miller's joy, who's wont to sing and say:
"Let others toil from year to year, I live from day to day."

Thus, like the miller, bold and free, let us rejoice and sing,
The days of youth are made for glee, and time is on the wing;
This song shall pass from me to thee, along the jovial ring,
Let heart and voice and all agree to say, "Long live the King!"

_Isaac Bickerstaffe._

THE ANGEL'S WHISPER.

A baby was sleeping,
Its mother was weeping,
For her husband was far on the wild raging sea,
And the tempest was swelling
Round the fisherman's dwelling,
And she cried, "Dermot, darling,
oh come back to me."

Her beads while she numbered,
The baby still slumbered.
And smiled in her face, as she bended her knee;
Oh! bless'd be that warning,
My child, thy sleep adorning,
For I know that the angels are whispering with thee.
And while they are keeping
Bright watch o'er thy sleeping,
Oh, pray to them softly, my baby, with me,
And say thou would'st rather
They watch'd o'er thy father!
For I know that the angels are whispering with thee.
The dawn of the morning
Saw Dermot returning,
And the wife wept with joy her babe's father to see,
And closely caressing
Her child with a blessing,
Said, "I knew that the angels were whispering with thee."

_Samuel Lover_.

SIMON THE CELLARER.

Old Simon the Cellarer keeps a large store
Of Malmsey and Malvoisie,
And Cyprus and who can say how many more?
For a chary old soul is he,
A chary old soul is he;
Of Sack and Canary he never doth fail,
And all the year round there is brewing of ale;
Yet he never aileth, he quaintly doth say,
While he keeps to his sober six flagons a day:
But ho! ho! ho! his nose doth shew
How oft the black Jack to his lips doth go;
But ho! ho! ho! his nose doth shew
How oft the black Jack to his lips doth go.

Dame Margery sits in her own still-room.
And a Matron sage is she;
From thence oft at Curfew is wafted a fume,
She says it is Rosemarie,
She says it is Rosemarie;
But there's a small cupboard behind the back stair,
And the maids say they often see Margery there.
Now, Margery says that she grows very old
And must take a something to keep out the cold!
But ho! ho! ho! old Simon doth know
Where many a flask of his best doth go;
But ho! ho! ho! old Simon doth know
Where many a flask of his best doth go.

Old Simon reclines in his high-back'd chair,
And talks about taking a wife;