[From _Simple Settings, in Verse, for Six Portraits and Pictures,
from Mr. Dickens's Gallery_ (Boston, 1854)]
'Twas worth a crown, John Browdie, to hear you ringing out,
O'er hedge and hill and roadside, that loud, hilarious shout;
And how the echoes caught it up and flung it all about.
'Twas worth another, John, to see that broad and glorious grin,
That stretched your wide mouth wider still, and wrinkled round your
chin.
And showed how true the heart was that glowed and beat within.
Yes! Nick has beaten the _measther_,--'twas a sight beneath the
sun!
And I only wish, John Browdie, when that good deed was done,
That you and I had both been there to help along the fun.
Be sure he let him have it well;--his trusty arm was nerved
With hoarded wrongs and righteous hate,--so it slackened not nor
swerved,
Until the old curmudgeon got the thrashing he deserved.
The guinea, John, you gave the lad, is charmed forevermore;
It shall fill your home with blessings; it shall add unto your
store;
Be light upon your pathway, and sunshine on your floor.
These are the treasures, too, laid up forever in the sky,
Kind words to solace aching hearts, and make wet eyelids dry,
And kindly deeds in silence done with no one standing by.
And when you tell the story, John, to her, your joy and pride--
The miller's bonny daughter, so soon to be your bride--
She shall love you more than ever, and cling closer to your side.
Content and health be in your house! and may you live to see
Full many a little Browdie, John, climb up your sturdy knee;
The mother's hope, the father's stay and comfort long to be.
These are thy crown, O England; thy glory, grace, and might!--
Who work the work of honest hands, from early morn till night,
And worship God by serving man, and doing what is right.
All honor, then, to them! let dukes and duchesses give room!
The men who by the anvil strike, and ply the busy loom;
And scatter plenty through the land, and make the desert bloom.