turn him to sport.

'Tis grievous to sue how the pitiless mob
Run round him and mimic his mournful complaint,

[Illustration: Poor Crazy Robert.]

And try to provoke him, and call him old Bob,
And hunt him about till he's ready to faint.

But ah! wicked children, I fear they forget
That God does their cruel diversion behold;
And that in his book dreadful curses are writ,
For those who shall mock at the poor and the old.

Poor Robert, thy troubles will shortly be o'er,
Forget in the grave thy misfortunes will be;
But God will his vengeance assuredly pour
On those wicked children who persecute thee.

[Illustration]

[Illustration: The Pet Lamb.]

THE PET LAMB.

The dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink;
I heard a voice: it said, Drink, pretty creature,
drink!
And, looking o'er the hedge, before me I espied
A snow-white mountain Lamb with a maiden at its
side.

No other sheep were near; the Lamb was all alone,
And by a slender cord was tethered to a stone;
With one knee on the grass did the little maiden
kneel,
While to that mountain Lamb she gave its evening
meal.

The Lamb, while from her hand he thus his
supper took,
Seemed to feast with head and ears; and his tail
with pleasure shook.
Drink, pretty creature, drink, she said in such a tone
That I almost received her heart into my own.

'Twas little Barbara Lethwaite, a child of beauty
rare!
I watched them with delight, they were a lovely
pair:
Now with her empty can the maiden turned away;
But ere ten yards were gone her footsteps did she
stay.

Towards the Lamb she looked; and from that
shady place
I unobserved could see the workings of her face;
If nature to her tongue could measured numbers
bring,
Thus, thought I, to her Lamb that little maid
might sing!

What ails thee, young one? what? why pull so at
thy cord?
Is it not well with thee? well both for bed and
board?
Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as grass
can be;
Rest, little young one, rest; what is't that aileth
thee?

What is it thou wouldst seek? what is wanting to
thy heart?
Thy limbs are they not strong? And beautiful
thou art:
This grass is tender grass; these flowers they
have no peers;
And that green corn all day is rustling in thy ears!

If the sun be shining hot, do but stretch thy woolen
chain;
This beech is standing by, its covert thou canst
gain!

For rain and mountain storms, th