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And sturdy Ben, to milk her then,
Sat closely down beside her.
So! So! they cried, stand steady now.
But all would not avail,
For with her foot the restless cow
Soon overthrew the pail.
On dirt and sward the milk was pour'd
By Brindle's luckless blow,
And in a pen they put her then
Till she could gentle grow.
The rest were sent, the milking done,
To graze in grassy field,
Till summon'd by the rising sun
Their morning's milk to yield.
LOST CHILD.
In Newport, through the silent street
At midnight came a hum
Of voices and of passing feet,
And loudly-beaten drum.
A child was lost,—none could be found
In alley, street, or lane;
His friends in sorrow searched around,
But search was all in vain.
