Then the lads and

the lasses begin to tottle,

But what would they

There's never a lord,

an earl, or knight,

But in this bottle

doth take delight;

For when he's hunting

of the deer

He oft doth wish

for a bottle of beer.

Likewise the man

that works in the wood,

A bottle of beer will

oft do him good.

So I wish in heav'n

his soul may dwell

That first found out

the leather bottèl.

And when the bottle

at last grows old,

And will good liquor

no longer hold,

Out of the side you

may take a clout,

To mend your shoes

when they're worn out;

Or take and hang it

up on a pin,

'Twill serve to put hinges

and old things in.

So I wish in heav'n

his soul may dwell

That first found out

the leather bottèl.

WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE.

WOODMAN, spare that tree,

Touch not a single bough

In youth it shelter'd me,
And I'll protect it now.
'Twas my forefather's hand
That placed it near his cot.
There, woodman, let it stand,
Thy axe shall harm it not.
That old familiar tree,

Whose glory and renown
Are spread o'er land and sea,

Say, wouldst thou hack it down?

Woodman, forbear thy stroke,
Cut not its earth-bound ties -
Oh, spare that aged oak,

Now, towering to the skies.
Oft, when a careless child,

Beneath its shade I heard
The wood-notes sweet and wild,
Of many a forest bird.
By mother kiss'd me here,
My father press'd my hand,

I ask thee, with a tear,

Oh, let that old oak stand.

My heart-strings round thee cling,
Close at thy bark, old friend-
Here shall the wild bird sing,

And still thy branches bend.
Old tree, the storm still brave,

And, woodman, leave the spot

While I've a hand to save

Thy axe shall harm it not.

General G. P. Morris.