Thy little brother.

His mind was not of thine, ’tis plain; He dreamt of wonders, thou of gain; But thou thy object didst attain For which another sought in vain—  E’en thy own brother.

Thou cunningly didst keep thy pace, While he joined in the wild-goose chase; Thou’rt now the great one of this place, While he hath lost his phantom race—  Thy wretched brother!

p. 74I see a form amongst the crowd, With stricken heart, and head that’s bowed; I hear a voice, both deep and loud— A voice of one that wanted food—  It is thy brother.

p. 74

The meanest wretch that ever trod, The smallest insect ’neath the sod, Are creatures of an All-seeing God, Who may have smitten with his rod Thy foolish brother.

He careth not for wealth or show, But dares thee to neglect, e’en now, That unmanned wretch, so poor and low, Else he may deal a heavy blow, E’en for thy brother.

Lund’s Excursion to Windermere.

Come hither mi muse, an’ lilt me a spring, Tho’daghtless awhile tha’s been on the wing; But yet tha mun try to cum up ta t’mark, An’ give us sum rhyme for a bit of a lark: An’ tho’ at thy notes in this sensation age, Wiseacres may giggle an’ critics may rage, Thou art my sole hobby there is no mistake, So sing us t’Excursion ta Windermere Lake.

p. 75’Twor a fine summer’s mornin’ as ivver wor seen, All nature wor wearin’ her mantle o’ green; The birds wor all singin’ i’ owd Cockle Wood, As if by their notes they all understood, As weel as the people who com wi’ a smile, To see the procession march off i’ grand style.

p. 75

“Owd Rowland,” the bell wi’ his gert iron tongue, Proclaim’d to the people both owd an’ young, ’Twor high time to rise for each moment wor dear As t’train wod be startin’ fer Lake Windermere; An’ Rowland, the bell, didn’t toll, sir, i’ vain, For hunderds wur ready ta start for the train.

But harken what music—grand music is here, Ower maantains, dahn valleys, it’s saanding so clear; It’s t’Turkey Mill Band wi ther sharps and ther flats, I’ ther blue an’ green coits an’ ther red-toppin’d hats, ’Tis plain whear they’re bahn wi’ t’long paces they take, An’ they’ll play wi’ some vengeance at Windermere Lake.

But, harken ageean! what’s comin’ this way? More music, grand 

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