Читать книгу Merrie England in the Olden Time - George Daniel - Страница 15

From childhood he rear'd me, how fondly my heart

Forgets not, nor lets not my tongue silent be;

But whispers, while sweet tears of gratitude start,

A blessing and pray'r for his kindness to me!

I'll breathe not his name, though its record is deep

In my warm beating bosom, for fear he should frown,

Go read it where angels their register keep

Of the gifted and good, for 'tis there written down.

The conversation now took a more lively turn. Mr. Bosky fired off his jokes right and left; and if there be truth in physiognomy, the animated countenance of Uncle Timothy beamed with complacency and joy. He was in full song, and showered forth his wit and eloquence in glorious profusion, beauty following upon beauty. Thus another Attic hour glided imperceptibly away. The midnight chimes at length admonished us to depart. A galaxy of stars had risen in the unclouded firmament, and a refreshing air breathed around. And as we had many times during the evening filled our horns, the harvest moon had filled hers also to light us home.