KING ALFRED AND THE CAKES.

It’s seldom I repine at Fortune’s dealings,

Though mem’ry will bring back no end of feelings ;
When on the brown crisp rolls my eyes I fix,

I think upon those brave, though crusty, bricks,

Who—e’en as now I stir the dough so barmy—

With me, stirr’d up the flow’r of Guthrum’s army ;
And the fermenting bread—in size increased—

Oft calls to mind a rising in the (y) east ;

Which once I quell’d—when that bold rebel, Jackson,
Was hung on high—although a hang-low Saxon.*

 

SONG (Atrrzp).
(Am—Mary Blane.)
OH! once I was a happy king,
And led as gay a life

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* The above couplet is strongly recommended to mercy.