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Title: Poetry for children
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Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00058002/00001
 Material Information
Title: Poetry for children
Series Title: Poetry for children
Physical Description: Book
Language: English
Creator: Aikin, Lucy
Publisher: Longman, Brown, Green and Longmans
Place of Publication: London
Publication Date: 1850
Edition: New edition
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Bibliographic ID: UF00058002
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: ltuf - ALK0019
alephbibnum - 002248304

Table of Contents
    Front Matter
        Front Matter 1
        Front Matter 2
        Front Matter 3
        Front Matter 4
    Frontispiece
        Frontispiece
    Title Page
        Page i
        Page ii
    Preface
        Page iii
        Page iv
        Page v
        Page vi
        Page vii
        Page viii
    Table of Contents
        Page ix
        Page x
        Page xi
        Page xii
    Main
        Page 1
        Page 2
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Full Text












































































PtIlthshcd bvI.onpltan ? C.


W






POETRY FOR CHILDREN,


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31F


[Pr im -UQIvJ
















































LonmoN :
lpo11woom And $SAW.
No. wi i-esquat.









PREFACE

TO THE NEW EDITION, 182.




THa selection of which a revised edition is her
offered to the public, first appeared in the year
1801. Its object was to promote the love sad
study of poetry, by supplying, in a convenient
form, a considerable number of pieces of verm
proper for children to commit to memory. As
the want of such a volume had long been felt, it
quickly became popular, and no later work oa
a similar plan appears'as yet to have superseded
it in general estimation. But the compiler her
self became sensible, that partly from the ie-
perfection of her youthful judgment, partly from
the scarcity of materials perfectly adapted to





iv PREFACE.

her purpose, she had given admission to several
pieces which might be changed with advantage;
either for such as she had previously overlooked,
or for productions of some of the excellent
poets who had arisen amongst us since the
formation of her selection. She has therefore
willingly embraced the opportunity of a new
impression to bestow on this little work a com-
plete revision, the result of which has becn the
insertion of about a fourth part of new matter,
and the suppression of a nearly equal bulk of
the old.






PREFACE


TO THE FIRST EDITION.



TO PARENTS.

SInce dragons and fairies, giants and witches,
have vanished from our nurseries before the
wand of reason, it has been a prevailing
maxim, that the young mind should be fed on
mere prose and simple matter of fact. A fear,
rational and laudable in its origin, of adding, by
idle or superstitious terrors, to the natural weak-
ness of childhood, or contaminating, by any
thing false or impure, its simplicity and inno-
cence,-has, by some writers, and some parents,
been carried to so great an excess, that pro
bably no work would be considered by them
as unexceptionable for the use of children, in
which any scope was allowed to the fanciful
or marvellous. It may well be questioned,
however, whether the novel-like tales now
written for the amusement of youth, may not
be productive of more injury to the mind, by
vi a false picture of the real world, than
Siry fictions of the last generation, which
AS





PREPAC.L


wandered over the region of shadows; -
whether a romantic sensibility be not an evil
more formidable in magnitude, and protracted
in duration, than a wild and exalted fancy.
Poetry has many advantages for children
over both these classes of writing. The magic
of rhyme is felt in the very cradle the mother
and the nurse employ it as a spell of soothing
power. The taste for harmony, the poetical
ear, if ever acquired, is so almost during in-
fancy. The flow of numbers easily impresses
itself on the memory, and is with difficulty
erased. By the aid of verse, a store of beau-
tiful imagery and glowing sentiment may be
gathered up as the amusement of childhood,
which, in riper years, may Rooth the heavy
hours of languor, solitude, and sorrow; may
enforce sentiments of piety, humanity, and
tenderness; may sooth the soul to calmness.
rouse it to honourable exertion, or ire it with
virtuous indignation.
But when we consider how many of the
slects of verse are unintelligible to children,
or improper for them; how few poems have
been written, or how few poets could be
trusted to write, to them;- we shall not be
surprised to find it a frequent complaint with
judicious instructors, that so few pieces pro.





PREFAC. ii

per for children to commit to memory ae to
found either in the entire works of poets
or in selections made from them purpoely
for the use of young people. To meet the
wishes of such parents and teachers was the
object of the following selection. It was
thought that all the pieces ought to be short
enough to be learned at one or two lesso,
and good enough to be worth remembering;
that their style should have nothing in it that
a well-educated child might not, their matter
nothing that be should not, understand as
soon as he should be at all able to feel the
beauties of real poetry.
Natural history, that popular and delightful
study, justly claimed a considerable part of the
work, as affording a kind of knowledge at once
pleasing and proftable to children.
Description of different times and seasons,
of objects of nature and art, of various occu-
pations and modes of life, opened another
copious source. Moral and religious sentiment
furnished a third portion. Miscellaneous frag-
ments, laboriously gleaned from a vast number
of poets, formed the remainder of the little
volume.
No arrangement appeared necessary; th
only point of this nature which has been





VIU PRIEACE.

studied was,-to mingle the pieces as much as
possible. Some valuable poems were passed
over on account of their occurrence in almost
all other selections; the brevity required in
the pieces precluded the insertion of others;
-but it is hoped that the smallness of the
work will exculpate the compiler from the
imputation of any sins of omission. Some
liberties have unavoidably been taken, in
order to make wholes of fragments, or to bring
pieces within due compass.
Such is the plan of the work;-of its execu-
tion the compiler can only say that it has cost
much time, and much thought.
It is now trusted to a candid public, with
the hope, that a performance, aspiring, from
its very nature, to little applause, will not
incur the hazard of much censure.


SUtte yntwlem.












CONTENTS.





The Beggar Man Original I
To a Butterfly Wordworth 8
The Cuckoo Lgn 4
The Grasshopper Cowley 6
The Cricket Ano. 7
Hymn Oratorio of Abel
The Fly Anonymous 9
The Kitten Jobnn llie
The Robin Original -
The Kid Shenstone 18
The nrst of April Warton 14
di Original -
Midaight Drydn It
Fortitude M- Barauld 1-
A Fable Cowper W
The Cotrter to her Infant Aeao. I
eTh h Wliams -
The Dead Sparrow Anon. 9
The Swallow Originl -
Ode on Solitude Pope *
Tbe Strawberry Bloom Wordwt *
t% lM Mrs. BartbId 97
Iose's Petition - Mrsn. Berbuld
The Nightingale and Glowaorn Cowper n a
Birds Mrs. BaubanM *
Insects Mr. Barbanld
The Frosen Shower A. Pillips -
The Faithful Bird Aon.
'Te Old Man's Comforts Soutey *
The Traveller's Return Sothey 41
To PFortune Thomon 4g
'The Wind Anoo. 44
The Tue Sta Gay 0
Hymn Moutgomery 4






X CONTENT.

The Pdlmonter and has Marmot Original -
TheSul Cowper -
he Ced lark Anton. -
T Pet Lamb Wordsworth
The Sailor Ano. -
The Soldier Smyth 4
The Midmsmmer Wish Crosall -
The War Horse Dryde' Virgil -
The Chariot Race Drd' ViDril -
The Polr Winter Dryde's Viril M
Th Alps at Day-Break Rg -
The Oive Pope's Homer
AWish Rogers *I
y Darwi II
dingthe Alps Pope -
The Raven Anon. a
To the Crow The Wiccamical Chaplet B
Hason, or The Camel Driver Collins -
The Orne Tree Lord Lyttelton -
Tbre generations of Man Pope's Homer
Wolves Thomson -
A Flood Pope's Homer 70
The Fy Anon. 71
ToaBee B Anthology 71
Thel ower Bowles 78
Te Nig at Lee 74
TheUte Dryden's Virgil 7
Ariel' Shaslupeare 7
The Fairy Qeea's llaby Sbakspea 7
The Smmer venin Wlk White 71
rcovtry from Sickness Gr -
The Whirlwind Drden's Virgil
To Lerve Water Smllett -
The Swiss Cowlbrd's Hong Montomery
To a Hede-Sparrow -* Aothology
SApproach of a Storm Dyde *
Te man Wa.liam I
Coustantinople Orignal
TheThames 9 Sco7t
The Tempestuo being Scott -
The Pleaat evening Scott -
Description of aCottae Scott
Another Scott Mt
The Hare and Tortoim d s-
be Orphan Boy Thelwall -
Aast Slaery owr .
Theabour of Idless Mrs. H.More






CONTrNTIB


y m PutonI
inDying Nemr
rkricris
To a Robin Redbrest -
The MiLtions of the Swallow
lie A roech of Winter -
The L -
Subime after a Shower
Anbia
Cheerfulnes
The Cock -
The Fallen Oak
A Country Life
A Grove
The Happy Man
lonocece
A Winter Soon
Tke Vanity ofreatnew
Priae Leeboo
'he Winter Torrent -
Huanti the Hare
21e Mry's Song -
Haliatos -
oHare -
T Redbret and the Butterfly
1Outrie -




TL UM
r titi-l


Water Frend
Glowworm
5- .

CaT *-


The Poplar eld


Cunologham
Anon.
A. Hume
Parel
C. SOuth
Scott
Whitehead
Warton

Dryden
Crabbe
Brown
Drryden
Dryce
Sbakapeare
Sliaspeare
Shirley
Original
Drydeo
Somerville
Aaoo.
Wordaworth
Drydean
Addison
Wordswot
You"
Youen
YONW
Toang
PoM*
Anon.
POD
Anoa.
Addieon
Addnon
Addiso
Cowper
Rowe
Addison
Pope
Cowper


lie
- .1



- lie
11
*- i118

114
*- 3L14

Ie
'17
* Hg

aII
MM
II


41U








as
- 3m




Al
we
MI







COMYTINI.


Tno African Prince -
=Montaina of Ice -
A torm in a Desert
The Starved Goldfnch
e Pieaple and Bee
rtUdinZ tbe-Pocks -
Ville Sound -
A Storm in Harvest
1Bre "- :
The Peimett -
T Grampu -
Mornug Soonds -
Tbe Love of Praise -
BeTevolence -
Plsoiqden -
Olrtitude -
eM itode -
Ti5 Virtue








Ti witer Cttamt -
'otude -











---- o.- .
C cHome -
WWlimter Cobn


Addion
Addison

ddison
Cowper
Cower -
Fletcher
Goldsmith
Dryden's Virgil
Fldcher
Montgomery
Gjay -
Darwin
Akenside
Beattie
Akenside
Beattie
Rowe

Rowe
Akenside
Yalden -
Original
Conreve
otway -
eDr n
Aoon.
Darwin
Doria
Pope
Darwin
Aon.
Somervlli
Anthology
Rowe
Darwin
Otway
Rowe
Origiil
Gay

C. fSith


14

- 147
*146
*146

- 161
*11662
- AM
- 165
157
- 186
-186
- am)
158

- 161
ISO
159
-IO


NOD
16


lot
-NO
-NO
-lis
M






I,
174
-U4





-IN
Is?








POETRY

3-


CHILDREN.




THE BEGGAR AMN.

AaouD the fire, one wintry might,
The inmers rosy chuiMrm st;
The ggot lent its blMkb Iigft ;
And joke went round and cerlm AL

Wbh hark I a gentle hlealtey he .
Low tapping at the bold door;
And thus, to gin their willing ear,
A feeble voce wa heard timploar





t Te Beggar Man.
" Cold blows the blast across the moor;
The sleet drives hissing in the wind;
Yon toilsome mountain liea before:
A dreary treeless waste behind.

"My eyes are weak ian dim with age;
No road, no path, can I descry;
And these poor rags ill stand the rage
Of such a keen inclement sky.

u So faint I am -these tottering feet
No more my feeble frame can bear;
My sinking heart forgets to beat,
And dr4ftg mnows my tbDb prepare.

u Open yoar hospitable door,
And shield me from the biting blast
Cold, cold it blows arom the moor,
SThe weary moor that I have pas'd I

With hasty sep thm famur ran,
And coie beide the fie they place
The poor half-froen beggar man,
With shaking limbe and palid aho





Te4 aBm a
The little children locking cam
And warmed his sntining hans in thi
And busily the good old dame
A comfortable mea prepares.

Their kindness cheered his drooping soul;
And slowly down his wrinkled cheek
The big round tear were seen to roll,
And told the thanks he could not speak.

The children, too began to sig,
And all their merry chat was o'er;
And yet they felt, they knew not why,
More glad than they had doe before.




TO A BUTTERFLY.

r watched you nowa ful half hour,
Self-poised upon that yellow lower;
And, little butterfly! indeed,
I know not if you sleep or feed.
B





The ChWrkea


How motionless I-not frozen sees
More motionless I-and then,
What joy awaits you when the breeze
Hath found you out among the trees,
And calls you forth again I

This plot of orchard ground is ours,
My trees they are, my sister's flowers;
Here rest your wings when they are weary,
Here lodge as in a sanctuary!
Come to us often, fear no wrong;
Sit near us on the bough I
Well talk of sunshine and of sang,
And summer days when we were young;
Sweet childish days that were as long
As twenty days are now.
WORDSWORTH.

THE CUCKOO.

HAL, beateous stranger of the wood,
Attendant on the spring I
Now heaven repair thy vernal seat,
And woods thy welcome sing.





2lU Cade


Soon a the daisy deehs thebtgi
Thy certain vloe we hmr
Hast thou a star to gwide thy path
Or mark th roUiag y.u?

Delightful visitant I with thee
I hail the time of flowers,
When heaven is filled with music sweet,
Of birds. among the bowers.

The schoolboy, wandering in the.wood
To pull the flowers so gay,
Starts-thy curious voice to hear,.
And imitates thy lay.

Soon as the pea puts on the hIoois~
Thou liest the vocal vale,
An annual guest in other lands,
Another spring to hail

Sweet bird, thy bower i aver gre.
Thy sky is ever clear;
Thou hast no sorrow in thy song.
No winter in thy year I
B3





The GrMOioppr.
01 could I fly, rd y wih thees
We'd make, with socal wing
Our annul visit oer the globe,
Companies of the spring.
LOGAN.



THE GRASSHOPPER.

HArT inect I what can be
In happine compared to thee?
Fed with nourihment divine,
The dewy morning's gentle wine.
Nature waits upon thee still,
And thy verdant cup does fill
Thou dost drink and dance and sing,
Happier than the happiest king I
All the field which thou dot see,
All the plant belong to thee,
All that rmamer hours produce,
Fertile made with early juice.
Man for thee does sow and plow,
Pkrmer he, and landlord thou I





TAs Citdt.


Thou dost lwooently enjoy,
Nor does thy luxury destry
Thee country binds with gladness ear,
Prophet of the ripped year I
To thee, of all things upon earth,
Life is no longer than thy mirth.
Happy insect I happy thou
Dost neither age nor winter know;
But when thou'st drunk, and danced, and sung
Thy fill, the flowery leaves among,
Sated with thy summer feast
Thou retir'st to endless rest.
cowur.

THE CRICKET.

Liam. imIt f~ll of mirth,
Chirping on my kitchen hearth,
Wheresoe'er be thine abode
Always harbinger of good,
Pay me for thy warm retreat
With a song more soft and sweet;
In return thou shalt receive
SSuch a strain as I can give.







Thus thy praise shall be expressed
Inoffensive) welcome guest I
While the rat is on the scout,
And the mouse with curious snout,
With what vermin else infest
Ev'ry dish and spoil the best;
Frisking thus before the fire
Thou hast all thy heart's desire.

Though in voice and shape they be
Form'd as if akin to thee,
Thou surpassest, happier far,
Happiest grasshoppers that are;
Theirs is but a summer song,
Thine endAres the winter loqg,
Unimpair'd, and shrill, and cear,
Melody throughout the year.

HYMN.

How cheerful along the gay mead
The diuy and cowslip appear 1
The flocks, as they carelessly feed,
Rejoice in the spring of the year.





Mke my. f

The myrtles that deck the gay bowers,
The herbage that springs from the sod,
Trees, plants, cooling frits, and sweet lowers.
All rise to the praise of my God.

Shall man, the greet master of all,
The only insensible prove?
Forbid it, fair gratitude's call !
Forbid it, devotion and love I
The Lord who such wonders could raise,
And still can destroy with a nod,
My lips shall incessantly praise;
My soul shll be wrapt in my God I
ORATORIO r0 AutL.


THE FLY.

Bus, curious, thirsty fly,
Drink with me, and drink as I I
Freely welcome to my cup,
Couldst thou sip, and sip it up.
Make the most of life you may,
Lif is short, and wears away.





2%e Kiten.


Both alike are mine and thine,
Hast'ning quick to their decline;
Thine's a summer, mine's no more,
Though repeated to threescore;
Threescore summers, when they're gone,
Will appear as short as one.



TfiE KITTEN.

WANTON drole, whose harmless play
Beguiles the rustic's closing day,
When drawn the evening fire about,
Sit aged crone and thoughtless lout,
And child upon his three-foot stool
Waiting till his supper coo4
And maid, whose cheek outblooms the rose,
As bright the blazing faggot glows;
Come, show thy tricks and sportive graces,
Thus circled round with merry faces.

Backward coil'd, and crouching low,
With glaring eye-balls watch thy fe, -





Thie lin


The housewi~f' spindle wbidrlh imnd,
Or thread or straw, that on the grosid
Its shadow throws, by urchin sly
Held out to lure thy roving eye;
Then, onward stealing, fiercely spring
Upon the futile, faithless thing;
Now, wheeling round with bootless skill,
Thy bo-peep tail provokes thee still,
As oft beyond thy curving side
Its jetty tip is seen to glide.
And see I the start, the jet, the bound,
The giddy scamper round and round,
With leap, and jerk, and high curvet,
And many a whirling somerset;
But, stopped the while thy wanton play,
Applause now thy feats repay;
For now, beneath some urchin's hand,
With oddst pride thou tak'st thy stand,,
While many a stroke of fondness glides
Along thy back and tabby sides.
Dilated swells thy glossy fur,
And loudly sings thy busy pur;
As, tuning well the equal sound,
Thy clothing feet be-pat the ground,





The BoRin.


And all tiar harmless caws disclose,
Like prickles of an early rose;
While softly from thy whisker'd cheek
Thy half-closed eyes peer mild and meek.
JOANNA BAIUJE


THE ROBIN.

Szz, mamma, what a sweet little prize I have
found!
A robin that lay half benumbed on the ground.
I caught him and fed him and warmed in my
breast,
And now he's a nimble and blithe as the best.
Look, look, how he flatten -He'll slip from my
hold:
Ah rogue I you've forgotten both hanger and
cold I
But indeed 'tis in ain, for I sha'n't et yotufee,
For all your whole life you're a prisoner wkh me.
Well housed and well fd, in your cage you
will sing,
And make our dull winter a gay as the spring,





Th& XKI.


But stay;--'uam 'e is e with w6p imad to
Bar,
To be sha up in pribo, mad neve dy mMo I
And I, who sooften have longed for a fight
Shall I keep you prisoner?- Mamma -is it
right?
No, come, pretty robin, I met set you free, -
For your whistle, though sweet, would sound
sadly to me.
ORIGINAL.



THE KID.

A T"As bedews my Delia's eye
To think you playful kid most die;
From crystal spring and flowery mead,
Must, in his prime of life, recede.

Eewbil) in sportive circles, round
She saw him wheel, and frik, and bound,
From rock to rock pursue his way,
And on the fearful margin play.





6 7 hTe l of ApriL
Pleaed on his various freaks to dwell,
She saw him climb my rustic cell:
Thence eye my lawns wiih veidure bright,
And seem all ravished at the sight.

She tells with what delight he stood
To trace his features in the flood:
Then skipp'd aloof with quaint amaze;
And then drew near again to gaze.

She tells me how, with eager speed
He flew to hear my vocal reed;
And how with critic face profound,
And steadfast ear, devour'd the sound.

His every frolic, tight as air,
Deserves the gentle Delia's care
And tears bedew her tender eye
To think the playful kid must die.
8HENrTONU.

THE FIRST OF APRIL
MINDFUL of disaster past,
And shrinking at the northern blast,





The MW V ApL

The sleety storm returning till,
The morning boar, the evening chill
Reluctant comes the timid Spsing.
Scarce a bee with airy ring
Murmurs the blossom'd boughs around
That clothe the garden's southern bound:
Scarce the hardy primrose peeps
From the dark dell's entangled steeps:
O'er the field of waving broom
Slowly shoots the golden bloom:
Scant along the ridgy land
The beans their new-born ranks expand;
The fresh-turned soil, with tender blades,
Thinly the sprouting barley shades:
The swallow, for a moment seen,
Skims in haste the village green:
SFraught with a transient frozen shower,
If a cloud should haply lower,
Sailing o'er the landscape dark,
Mute on a sudden is the lark;
But, when gleams the sun again
O'er the pearl-besprinkled plain,
SAnd from behind his watery veil
Looks through the thin descending hail,





ndia.


She mounts, and, lessening to the sight,'
Salutes the blythe return of light,
And high her tuneful track pursues
'Mid the dim rainbow's scattered hues.
Beneath a willow, long finEook,
The fisher seeks his customerd nook,
And, bursting thro' the crackling sedge
That crowns the current's caverned edge,
'Startles from the bordering wood
The bashful wild-duck's early br6od.
WARVON

INDIA.

WHERE sacred Ganges pours along the pm,
And Indus rolls to swell the eastern main,
What awful scenes the curious min d delight I
What wonders burst upon the dazzled sight I
There giant palms lift high their tuted heads,
The plantain wide his graceful foliage ipreds;
Wild in the woods the active monkey sprigs,
The chattering parrot claps his painted wings;
'Mid tall bamboos lies hid the deadly snake;
The tiger couches in the tangled brake;







The potted ais boundsia few away,
The leopard darts on his defeacele prey.
'Mid reedy pools and ancient forests rde,
Cool, peaceful haunts of awful solitude I
The huge rhinoceros rends the crashing boughs,
And stately elephants untroubled browse.
Two tyrant seasons rule the wide domain,
Scorch with dry heat, or drench withfloods of rain:
Now feverish herds rush adding o'er the plains,
And cool in shady streams their throbbing veins
The birds drop lifeless from the silent spray,
And nature faints beneath the fery day;
Then bursts the deluge on the inking shore,
And teeming plenty empties all her store.
SoWeltM..

MIDNIGHT.
'TwA dead of night, when weary bodies close
Their eyes in balmy sleep and soft repose;
The winds.no longer whisper through the woods5
Nor muanuring tides disturb the gentle floods.
The stars in silent order moved around,
And peace, with downy wings, was brooding o
the ground.





lbuiilu. A IF.Mu..


The focks and herds, and pwrty-.olbdr'd bwl,
Which haunt the woods, or swim the reedy pool
Stretched on the quiet earth securely lay,
Forgetting the past labours of the day.


FORTITUDE
THE bold swimmer joys not so
To feel the proud waves under him, and beat
With strong repelling arm the billowy surge;
The generous courser does not so exult
To toss his floating mane against the wind,
And neigh amidst the thunder of the war, -
As Virtue to oppose her swelling breast,
Like a firm shield, against the darts of Fate.
MMU. DAAULD.

A FABLE.
A aurs, while with glossy breast
Her new laid egg she fondly press'd;
And, on her wicker-work high mounld, *
Her chickens prematurely counted,
Enjog'd at ease the genial day,
Twas April--on the verge of May.





77he Cbiager to r IJfi. to
But suddenly. wind as high
As evyr wept a mwiter sky,
Shook the oyog leaves about her ers,
And filled her with a thousand fears
Lest the rude blast should snap the bough,
And spread her golden hopes below.
But just at eve the blowing weather
And all her fears were hush'd together:
And.now, quoth poor unthinking Ralph,
'Tis over, and the brood is safe;
The morning came, when neighbour Hodge,
Who long had mark'd her airy lodge,
And destin'd all the treasure there
A gift to his expecting fair,
Climb'd, like a squirrel to his dray,
And bore the worthless price away.


THE COTTAGER TO HER INFANT
Tar days a cold, the nights are long
The north-wind sings a doleful seeg
Tka hush again upon my breast;
AI merry thing arenow at ret, .. ..
Save thee, my pretty lowa





The 7flm.


The kitten sleeps upon the hearth,
The crickets long have ceased their mirth
There's nothing stirring in the house,
Save one ee, hungry, nibbling mouse,
Then why so busy thou ?

Nay I start not at that sparkling light,
'Tis but the moon that shines so bright
On the wmdow-pane bedropped with rain:
Then, little darling I sleep again,
And wake when it is day.
ANON.



THE THRUSH.

How void of care yon merry thrush,
That tunes melodious on the bush,
That has no sores of wealth to keep,
No lands to plow, no corn to rap I

He never frets for worthless things,
Ist lives in peace, and sweetly sings;





The Dead 4wbr~ow


Enjoys the present with his mate,
Unmindful of to-morrow's fate.

Of true felicity posiest,
He glides through life supremely blest;
And for his daily meal relies
On Him whose love the world supplies.

Rejoiced he finds his morning fare,
His dinner lies he knows not where;
Still to th' unfailing hand he chants
Hi grateful song, and never wants.
WILLIAMS.



THE DEAD SPARROW

TELL me not of joy I there's none
Now my little sarrow's gone:
He would chirp iad play with me
He would hang the wing awhile;
Till at length he saw me smile,
0 how sullen he would be I





M Thl Dead Spravw.
He would catch a crumb, and then,
Sporting, let it go again;
He from my lip
Would moisture sip;
He would from my trencher feed;
Then would hop, and then would run,
And cry phiip when he'd done I
0 I whose heart can choose but bleed?

0 how eager would he fight,
And ne'er hurt though he did bite I
No morn did pass,
But on my glass
He would sit, and mark and do
What I did; now ruffle all
His feathers o'er, now let 'em fall;
And then straightway sleek 'em to.
Now my faithful bird is gone;
0 let mournful turtles join
With loving red-breasts, and combine
To sing dirges o'er his stone I





M -Mmfki


THE SWALLOW.

SWALLOW that on rapid wing
Sweep'st along in sportive ring,
Now here, now there, now low, now high,
Chasing keen the painted fly; -
Could I skim away with thee
Over land and over sea,
What streams would flow, what cities rise,
What landscapes dance before mine eyes!
First from England's southern shore
'Cross the channel we would soar,
And our vent'rous course advance
To the plains of brightly France;
Sport among the featheid choir
On the verdant banks of Loire;
Skim Garonnes majestic tide,
Where Bourdeaux adorns his side;
Cross the todwring Pyrenes,
'Mid myrtle grove and orange trews;
Enter them the wild domain
Where wolves prowl round the flocks of Spain,





Ode. a Soikide.


Where silk-worms spin, and olives grow,
And mules plod surely on and slow.
Steering thus for many a day
Far to South our course away,
From Gibraltar's rocky steep
Dashing o'er the foaming deep,
On sultry Afric's fruitful shore
We'd rest at length, our journey o'er,
Till vernal gales should gently play
To waft us on our homeward way.
ORo101nA.


ODE ON SOLITUDE.

HAPPT the man whose wish and care
A few paternal acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air
In his own ground I

Whose herds with milk, wb fields with brad,
Whose fcli supply him with attire,
Whose trees in summer yield him shad
In winter im.







Blest, who can uncoern'dly And
Hours, day and yea slide sot away,
In health of body, peace of mind,
Quiet by day;

Sound sleep by night; study and ease
Together mix'd; sweet recreation;
And innocence, which most does please
With meditation.

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown,
Thus unlamented let me die I
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lie.




THE STRAWBERRY BLOSSOM.

TaAT is a work of waste Uad ruin-
Do as Charles and I are doing I
Strawberry bossoms, one and all,
We must spare them here are many





* T aM. nd erh i JMawm
Look at it the lower is small,
Small and low, though fair as any:
Do not touch it I summers two
I am older, Anne, than you.

Pull theprimrose, sister Anne I
Pull as many as you can.
Here are daisies, take your fill;
Pansies, and the cuckoo-flower:
Of the lofty daffodil
Make your bed and make your bower:
Fill your lap and ill your bosom;
Only spare the strawberry blossom I

*Primroses, the spring may love them -
Summer knows but little of them.
Violets, a barren kind,
Withered on the ground must lie;
Daisies leave no fruit behind
When the pretty flowerets die;
Pluck them, and another year
As many will be growing here.
God has given a kindlier power
To the fivord strawberrvlower.







When the months of spring are led
Hither let Ps bend aer walk;
Lurking berries, ripe and red,
Then will hang on every stalk,
Each within its leafy bower;
And for that promise spare the Swer.
WORDMWORTH.


SPRING.

Now the glad earth her froin ane unbinds,
And o'er her bosom breathe the western wihss;
Already now the sow-drop dares appear,
The first pale blossom of th' unripen'd year,
As Flora's breath, by movte trasformuad power,
Had changed ma idcc into a lowrr
Its name and hue the scendem plant retains,
And winter lingers in its icy veins.
To these succeed the violet's glossy blue,
And each inferior Bower of winter hue;
Till riper months the perfect year disclose
And Flora cries exulting,( Se my rose I"
Mrs. NADAULD.





ThDe Mw'e Pdilkir


THE MOUSE'S PETITION.

Foud is ih Irup, uMr.r Ad e ts vx fae

0 RsAr a pensive prisoner's prayer,
For liberty that sighs;
And never let thine heart be shut
Against the wretch's cries

For here forlorn and sad I sit
Within the wiry grate;
And tremble at the approaching morn
Which brings impending fate.

If e'er thy breast with freedom glow'd,
And spurn'd a tyrnt's chain,
Lt not thy strong oppressive force
A free-born mouse detain.

O do not stain with uiltless blood
Thy hospitable hearth;
Nor triumph that thy wiles betrayed
A prize so little worsh I





k.. 7% NA tiWble' b mri. 0
The scatterd gleanings of a feast
My frugal Mias supply:
But if thine unrelenting heart
That lender boon deny,

The cheerfAl light, the vital air,
Are blessings widely given;
Let nature' commoners ejoy
The common gifts of heaven.

The well-taught philosophic mind
To all comp ion gives,
Cast roDd the world an equal eye,
And fes for all that li..
MRl. BAIhAULS.


THE NIGHTINGALE AND GLOW.
WORM.

A NIGHTINGAL that all day long
Had cheer'd the village wkh his wsog
*of yet at eve his note suspended,
Nor yet when eventide was ended,






Q .Th Nighinga and GlmwIm.
Began to feel, as well he might,
The keen demandsof appetite;
When, looking eagerly around,
He spied far off, upon tie ground,
A something shining in the dark,
And knew the glow-worm by his sprA { .
So, stooping down from hawthorn top,
He thought to put him in his crop.
The worm, aware of his intent,
Harangued him thus, right eloquent -
Did you admire my lamp, quoth be,
As much as I your minstrelsy,
You would abhor to do me wrong,
As much as I to spoil your og;
For 'twas the self-same power divine
Taught you to sing and me to shine;
That you with music, I with light,
Might beautify and cheer the night.
The songster heard his short oration,
And warbling out his appiobation,
Released him, as my story telks,
And found a supper somewhere els.
cOwMFf,








BIRDS.


SAY, who the various nations can declare
That plow with busy wing the peopled air?
These cleave the crumbling bark for insect food,
Those dip their crooked beak in kindred blood;
Some haunt the rushy moor, the lonely woods;
Some bathe their silver plumage in the goods;
Some fly to man, his household gods implore,
And gather round his hospitable door;
Wait the known call, and find protection their
From all the lesser tyrants of the air.
The tawny eagle seats his callow brood
High on the cliff, and feasts his young with
blood.
On Snowdon's rocks, or Orkney's widedomaiu
Whose beating elmS o? ehaog the western nuin,
The royal bird hiu eiley kingdom forms
Amidst the gathWein ctoude sad sullen storms;
Through the wide waste of air.he dats his sight,
And holds his sounding pinions poisedor flight;
Wli drel eye premeditates the war,
All$~rs his destined victim from afar


I






Bit.


Descending in a whirlwind to the ground,
His pinions like the rush of waters sound;
The fairest of the fold he bears away,
And to his nest compels the struggling prey.
He scorns the game by meaner hunters tore,
And dips his talons in no vulgar gore.
With lovelier pomp, along the grassy plain,
The silver pheasant draws his shining train:
Once on the painted banks of Ganges' stream
He spread his plumage to the sunny gleam;
But now the wiry net his flight confines,
He lowers his purple crest, and inly pines.

To claim the verse unnumber'd tribes appear
That swell the music of the vernal year:
Seized with the spirit of the kindly spring,
They tune the voice and sleek the glossy wing
With emulative strife the notes prolong,
And pour out all their little souls in soig.
When Winter bites upon the naked plain,
Nor food nor shelter in the groves remain,
By instinct led, a firm united band,
As marshall'd by some skilful general's hand,







The congregated nations wing their way
In dusky columns o'er the trackless ea;
In clouds unnumber'd annual hover o'er
The craggy Bass, or Kilda's utmost shore;
Thence spread their sails to meet the southern
wind,
And leave the gathering tempest'far behind;
Pursue the circling sun's indulgent ray,
Course the swift seasons, and o'ertake the day.
MRn BARBAULD.



INSECTS.

OBusrza the insect race, ordain'd to keep
The .luy sabbath of a half-year's sleep.
Entomb'd beneath the filmy web they lie,
And wait.the influence of a kinder sky.
When vernal sun-beam piercetheir dark retreat,
The heaving tomb.distends with vital heat;
The full-form'd brood, impatient of their cell,
Start from their trance, and burst their silken
shell:





4 Ieus.
Trembling awhile they stand, and scarely dare
To launch at once upon the untried air.
At length assured, they catch the fav'ring gale,
And leave their sordid spoils, and high in ether
saiL
Lo I the bright train their radiant wings unfold,
With silver fringed and freckled o'er with gold.
On the gay bosom of some fragrant flower
They idly fluttring live th* little hour;
Their life all pleasure, and their task all play,
All spring their age, and sun-shine all their day
Not so the child of sorrow, wretched man,
His course with toil concludes, with pain began,
That his high destiny he might discern,
And in misfortune's school this lesson learn, -
Pleasure's the portion of th' inferior kind;
But glory, virtue, Heaven for man dsign'd.

What atom forms of insect life appear I
And who can follow Nature's pencil here?
Their wings with sure, green, and purple
glou'd,
Studded with colowr'd eyes, with gems em-
boss'd,







Inlaid with pearl, and mark'd with various stains
Of lively crimson through their dusk veins.
Some shoot like living stars athwart the night,
And scatter from their wings a vivid light,
To guide the Indian to his tawny loves,
As through the woods with cautious step hb
moves.
See the proud giant of the beetle race;
What shining arms his polish'd limbs enchase
Like some stern warrior, formidably bright,
His steely sides reflect a gleaming light:
On his large forehead spreading horns he
weqrs;
And high in air the branching atders bars
(Oer many an inch extends his wide domain,
And his rich treasury swells with hoardedgran.
RMU ZUAI&








THE FROZEN SHOWER.

Wries dt CopeAuge.

EuR yet the clouds let fall the treasured snow,
Or winds began through hazy skies to blow,
At evening a keen eastern breeze arose,
And the descending rain unsullied froze.
Soon as the silent shades of night withdrew,
The ruddy morn disclosed iMImce to view
The face of Nature in a rich disguise,
And brightened every object to my eyes
For every shrub, and every blade of grass,
And everypointed thorn seem'dwroughtin glass
In pearls and rubies rich the bawthorns show,
While through the ice the crimson berries glow,
The thick-sprung reeds which watery marshes
yield,
Seem polished lances in a hostile field.
The stag, in limpid currents, with surprise
Sees crystal branches on his forehead rise:
The spreading oak, the beech and towering pin
Glazed over, in the freezing sether shine.


TAe ButifMoinn





7i hitkfu Bird. ,at
The frighted birds the rattling branches shi,
Which wave and glitter.in the distant sun.
Then, if a sudden gust of wind arise,
The brittle forest into atoms flies,
The crackling wood beneath the tempest bends,
And in a spangled shower the prospect ends.
A. PHILLIPS.


THE FAITHFUL BIRD.

THz greenhouse is my summer seat;
My shrubs, displaced from that retreat,
Enjoy'd the open air;
Two goldfinches, whose sprightly song
Had been their mutual solace long,
Liv'd happy prisoners there.

They sang as blithe as finches sing
That flutter loose on golden wing,
And frolic where they list;
Strangers to liberty, 'tis true,
But that delight they never knew,
And therefore never missed.
E





I l,, J, mL
But lt w hla in vwy sWma
Wh kr vt easily mpprn'd t
And Dick fik som desrs.
Which, afist mamy m dsirt vat,
Instroced bhi at Isth to gain
A pMn biwrm the rve

The open windows seemed to invite
The freeman to a farewell flight;
Bet Tbm we, stiR amdned
And Dick, although his way was lear,
Was mh teoo geeowm ad since,
To lar is tild beiad.

So ttlingo a o eg% by pkly.
And cbbp, sd kims, he mm'd tIo N
Yoa must nBttie alm.
Nor would he quit that chosn stand,
TU I, wimh slw and Ntaiu bldM
Iae'd hia to his ova





M1 O Mob 0 Oft


THE OLD MANS COMFORTS, AND
HOW HE GAINED THEM.

SYou are old, father William," the young man
cried,
The few locks that are left you are grey
You are hale, father William, a hearty old man:
Now tell me the reason, I pray."

*In the days of my youth," father William
replied,
"I remembered that youth would ly fat,
And abua'd not my health and my vigour at flnm
That I never might need then at lit."

" You are old, father William," the young man
cried,
M And pleasure with youth pass away,
And yet you lament not the days that are goaes
Now tell me the reason, I pray."





40 The Old Manas Cowfarti.
"In the days of my youth," father William
replied,
"I remembered that youth could not last;
I thought of the future whatever I did,
That I never might grieve for the past."

"You are old, father William," the young man
cried,
"And life must be hast'ning away;
You are cheerful, and love to converse upon
death:
Now tell me the reason, I pray."

"I am cheerful young man," father William
replied,
"Let the cause thy attention engage:
In the days of my youth I remembered my God,
And he hath not forgotten my age."
SOUTHEY.





TAW T7IIPOW &AWWTL


THE TRAVELLER'S RETURN

SwirT to the morning traveller
The sky-lark's earliest song,
Whose twinkling wings are seen at fits
The dewy light among.

And cheering to the traveller
The gaSl that round him plq,
When faint and warily he drags
Along his noontide way.

And when beneath th' unclouded sua
Fll weary toils %,
The flowrig war madk to him
Moat pleasant melody.

And when the evening light desys,
And all is calm around,
There is sweet music to his ear
In the distant sheep-bell's sound.
uS






To Folmue.


And sweet the neighboring church's bell
That marks his journey's bourn;
But sweeter is the voice of love
That welcomes his return I
80UTHEY.




TO FORTUNE.

I CARE not, Fortune I what you me deny:
You cannot rob me of free Nature's grace,
You cannot shut the windows of the sky,
Thro' which Aurora shows her brightening
facet
You cannot bar my constant feet to trace
The woods and lawns, by living streams at
eve:
Let health my nerves and finer fibres brace,
And I their toys to the great children leave.:
Of fancy, reason, virtue, nought can me bereave.
TWM OIw.





Tfe Wind


THE WIND.

SWHAT way does the wind come ? what way does
he go?
He rides over the water, and over the snow,
Through wood, and through vale, and eer
rocky height,
Which the goat cannot climb, takes his sounding
flight.
He tosses about in every bare tree,
As, if you look up, you plainly may see;
But how he will come, and whither he goes,
There's never a scholar in England knows./,

He will suddenly stop in a cunning nook,
And ringsasharp larumt-butifyou should look,
There's nothing to see but a cushion of suow
Round as a pillow and whiter than milk,
And softer than if it were covered with silk.
Sometimes hell hide in the cave of a rock,
rhen whistle as shrill as the buzzard cock;
-Yet seek him-and what shall you findlin
s- theplace?
but silence and empty space,
I t4,
"*?I -.






Te Wisnd


Save, in a corner, a heap of dry leaves,
That he's left for a bed for beggars and thieve I

Hark I over the roof he makes a pause,
And growls as if he would fix his claws
Right in the slates, and, with a huge rattle,
Drive them down, like men in a battle.
But let him range round, he does us no harm,
We'll build up the fire, we're snug and warm;
Untouch'd by his breath see the candle shines
bright,
And burns with a clear and steady light;
Books have we to read-hush I that halSied
knell,
Methinks,'tid the sound of the eight o'clock bel.

Come, now we'll to bed, and when we are there
He may work his own will, and what shall we
care?
He may knock at the door-we'll not let him in,
Maydrive at the windows-we'll laugh at his dint
Let him seek hi own home, wherever it be
Here's a coae warm house for Edward sad me./
AOrb,





The Toae Stag.


THE TAME STAG.

As a young stag the thicket pass'd,
The branches held his antlers fast.
A clown, who saw the captive hung,
Across his horns a halter slung.
Now safely hampered in the cord,
He bore the present to his lord.
His lord was pleas'd, as was the clown
When he was tipp'd with half a crown

The stag was brought before his wife:
The tender lady begg'd his life.
How sleek his skin I how speck'd like ermine
Sure never creature was so charming I
At first, within the yard confined,
He flies and hides from all mankind;
Now bolder grown, with fix't amaze
And distant awe, presumes to gaze;
Munches the linen on the lines,
And on a hood, or apron dines:
He steals my little master's bread,
Follows the servants to be fed:







Nearer and nearer now he stands,
To feel the praise of patting hands
Examines every fist for meat,
And, though repuls'd, disdains retreat;
Attacks again with levelPd horns
And man, that was his terror, scorns.
GAY.

HYMN.

THE God of nature and of grace
In all his works appears;
His goodness through the earth we tnce,
His grandeur in the spheres.

Behold this fir and fertile globe
By him in wisdom planned;
'Twas he, who girded like a robe
The ocean round the land

Lift to the firmament your eye
Thither his path pursue;
His glory, boundless s the sky,
O'erwhelms the wondering view.





7T Admuidm 4d. s ArAw" 47
Hen onthe hiU he fls hisrbrd
His flow a yonder plains i
His praise is warbled by the birds,
-O could we catch their strains I

Mount with the lark, ad bar our song
Up to the gat of light,
Or with the nightingale prolong
Our numbers thro' the night I

His blessing. fal in plnteous showers
Upon the lap of earth,
That teams with folfg, fruit, and powers,
And rings with infant mirth..



THE PIEDMONTESE AND HIS
MARMOT.

FRoM mydear native moorlands, for many a day,
Thro' fields and thro' cities Ive wandered away
Tho' I merrily sing, yet forlorn is my lot;
I'm a poor Piedmontese, and I show a marmot.






4 The Piedmontee and his Marmot.

This pretty marmot, in a mountain's steep side
Made a burrow, himself and his young ones to
hide.
The bottom they covered with moss and with hay,
And stopped up the entrance, and snugly they lay.
They carelessly slept till the cold winter blast,
And the hail, and the deep drifting snow-shower
was past,
But the warbling of April awak'd them again
To crop the young plants and to frisk on the plain.
Then I caught this poor fellow and taught him
to dance,
And we liv'd by his tricks as we rambled thro'
France.
.But he droops and grows drowsy, as onward we
roam,
And he and his master both pine for their home.
Let your charity then hasten back to his cot
The poor Piedmontese with his harmless marmot
ORIGINAL.





Th2 Snail


THE SNAIL.

To grass, or leaf, or fruit, or wall,
The snail sticks close, nor fears to fall,
As if he grew there, house and all
Together.

Within that house secure he hides,
When danger imminent betides
Of storm, or other harm besides
Of weather.

Give but his horns the slightest touch,
His self-collecting power is such,
He shrinks into his house with much
Displeasure.

Where'er he dwells, he dwells alone,
Except. himself has chattels none,
Well satisfied to be his own
Whole treasure.





S0 1e Cq L srk.
Thus, hermit-like, his life he leads,
Nor partner of his banquet needs,
And if he meets one, only feeds
The faster.

Who seeks him most be wore than blind,
(He and his house are so combined)
If finding it, he fails to find
Its master.
cowPER,fOlom the Latin.

THE CAGED LARK.

THa tuneful lark, who from his nest
Ere yet well-fledged is stol'n away,
With care attended, and caressed
Will sometimes sing the livelong day:
Yet still his native field he mourns,
His gaoler hate, his kindness scorns,
For freedom pants, for freedom burns.
That darling freedom once obtained,
Unskill'd, untaught to search for prey,
He mourns the liberty be gain'd,
And hungry pine his hours away.







Hlpless the little waodrer fi.,
Then homeward tMrn his losing eys,
And warbling out his grief he dies.

THE PET LAMB.

Tax dew was falling fast the stars began to
blink;
I heard a voice; it said, "Drink, pretty creature
drink I"
And looking o'er the hedge before me I espied
A snow-white mountain lamb with a maiden at
its side.
No other sheep were near, the lamb was all
alone,
And by a slender cord was tthered to a stone;
With one knee on the grand did th little maidea
kneel
While to that mountnl lamb she gave its
evening meal.
The lamb, while fom her hand he thus his sup-
per took,
Seemed to feast with head and ears, and his
tail with pleasure shook.
t


Itly a Pd LM






St 7he Pet Lamk

Now with her empty can the maiden turnedaway;
But ere ten yards were gone. her footsteps did
she stay.
6" What ails thee, young one, what? why pull
so at thy cord?
Is it not well with thee, well both for bed and
board ?
Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as grass can be;
Rest, little young one, rest, what is't that aileth
thee?
Rest, little young one, rest; hast thou forgot
the day
When my father found thee first in places far
away?
Many flocks were on the hills, but thou wert
owned by none;
And thy mother from thy side for evermore was
gone.
He took thee in his arms, and in pity brought
thee home:
A blessed day for thee I then whither would'st
thou roam ?
A faithful nurse thou hast, the dam that did thee
yean
Upon the mountain tops nokinder could havebeen.





%e Sailor.


Thou knowtst that twice a day I hae brought
thee in thi can
Fresh water from the brook, as clear as ever
ran:
And twice in the day, when the ground is wet
with dew,
I bring thee draughts of milk, warm milk it is
and new.
Why bleat softer me, why pull so at thy chain?
Sleep-and at break of day I will come to thee
again."
WODWORTH.



THE SAILOR.

How gaily a sailor's lif passes
Who roams o'er the wtery main
No treasure he ever amassed,
But cheerfully spends all his gain.

The world is a beautiful garden,
Enrich'd with the blessings of lif
IS





The Soldier.


The toiler with plenty rewarding,
Which plenty too often breeds strife.

When terrible tempests assail us,
And mountainous billows affright,
No grandeur or wealth can avail us,
But skilful industry steers right.

The various blessings of Nature
In various countries we try;
No mortal than us can be greater,
Who merrily live till we die.



THE SOLDIER.

A SOLDIER am I, the world over I range,
And would not my lot with a monarch exchange,
How dull is the ball and how cheerless the fair,
What's a feast or a frolic if we are not there?
Kind, hearty and gallant and joyous we come,
And the world looks alive at the sound of the
drun





7he MidiMumer wfish


" The soldiers are coming," the villagers cry,
All trades are suspended to see us pass by;
Quick flies the glad sound to the maiden upstairs,
In a moment dismissed are her broom and her
cares;
Outstretch'd is her neck till the soldiers she
sees,
From her cap the red ribbon plays light in the
breeze;
But lighter her heart plays, as nearer we come,
And redder her cheek at the sound of die drum.
surTH.

THE MIDSUMMER WISH.

WArF me, some soft and cooling breeze,
To Windsor's shady kind retreat,
Where sylvan scenes, wide-spreading trees,
Repel the dog-star's raging heat:

Where tufted grass and mossy beds
Afford a rural calm repose;
Where woodbines hang their dewy heads,
And fragrant sweets around disclose,





776 War H"e..


Old oasy Thanw, that flows fut by,
Along the smiling valley plays;
His glassy surface cheers the eye,
And thro' the flow'ry meadow strays.

His fertile banks with herbage green,
His vales with golden plenty swell;
Where'er his purer streams are seen,
The Gods of Health and Pleasure dwell.

Let me thy clear, thy yielding wave,
With naked arm once more divide;
In thee my glowing bosom lave,
And Got the gently rolling tide I
CROXALL.


THE WAR HORSE.

Taz fiery courser, when he hears from far
The sprightly trumpets and the shouts of war,
Pricks up his ears, and trembling with delight,
Shifts place, and paws, and hopes the proms'd
fight:





he Chariot Race. I

On his right shoulder his thick mane reclin'd,
Ruffles at speed, and dances in the wind.
Eager he stands,-then, starting with a bound,
He turns the turf, and shakes the solid ground.
Fire from his eyes, clouds from his nostrils flow,
He bears his rider headlong an the foe!
t.. ti'8 TIRGIL.


THE CHARIOT-RACE.

HAsT thou beheld, when from the goal they start,
The youthful charioteers with heaving heart
Rush to the race; and, panting, scarcely bear
Th' extremes of fev'rish hope and chilling fear;
Stoop to the reins, and lash with all their force ?
The flying chariot kindles in the course:
And now alow, and now aloft they fly,
As borne thro' air, and seem to touch the sky,
No stop, no stay; but clouds of sand arise,
Spurn'd and cast backward on the followers' eye,
The hindmost blows the foam upon the firj:
Such is the love of praise, an honourable thirst I
DRYDEN'S VIRGI.





7Yk Niar NRU


THE POLAR WINTER.

Tnu sun from far peeps with a sickly fika
Too weak the clouds and mighty fogs to chase
When up the skies he shoots his rosy head,
Or in the ruddy ocean seeks his bed.
Swift rivers are with sudden ice constrained,
And studded wheels are on their back sustained;
An hostry now for waggons, which before
Tall ships of burthen on their bosom bore.
The brazen caldrons with the frost are flaw'd
The garment, stiff with ice, at hearths is thaw'd;
With axes first they cleave the wine, and thence
By weight the solid portions they dispense.
Prom locks uncomb'd and from the frozen beard
Long icicles depend, and crackling sounds are
heard.
Meantime perpetual sleet and driving snow,
Obscure the skies, and hang on herds below.
The starving cattle perish in their stalls,
Huge oxen stand inclos'd in wintry walls
Ofsnow congeal'd; whole herds are buried there
Of mighty stags, and scarce their horns appear.





The Alp. d Dq.ra. of
The dextrous huntman wounds not them aa&r
With shafts or darts, or makes a distant war
With dogs, or pitches toils to stop their fight,
But close engages in unequal fght;
And while they strive in vain to make their way
Through hills of snow, and pitifully bray,
Assaults with dint of sword, or pointed spears,
And homeward on his back the burthen bears.
The men to subterranean caves retire,
Secure from cold, and crowd the cheerful fire:
With trunks of elms and oaks the hearth they
load,
Nor tempt th' inclemency of heav'n abroad.
Their jovial nights in frolic, and in play,
They pass, to drive the tedious hours away.
DRYDIRIs VIRGIL.


THE ALPS AT DAY-BREAK

TH sunbeams streak the azure skies,
And line with light the mountain's brow:
With hounds and horns the hunters rise,
And chase the roebuck through the sow.





7he Olive.


The goats wind slow their wonted way
Up craggy steeps and ridges rude;
Mark'd by the wild wolf for his prey,
From desert cave or hanging wood.

And while the torrent thunders loud,
And as the echoing cliffs reply,
The huts peep o'er the morning cloud,
Perch'd, like an eagle's nest, on high.
ROGERa



THE OLIVE.

SzI the young olive in the sylvan scene,
Crown'd by fresh fountains with eternal green,
Lifts the gay head in snowy flow'rets fair,
And plays and dances to the gentle air,
When, lo I a whirlwind from high heav'n invades
The tender plant, and withers all its shades;
It lies uprooted from its genial bed,
A lovely ruin, now defaced and dead.
POPE'S HOMEx.









A WISH.

MINz be a cot beside a hill;
A bee-hive's hum shall sooth my ear;
A willowy brook that turns a mill,
With many a fall, shall linger near.

The swallow oft, beneath my thatch,
Shall twitter from her clay-built nest;
Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch,
And share my meal, a welcome guest.

Around my ivied porch shall spring
Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew;
And Lucy at her wheel shall sing,
In russet gown and apron blue.
ROGER.


PITY.

No radiant pearl which crested Fortune wean,
No gem that twinkling hangs from Beauty's emt
a


.1 ws-A-rity.





f Amending Mfe Ap-wTh Raeun.
Not the bright stars which night's blue arch
adorn,
Nor rising suns that gild the vernal morn,
Shine with such lustre as the tear that breaks,
For other's woe, down Virtue's manly cheeks.
DARWIN.


ASCENDING THE ALPS.

PLEASED at the first the tow'ring Alps we try,
Mount o'er the vale, and eem to tread the sky;
Th' eternal snows appear already past,
And the first clouds and mountains seem the last:
But, those attain'd, we tremble to survey
The growing ibour of the lengthen'd way;
Th' increasing prospect tire our wand'ring eyes,
Hills peep o'er hills, and Alps on Alps arise I
IOPs.

THE RAVEN.

UmOun the arms of a goodly oak tree,
There was of swine a large company,





21 Ba M


They wora making a rde t
Grunting a they cruchd'd the mat.
Then they trotted away: for the wiad blew
high;-
One morn they left, no more might yo spy.
Next came a raven, who lik'd not suh folly,
He belonged, I believe to the witch Melamholy I
Blacker was he than blackest jet;
Flew low in the rain; his feathe were wet.
He pick'd up an acorn and buried it straight,
By the side of a river both deep and great.
Where then did the raven go?
He went high and low,
Over hill, over dale, did the black raven go I
Many autuoma, many spring
Travell'd be, with wandering wings
Many summers, many winter
I can't tell half his adventure.
At length he returned, and with him a she;
And the acorn was grown a large ak tree.
They built them a nest in the topmast bough,
And young ones they had, and were jolly enow.
But soon came a woodman in leather guise,
His brew like a pent-house hung over his eyes.






The Ravn


He'd an axe in his hand and he nothing spoke,
But with many a hem I and a sturdy stroke,
At last he brought down the poor raven's own
oak.
His young ones were kill'd, for they could not
depart,
His wife she died of a broken heart!
The branches from off it the woodman did sever,
And they floated it down on the course of the
river:
They saw'd it to planks, and its rind they did
strip,
And with this tree and others they built up a
ship.
The ship it was launched; but in sight of the land
A tempest prose which no ship could withstand.
It bulged on a rock and the waves rush in fast-
The old raven flew round and round and caw'd
to the blast:-
He had followed his tree-it was sunk at last.
ANONYMOUS.





Tb te Ovw


TO THE CROW.
SAT, weary bird, whose level figh
Thus at the dusky hour of night
Tends thro' the midway air,
Why yet beyond the verge of day
Is lengthened out thy dark delay
Adding another to the hours of cae ?

The wren within her mosy nest
Has hush'd her little brood to rest
The wood wild pigeon, rock'd on high,
Has coo'd his lat soft note of love,
And fondly nestle by his dove,
Toguardtheir downyyogg om an inclement
sky.

Haste, bird, and nurse thy callow brood,
They call on heaven and thee for food,
Bleak-on some cliffs neglected tree;
Haste, weary bird, thy lagging flight-
It is the chilling hour of night,
Fit hour of rest for thee I
TrE WICCAMICAL CHAPLt
GS





06 Hauan; or the Ckmel Driver,



HASSAN; on, THE CAMEL-DRIVER.

IN silent horror o'er the boundless waste,
The driver Hassan with his camels pass'd;
One cruise of water on his back he bore,
And his light scrip contained a scanty store;
A fan of painted feathers in his hand,
To guard his shaded face from scorching sand.
The sultry sun had gained the middle sky,
And not a tree, and not a herb was nigh;
The beasts with pain their dusty way pursue,
Shrill roar'd the winds, and dreary was the view.
With desperate sorrow wild, th' affiighted man
Thrice sigh'd, thrice struck his breast, and thus
began:

Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day,
When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my way!
Al little thought I of the blasting wind,
The thirst, or pinching hunger, that I find!
Bethink thee, Hassan, where shall thirst assuage,
When fails this cruise, his unrelenting rage ?





Hausans or the Camle-iAnie;,.


Soon shall this scrip its precious load resign.
Then what but tears and hunger shall be thine?
Ye mute companions of my toils, that bear
In all my griefs, a more than equal share I
Here, where no springs in murmurs break away,
Or moss-crown'd fountains mitigate the day,
In vain ye hope the green delights to know,
Which plains more blest or verdant vales bestow;
Here rocks alone and trackless sands are found,
And faint and sickly winds for ever howl around.
O cease, my fears all frantic as I go,
While thought creates unnumber'd scenes of
woe:
What, if the lion in his rage I meet
Of in the dust I view his printed feet:
And fearful I oft when day's declining light
Yields her pale empire to the mourner night,
By hunger roused he scours the groaning plain,
Gaunt wolves and sullen tigers in his train.
At that dead hour the silent asp shall creep,
If aught of rest I find, upon my sleep:
Or some swoln serpent twist his scales around,
Apd wAke to anguish with a burning wound.





Me OrwlgeTw.


Thrice happy they, the wise contented poor,
From lust of wealth and dread of death secure I
They tempt no deserts, and no grieh they find
Peace rules the day where reason rules the mind.
Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day,
When first from Schira' walls I beat my way I"
COLUSB.
couJnts.


THE ORANGE-TREE.

IN the soft bosom of Campania's vale,
When now the-wintry tempests all are fled,
And genial summer breathes her gentle gale,
The verdant orange lifts its beauteous head;
From every branch the balmy flow'rets rie,
On every bough the golden fruits are seen;
With odours sweet it fills the smiling skin;
But, in the midst of all its blooming pride,
A sudden blast from Apenninus blows,
Cold with perpetual snows;
he tender blighted plant shrinks up its leaves,
and dies.
LORD LYTAETON.






nTe Genrationm of Man.-Wonw.


THE GENERATIONS OF MAN.

LIKE leaves on trees the race of man is found,
Now green in youth, now with'ring on the
ground.
Another race the following spring supplies,
They fall successive, and successive rise:
So generations in their course decay,
So flourish these, when those are past away.
POPE'S HOMER.


WOLVES.

By wint'ry famine rous'd, from all the tract
Of horrid mountains, which the shining Alps,
And wavy Appennine, and Pyrenees,
Branch out stupendous into distant lands;
Cruel as death, and hungry as the grave;
Burning for blood, bony, and gaunt, and grim,
Assembling wolves in raging troops descend;
And, pouring o'er the country, bear along,





A oed.


Keen as the north wind sweeps the glossy snow
All is their prize. They fasten on the steed,
Press him to earth and pierce his mighty heart.
Nor can the bull his awful front defend,
Or shake the murdering savages away.
Rapacious at the mother's throat they fly,
And tear the screaming infant from her breast.
The godlike face of man avails him nought;
But if, appris'd of the severe attack,
The country be shut up, lur'd by the sont,
On church-yards drear (inhuman to relate)
The disappointed prowlers fall, and dig
The shrouded body from the grave.
THOMSON.


A FLOOD

WHEN from the hills the torrent swift and
strong,
Deluge whole fields and sweep the trees along,
Thro' ruin'd moles the rushing flood resounds,
O'erwhelms the bridge and bursts the lty
bounds;





7Te RP .-.b Bee. 1T
The yellow hwetl of the ripped yar,
And latten'd viasyrds, oim sd water appear
While couds desmnd in luicy shts of rain,
Andeall the labour of m kud re vain.
POPE.


THE FLY.

Tkn ly about the candle gay,
Daces with thoughtless hum;
But short, alas I his giddy play,
His pleasure proves his doom.

The child, in such simplicity,
About the bee-hive clings,
And with one drop of honey, he
Receives a thousand stings.


TO A BlE

Taou wert out bhsion, h busy, hby Bel
Wkm abrd I took my rly way;





To a Bee.


Before the cow from her resting-place
Had risen up, and left her trace
On the meadow with dew so gray,
I saw thee, thou busy, busy Bee !

Thou wert alive, thou busy, busy Bee I
When the crowd in their sleep were dead;
Thou wert abroad in the freshest hour,
When the sweetest odour comes from tie flower.
Man will not learn to leave his lifeless bed,
And be wise and copy thee, thou busy, busy Bee!

Thou wert working late, thou busy, busy Bee !
After the fall of the cistus lower,
I heard thee last as I saw thee first,
When the primrose-tree blossom was ready to
burst,
In the coolness of the evening hour,
I heard thee, thou busy, busy Bee I

Thou art a miser, thou busy, busy Bee I
Late and early at employ;
Still on thy golden stores intent,
Thy youth in heaping and hoarding is spent





The Fowder.


What thy age will never enjoy.
I will not copy thee, thou miserly Bee I

Thou art a fool, thou busy, busy Bee,
Thus for another to toil I
Thy master waits till thy work is done,
Till the latest flowers of the ivy are gone,
And then he will seize the spoil,
And will murder thee, thou poor little Bee I
ANTHOLOOT.



THE FOWLER.

Lo I where all alarm'd,
The small birds from the late resounding perch
Fly various, hush'd their early song; and mark I
Beneath the darkness of the bramble bank
That overhangs the half-seen brook, with breast
Ruddy, and emerald wing, the king fisher
Steals thro' the dripping sedge away: what shape
Of terror scares the woodland habitants,
Marring the music of the dawn ? look round,
H






K The NYigtiigale.
See where he creeps, beneath the willowy stamp,
Cow'ring and low, step silent after step,
The booted Fowler-keen his look, and fixed
Upon the adverse bank, while with firm hand
He grasps the deadly tube: his dog, with ears
Hung back, and still and steady eye of fire,
Points to the prey, while he, intent, moves on
Silent and creeping close, beneath the leaves,
And fears lest ev'n the rustling reeds betray
His footfall: nearer yet, and yet more near
He stalks: ah I who shall save the heedless
group
Of speckled partridges, that in the sun,
On yonder hillock green, across the stream
Bask unalarm'd beneath the hawthorn bush I
BOWLES.


THE NIGHTINGALE.

CLosW in the poplar shade the nightingale
With piercing cries does her lost young bwail.
Which the rough hind observing, as thy lay
Warm in their downy nest, had stoen away.





The &erpent. *
futshein mournful sounds doe still complain,
Sings all the night, tho' all her songs are vain,
And still renews her miserable strain.
L3.

THE SERPENT.

IN fair Calabria's woods a snake is bred,
With curling crest, and with advancing head,
Waving he rolls, and makes a shining track;
His belly spotted, burnish'd is his back:
While springs are gushing, while the southern
air
And dropping heav'ns the moistened earth repair,
He lives on standing lakes or trembling bogs,
And fills his maw with fish, or with loquacious
frogs.
But when in muddy pools the water sinks,
And the chapt earth is furrow'd o'er with chinks,
He leaves the fens and leaps upon the ground,
And, hissing, rolls his glaring eyes around.
With thirst inflamed, impatient of the heats,
He rages in the fields, and wide destruction
threats.






7 Ariel's Song.
0 1 let not sleep my closing eyes invade
In open plains, or in the secret shade,
When he, renew'd in all the speckled pride
Of pompous youth, has cast his slough aside,
And in his summer liv'ry rolls along,
Erect, and brandishing his forky tongue,
Leaving his nest and his imperfect young;
And, thoughtless of his eggs, forgets to rear
The hopes of poison for the coming year.
DRYDEN'S VIRGIL.




ARIEL'S SONG.

WHERE the bee sucks there lurk I,
In a blossom's bell I lie,
There I couch when owls do cry.
On the bat's back do I fly
After summer merrily.
Merrily, merrily shall I live now
Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.
SHIAKSPEARE.





.-Th Faiy QAWW Lowy.


THE FAIRY QUEEN'S LULLABY.

You spotted snakes with double tongue,
Thorny hedgehogs be not seen;
Newts and blindworms do no wrong,
Come not near our Fairy Queen.

Weaving spiders come not near,
Hence, you long-legg'd spinners, hence !
Beetles black approach not near,
Worm nor snail do no offence I

Philomel with melody
Sing in your sweet lullaby;
Lulla lulls lullaby:
Never harm
Nor spell nor charm
Come our lovely lady nigh,
So good night with lullaby.
SHAKSPRARB.





is The Sauer Evening Walk.

THE SUMMER EVENING WALK.

WHEN day declining sheds a milder gleam,
What time the may-fly haunts the pool or stream;
When the still owl skims round the grassy mead,
What time the tim'rous hare limps forth to feed;
Then be the time to steal down the vale,
And listen to the vagrant cuckoo's tale;
To hear the clamorous curlew call his mate,
Or the soft quail his tender pain relate;
To see the swallow sweep the dark'ning plain,
Belated, to support her infant train;
To mark the swift, in rapid, giddy ring,
Dash round the steeple, unsubdued of win: -
Amusive birds! say where your hid retreat
When the frost rages, and the tempests beat?
Whence your return, by such nice instinct led,
When spring, soft season, lifts her bloomy head I
Such baffled searches mock man's prying pride
The God of nature is your secret guide.

While deep'ning shades obscure the face of day,
To yonder bench, leaf-shelter'd, let us stray.





RecwPry from Sickness. 79
rill blended objects fail the swimming sight,
And all the fading landscape sinks in night;
To hear the drowsy dorr come brushingby,
With buzzing wing, or the shrill cricket cry;
To see the feeding bat glance thro' the wood;
To catch the distant falling of the flood;
While o'er the cliffth' awaken'd churn-owl hung
Thro' the still gloom protracts his chattering song;
While high in air, and poised upon his wings,
Unseen, the soft enamour'd woodlark sings:
Each rural sight, each sound, each smell, com-
bine,
The tinkling sheep-bell, or the breath of kine;
The new-mown hay that scents the swelling
breeze,
Or cottage chimney smoking thro' the trees.
WHITL



RECOVERY FROM SICKNESS.

Sz the wretch that long has tost
On the thorny bed of pain,





The Whirh iud.


At length repair his vigour lost,
And breathe and walk again:

The meanest flow'ret of the vale,
The simplest note that swells the gale,
The common sun, the air, the skies,
To him are opening paradise.



THE WHIRLWIND.

Wwax forth from gloomy clouds a whirlwind
springs,
That bears the thunder on its dreadful wings,
Wide o'er the blasted fields the tempest sweeps,
Then, gathered, settles on the hoary deeps;
Th' afflicted deeps tumultuous mix and roar;
The waves behind impel the waves before,
Wide rolling, foaming high, and' tumbling
to the shore.
DRTDKN.





To Lewx IVair.


TO LEVEN WATER.

PURE stream! in whose transparent wave
My youthful limbs I wont to lave;
No torrents stain thy limpid source,
No rocks impede thy dimpling course,
That sweetly warbles o'er its bed,
With white, round, polish'd pebbles spread
While, lightly pois'd, the scaly brood
In myriads cleave thy crystal flood;
The springing trout in speckled pride;
The salmon, monarch ofthe tide;
The ruthless pike, intent on war;
The silver eel, and mottled par.
Devolving from their parent lake,
A charming maze thy waters make,
By bowers of birch, and groves of pine,
And hedges flower'd with eglantine.
Still on thy banks so gaily green,
May numerous herds and flocks be seen,
And lasses chanting o'er the pail,
And shepherds piping in the dale,





82 The Swin Coderd's Song.
And ancient faith that knows no guile,
And industry embrown'd with toil,
And hearts resolved and hands prepared,
The blessings they enjoy to guard I
8MOLLET.




THE SWISS COWHERD'S SONG.

O, W EN shall I visit the land of my birth,
The loveliest land on the face of the earth ?
When shall I those scAes of affection explore,
Our forests, our fountains,
Our hamlets, our mountains,
With the pride of our mountains the maid I
adore ?
O when shall I dance on the daisy-white mead,
In the shade of an elm, to the sound of the reed?

When shall I return to that lovely retreat,
Where all my fond objects of tenderness meet,-





lb a Hedge-Speron a8
The lambs and the heifers that follow my call,
My father, my mother,
My sister, my brother,
And dear Isabella, the joy of them all ?
0, when shall I visit the land of my birth ?
-'Tis the loveliest land on the face of the earth.
MONTGOMERY.



TO A HEDGE-SPARROW.

LIrrrT flutt'rer I swiftly flying,
Here is none to harm thee near;
Kite, nor hawk, nor school-boy prying;
Little flutt'rer I cease to fear.

One who would protect thee ever,
From the school-boy, kite, and hawk,
Musing, now obtrudes, but never
Dreamt of plunder in his walk.

He no weel, stealing slily,
Would permit thy eggs to take;




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