If copies of the 'Graver,' 'Emblems,' or 'Black Canyon' are wanted apply to the publisher, 17 Harlot Row Edinburgh.
Scenes from Nature with Appropriate Verses
'The New Arabian Nights,' 'Moral Emblems,' 'Not I,' 'Treasure Island,' etc.
_S. L. Osbourne & Company_ No. 17 HERIOT ROW.
[It was only by the kindness of Mr. CRERAR of Kingussie that we are able to issue this little work--having allowed us to print with his own press when ours was broken.]
Unlike the common run of men, I wield a double power to please, And use the GRAVER and the PEN With equal aptitude and ease.
I move with that illustrious crew, The ambidextrous Kings of Art; And every mortal thing I do Brings ringing money in the mart.
Hence, to the morning hour, the mead, The forest and the stream perceive Me wandering as the muses lead---- Or back returning in the eve.
Two muses like two maiden aunts, The engraving and the singing muse, Follow, through all my favorite haunts, My devious traces in the dews.
To guide and cheer me, each attends; Each speeds my rapid task along; One to my cuts her ardour lends, One breathes her magic in my song.
Alone above the stream it stands, Above the iron hill, The topsy-turvy, tumble-down, Yet habitable mill.
Still as the ringing saws advance To slice the humming deal, All day the pallid miller hears The thunder of the wheel.
He hears the river plunge and roar As roars the angry mob; He feels the solid building quake, The trusty timbers throb.
All night beside the fire he cowers: He hears the rafters jar: O why is he not in a proper house As decent people are!
The floors are all aslant, he sees, The doors are all a-jam; And from the hook above his head All crooked swings the ham.
"Alas," he cries and shakes his head, "I see by every sign, There soon will be the deuce to pay, With this estate of mine."
The first pine to the second said: "My leaves are black, my branches red; I stand upon this moor of mine, A hoar, _unconquerable pine_."
The second sniffed and answered: "Pooh, I am as good a pine as you."
"Discourteous tree" the first replied, "The tempest in my boughs had cried, The hunter slumbered in my shade, A hundred years ere you were made."
The second smiled as he returned: "I shall be here when you are burned."