-beef flew reeking round
In glorious slices, mark ye that!
The dishes were with gravy drown'd;
A sight to make a weasel fat.

A great meat-pie, a good meat-pie,
Baked in a cradle-length of tin,
Was open'd, emptied, scoop'd so dry,
You might have seen your face within.

The ladies and the gentlemen

Took here and there with us a seat;
They might be hungry, too,-but then
We gave them little time to eat.

Their arms were busy helping us,
Like cobblers' elbows at their work,
Or see-saw, see-saw, thus and thus ;
A merry game at knife and fork.