/ / f & ? &U&4, o^<^L Zc <49 WOODLAND AND WILD. LONDON: I'ltlNTKI) BV WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STHKET AND CHARING CROSS. WOODLAND AND WILD : A SELECTION OF DESCRIPTIVE POETRY. FROM VARIOUS AUTHORS. WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS ON STEEL AND WOOD. AFTER ROSA BONHEUR, JULIETTE BONHEUR, CHARLES JACQUE, VEYRASSAT, YAN DARGENT, AND OTHER ARTISTS. NEW YOEK : D. APPLETON AND CO., 448 & 445, BROADWAY. 1868. AA . \l CONTENTS. C. F. ALEXANDER. WITHERED LEAVES . . . 106 MATTHEW ARNOLD. THE WOODLAND . . .12 W. BARNES. MILKEN TIME . ^ . .38 HAY MIAKEN . . . .68 W. L. BOWLES. THE CLIFF . . 115 R. BROWNING. THE MOON-RAINBOW . 120 W. C. BRYANT. THE CLOSE OF AUTUMN . . 114 R. BURNS. THE FIELD MOUSE . ... 117 T. CAMPBELL. THE EVENING STAR . . 35 FIELD FLOWERS . . 59 T. CAREW. SPRING ... 8 J. CLARE. FEBRUARY .... 2 SUMMER MOODS ... 34 A. H. CLOUGH. 76 A MOUNTAIN STREAM S. T. COLERIDGE. ^ THE NIGHTINGALE THE SWANS. THE RAVEN W. COLLINS. _ . 00 EVENING BARRY CORNWALL. 4o THE NIGHTS W. COWPER. 47 THE JACKDAW i THE GLOWWORM . fiQ A GIPSY ENCAMPMENT . 195 THE BIRDS IN WINTER . G. CRABBE. THE SHORE. ISA CRAIG. _. llo SNOW W. DRUMMOND. THE SONG-BIRD F. W. FABER. THE HEDGE-ROWS . 112 THE CHURCH DIAL J. FLETCHER. oo FLOWERS AND BIRDS EVENING REGINALD HEBER. THE RISING 01 FELICIA HEMANS. THE Sirs R. HERRICK. -1 AO THE RISING OF THE SUN OQ THE SKY-LARK 1 fi BLOSSOMS . 18 THE DAFFODILS CONTENTS. O. WENDELL HOLMES. SPRING IN AMERICA ....... 11 THE CHURCHYARD. ..... . 109 HENRY HOWARD, EARL OF SURREY. SPRING ...... 7 MARY E. HEWITT. THE OWL . . .52 LEIGH HUNT. To THE GRASSHOPPER AND THE CRICKET . . 54 THE SWEETBRIAR ........ 64 J. KEATS. A SUMMER DAY ..... 29 THE GRASSHOPPER AND THE CRICKET . . 55 To AUTUMN ..... .92 C. ZINGSLEY. THE STARLINGS ...... 9 THE WILD FOWL'S VOICE . 125 H. ZIRZE WHITE. A SUMMER MORN . . . .33 A SUMMER EVE . .... .43 W. S. LANDOR. EVENING ......." .45 THE LAST LEAF . . . . . . . . 105 J. LOGAN. THE CUCKOO ........ 14 H. W. LONGFELLOW. SUNRISE ON THE HILLS ..... .32 AUTUMN ......... 94 WOODS IN WINTER . ..... 128 J. R. LOWELL. THE DANDELION ..... 62 THE FOUNTAIN . . ... .66 A SUMMER STORM .... .78 C. MACKAY. ANGLING 70 Vlll CONTENTS. OWEN MEREDITH. A SEA-SIDE SONG- . FADING FLOWEKS . THE SEA-GULLS PAGE 90 . 104 . 116 J. MILTON. MAY MORNING 18 A. POPE. COUNTRY SPORTS . 99 ADELAIDE A. PROCTER. THE WIND . 77 S. ROGERS. THE COTTAGE 67 CHRISTINA ROSSETTI. SPRING SUMMER TWILIGHT CALM 9 28 41 SIR WALTER SCOTT. THE GREENWOOD . THE FOREST 91 96 W. SHAKSPERE. BEES . 56 P. B. SHELLEY. To A SKYLARK THE CLOUD. 24 82 MRS. SIGOURNEY. THE THRUSH 48 CAROLINE SOUTHEY. THE GARDEN *& R. SOUTHEY. THE BEE . . 55 E. SPENSER. THE SEASONS 129 CONTENTS. PAGE J. THOMSON. THE DEPARTURE OF WINTER ...... 1 SHOOTING ......... 100 HUNTING . . . . . . . . 101 THE DEPARTURE OF THE BIRDS ..... 108 FROST .... . 126 THE AUTHOR OF THE " THREE WAKINGS." A RAILWAY JOURNEY ....... 84 ARCHBISHOP TRENCH. SUNSET. From the German of Goethe . . . . .40 THE CHURCHYARD. ....... 110 AUBREY DE VERB. LIME BLOSSOMS ........ 27 N. P. WILLIS. THE BELFRY PIGEON ... ... 51 J. WILSON. THE DESOLATE VILLAGE . . . . . . .72 SOLITUDE . . . . . . . . .74 MOONLIGHT ON THE SEA . . . . . . .86 W. WORDSWORTH. SPRING ......... 7 THE CUCKOO ...... 13 THE DAFFODILS .... 17 THE DAISY ... .... 60 NUTTING ......... 95 THE DOG'S GRAVE. . . . 107 THE FOUR DOGS ... .... 122 WATER-FOWL . 123 LIST OF THE LAKGEE ILLUSTKATIONS. PAGE CATTLE CROSSING A FOKD . . . YAN DABGENT Frontispiece. ROEBUCKS ROSA BONHEUB ... 12 A QUAIL AND HEE BEOOD . . . E. TEAVIES .... 34 A YOUNG Fox JULIETTE BONHEUE . . 40 A FALLEN FOE DAEJOU 44 SNIPE E. TBAVIE'S .... 70 WOODCOCKS AND PLOVEES . . . C. JACQUE 86 A MOENING WALK O. DE KEOKOW ... 92 SHOOTING IN THE FENS J. VEYEASSAT .... 98 WOUNDED PAETEIDGE E. TEAVIES . . . . 100 RABBIT ROSA BONHEUR . . . 114 WILD DUCK E. TEAVIES 124 WOODLAND AND WILD. WINTER'S DEPARTURE. BE where surly Winter passes off, Far to the north, and calls his ruffian blasts ; His blasts obey, and quit the howling hill, The shatter'd forest and the ravaged vale ; While softer gales succeed, at whose kind touch, Dissolving snows in livid torrents lost, The mountains lift their green heads to the sky. As yet the trembling year is unconnrm'd, And winter oft at eve resumes the breeze; Chills the pale morn, and bids his driving sleets Deform the day delightless ; so that scarce The bittern knows his time, with bill ungulft To shake the sounding marsh ; or from the shore The plovers when to scatter o'er the heath, And sing their wild notes to the listening waste. At last from Aries rolls the bounteous sun, And the bright Bull receives him. Then no more The expansive atmosphere is cramp'd with cold ; But, full of life and vivifying soul, Lifts the light clouds sublime; and spreads them thin, Fleecy and white, o'er all-surrounding heaven. J. Thomson. WOODLAND AND WILD. FEBRUARY. THE snow has left the cottage top ; The thatch-moss grows in brighter green ; And eaves in quick succession drop, Where grinning icicles have been; Pit-patting with a pleasant noise In tubs set by the cottage door; While ducks and geese, with happy joys, Plunge in the yard-pond brimming o'er. The sun peeps through the window-pane ; Which children mark with laughing eye, And in the wet street steal again, To tell each other Spring is nigh: Then, as young hope the past recalls, In playing groups they often draw, To build beside the sunny walls Their spring-time huts of sticks or straw. And oft in pleasure's dreams they hie Bound homesteads by the village side, Scratching the hedgerow mosses by, Where painted pooty shells abide ; WOODLAND AND WILD. Mistaking oft the ivy spray For leaves that come with budding Spring, And wondering, in their search for play, Why birds delay to build and sing. The milkmaid singing leaves her bed, As happy as happy thoughts can be, While magpies chatter o'er her head As jocund in the change as she : Her cows around the closes stray, Nor lingering wait the foddering-boy ; Tossing the mole-hills in their play, And staring round with frolic joy. The shepherd now is often seen Near warm banks o'er his hook to bend ; Or o'er a gate or stile to lean, Chattering to a passing friend : Ploughmen go whistling to their toils, And yoke again the rested plough ; And, mingling o'er the mellow soils, Boys shout, and whips are noising now. The barking dogs by lane and wood, Drive sheep a-field from foddering ground ; And Echo, in her summer mood, Briskly mocks the cheering sound. The flocks, as from a prison broke, Shake their wet fleeces in the sun, While, following fast, a misty smoke Reeks from the moist grass as they run. No more behind his master's heels The dog creeps on his winter-pace ; But cocks his tail, and o'er the fields Runs many a wild and random chase ; WOODLAND AND WILD. Following, in spite of chiding calls, The startled cat with harmless glee, Scaring her up the weed-green walls, Or mossy mottled apple-tree. As crows from morning perches fly, He barks and follows them in vain ; E'en larks will catch his nimble eye, And off he starts and barks again, With breathless haste and blinded guess, Oft following where the hare hath gone ; Forgetting, in his joy's excess, His frolic puppy-days are done! The hedgehog, from his hollow root, Sees the wood-moss clear of snow, And hunts the hedge for fallen fruit Crab, hip, and winter-bitten sloe ; But often check'd by sudden fears, As shepherd-dog his haunt espies, He rolls up in a ball of spears, And all his barking rage defies. The gladden'd swine bolt from the sty, And round the yard in freedom run, Or stretching in their slumbers lie Beside the cottage in the sun. WOODLAND AND WILD. The young horse whinneys to his mate, And, sickening from the thresher's door, Rubs at the straw-yard's banded gate, Longing for freedom on the moor. The small birds think their wants are o'er, To see the snow-hills fret again, And, from the barn's chaff-litter'd door, Betake them to the greening plain. The woodman's robin startles coy, Nor longer to his elbow comes, To peck, with hunger's eager joy, 'Mong mossy stulps the litter'd crumbs. 'Neath hedge and walls that screen the wind, The gnats for play will flock together; And e'en poor flies some hope will find To venture in the mocking weather; From out their hiding-holes again, With feeble pace, they often creep Along the sim-warm'd window-pane, Like dreaming things that walk in sleep. The mavis thrush with wild delight, Upon the orchard's dripping tree, Mutters, to see the day so bright, Fragments of young hope's poesy : And oft dame stops her buzzing wheel To hear the robin's note once more, Who tootles while he pecks his meal From sweet-briar hips beside the door. The sunbeams on the hedges lie, The south wind murmurs summer-soft; The maids hang out white cloths to dry Around the elder-skirted croft : WOODLAND AND WILD. A calm of pleasure listens round, And almost whispers Winter by; While fancy dreams of summer's sound, And quiet rapture fills the eye. Thus nature of the spring will dream While south winds thaw ; but soon again Frost breathes upon the stiffening stream, And numbs it into ice: the plain Soon wears its mourning garb of white; And icicles, that fret at noon, Will eke their icy tails at night Beneath the chilly stars and moon. Nature soon sickens of her joys, And all is sad and dumb again, Save merry shouts of sliding boys About the frozen furrow'd plain. The foddering-boy forgets his song, And silent goes with folded arms ; And croodling shepherds bend along, Crouching to the whizzing storms. /. Clare. WOODLAND AND WILD. SPRING. THE soote * season, that bud and bloom forth brings, ^Yith green hath clad the hill, and eke the vale, The nightingale with feathers new she sings ; The turtle to her makej hath told her tale. Summer is come, for every spray now springs. The hart hath hung his old head on the pale ; The buck in brake his winter coat he flings ; The fishes fleet with new repaired scale ; The adder all her slough away she flings ; The swift swallow pursueth the flies small ; The busy bee her honey now she mings;t Winter is worn that was the flower's bale. And thus I see among these pleasant things Each care decays, and yet my sorrow springs. Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey. SPRING. HE cock is crowing, The stream is flowing, J| 'V* The small birds twitter, The lake doth glitter, The green field sleeps in the sun ; The oldest and youngest Are at work with the strongest ; The cattle are grazing, Their heads never raising; There are forty feeding like one ! Sweet. t Mate. J Mingles. Destruction, WOODLAND AND WILD. Like an army defeated The snow hath retreated, And now doth fare ill On the top of the bare hill ; The ploughboy is whooping anon anon : There's joy in the mountains There's life in the fountains ; Small clouds are sailing, Blue sky prevailing; The rain is over and gone ! W. Wordsivorth. SPRING. Now that the winter's gone, the earth hath lost Her snow-white robes, and now no more the frost Candies the grass, or casts an icy cream Upon the silver lake, or crystal stream : But the warm sun thaws the benumbed earth And makes it tender, gives a sacred birth To the dead swallow, wakes in hollow tree The drowsy cuckoo and the humble bee. Now do a choir of chirping minstrels bring In triumph to the world, the youthful spring: The valleys, hills, and woods, in rich array, Welcome the coming of the long'd-for May. T. Carew. WOODLAND AND WILD. THE STARLINGS. EARLY in spring time, on raw and windy mornings, Beneath the freezing house-eaves I heard the starlings sing ' Ah dreary March month, is this then a time for building wearily ? Sad, sad, to think that the year has but begun.' Late in the autumn, on still and cloudless evenings, Among the golden reed-beds I heard the starlings sing 'Ah that sweet March month, when we and our mates were courting merrily : Sad, sad, to think that the year is all but done.' C. Kingsley. SPRING. FROST-LOCKED all the winter, Seeds, and roots, and stones of fruits, What shall make their sap ascend That they may put forth shoots? Tips of tender green, Leaf, or blade, or sheath ; Telling of the hidden life That breaks forth underneath, Life nursed in its grave by Death. Blows the thaw-wind pleasantly, Drips the soaking rain, By fits looks down the waking sun : Young grass springs on the plain ; Young leaves clothe early hedgerow trees; Seeds, and roots, and stones of fruits, Swollen with sap put forth their shoots; Curled-headed ferns sprout in the lane ; Birds sing and pair again. 10 WOODLAND AND WILD. There is no time like Spring, When life's alive in everything, Before new nestlings sing, Before cleft swallows speed their journey back Along the trackless track God guides their wing; He spreads their table that they nothing lack,- Before the daisy grows a common flower, Before the sun has power To scorch the world up in his noontide hour. 7* There is no time like Spring Like Spring that passes by ; There is no life like Spring-life born to die, Piercing the sod, Clothing the uncouth clod, Hatched in the nest, Fledged on the windy bough, Strong on the wing : There is no time like Spring that passes by, Now newly born, and now Hastening to die. Christina Rossetti. WOODLAND AND WILD. SPRING IN AMERICA. INTER is past ; the heart of Nature warms Beneath the wrecks of unresisted storms; Doubtful at first, suspected more than seen, The southern slopes are fringed with tender green ; On sheltered banks, beneath the dripping eaves, Spring's earliest nurslings spread their glowing leaves, Bright with the hues from wider pictures won, White, azure, golden, drift, or sky, or sun; The snowdrop, bearing on her patient breast The frozen trophy torn from winter's crest ; The violet, gazing on the arch of blue Till her own iris wears its deepened hue ; The spendthrift crocus, bursting through the mould Naked and shivering with his cup of gold. Swelled with new life, the darkening elm on high Prints her thick buds against the spotted sky; On all her boughs the stately chestnut cleaves The gummy shroud that wraps her embryo leaves ; The house-fly, stealing from his narrow grave, Drugged with the opiate that November gave, Beats with faint wing against the sunny pane, Or crawls, tenacious, o'er its lucid plain; From shaded chinks of lichen-crusted walls, In languid curves, the gliding serpent crawls; The bog's green harper, thawing from his sleep, Twangs a hoarse note and tries a shortened leap; On floating rails that face the softening noons The still shy turtles range their dark platoons, Or toiling, aimless, o'er the mellowing fields, Trail through the grass their tesselated shields. 0. Wendell Holmes. 12 WOODLAND AND WILD. THE WOODLAND. THEY carae to where the brushwood ceased, and day Peer'd 'twixt the stems; and the ground broke away In a sloped sward down to a brawling brook, And up as high as where they stood to look On the brook's further side was clear ; but there The underwood and trees began again. This open glen was studded thick with thorns Then white with blossom ; and you saw the horns, Through the green fern, of the shy fallow-deer, Which come at noon down to the water here. You saw the bright-eyed squirrels dart along Under the thorns on the green sward ; and strong The blackbird whistled from the dingles near, And the light chipping of the woodpecker Rang lonelily and sharp; the sky was fair, And a fresh breath of spring stirred everywhere. Merlin and Vivian stopp'd on the slope's brow To gaze on the green sea of leaf and bough Which glittering lay all round them, lone and mild. As if to itself the quiet forest smiled. Upon the brow-top grew a thorn ; and here The grass was dry and moss'd, and you saw clear. Across the hollow : white anemones Starr 'd the cool turf, and clumps of primroses Ran out from the dark underwood behind. No fairer resting-place a man could find. '- - WOODLAND AND WILD. 13 THE CUCKOO. BLITHE new-comer! I have heard, I hear thee and rejoice. O Cuckoo ! shall I call thee bird, Or but a wandering voice ? While I am lying on the grass Thy twofold shout I hear, From hill to hill it seems to pass, At once far off, and near. Though babbling only to the vale, Of sunshine and of flowers, Thou bringest unto me a tale Of visionary hours. Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring ! Even yet thou art to me No bird, but an invisible thing, A voice, a mystery ; The same whom in my schoolboy days I listened to; that cry Which made me look a thousand ways In bush, and tree, and sky. To seek thee did I often rove Through woods and on the green; And thou wert still a hope, a love ; Still longer! for, never seen. And can I listen to thee yet ; Can lie upon the plain And listen, till I do beget That golden time again. H WOODLAND AND WILD. blessed bird! the earth we pace Again appears to be An unsubstantial, faery place; That is fit home for thee. W. Wordsworth. THE CUCKOO. HAIL, beauteous stranger of the grove! Thou messenger of spring! Now heaven repairs thy rural seat, And woods thy welcome sing. What time the daisy decks the green, Thy certain voice we hear ; Hast thou a star to guide thy path, Or mark the rolling year? Delightful visitant ! with thee I hail the time of flowers, And hear the sound of music sweet From birds among the bowers. o The school-boy wandering through the wood, To pull the primrose gay, Starts, the new voice of spring to hear, And imitates thy lay. What time the pea puts on the bloom Thou fliest thy vocal vale, An annual guest in other lands, Another spring to hail. WOODLAND AND WILD. 15 Sweet bird ! thy bower is ever green, Thy sky is ever clear ; Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, No winter in thy year! O could I fly, I'd fly with thee ! We'd make, with joyful wing, Our annual visit o'er the globe, Companions of the spring. Log/an. THE SONG-BIRD. WEET bird, that sing'st away the early hours, Or winters past or coming void of care, Well pleased with delights which present are, Fair seasons, budding sprays, sweet-smelling flowers ; To rocks, to springs, to rills, from leafy bowers Thou thy Creator's goodness dost declare, And what dear gifts on thee He did not spare; A stain to human sense in sin that lowers. What soul can be so sick, which by thy songs, Attired in sweetness, sweetly is not driven Quite to forget earth's turmoils, spites and wrongs, And lift a reverent eye and thought to heaven? Sweet, artless songster, thou my mind dost raise To airs of spheres, yea, and to angels' lays. W. Drummond. 16 WOODLAND AND WILD. BLOSSOMS. FAIR pledges of a fruitful tree, Why do ye fall so fast? Your date is not so past, But you may stay yet here awhile, To blush and gently smile, And go at last. What, were ye born to be An hour or half's delight, And so to bid good-night ? 'Twas pity nature brought ye forth, Merely to show your worth, And lose you quite. But you are lovely leaves, where we May read how soon things have Their end, though ne'er so brave ; And after they have shown their pride Like you awhile, they glide Into the grave. R. Herrick. WOODLAND AND WILD. 17 THE DAFFODILS. WANDERED lonely as a cloud That floats ou high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, .^ A host, of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the Milky-way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay : Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced ; but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee : A poet could not but be gay, In such a jocund company : I gazed and gazed but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought : For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude ; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils. W. Wordsivorth. 18 WOODLAND AND WILD. THE DAFFODILS. FAIR Daffodils, we weep to see You baste away so soon ; As yet the early rising sun Has not attain'd his noon. Stay, stay, Until the hasting day Has run But to the even-song; And, having pray'd together, we Will go with you along. We have short time to stay as you, We have as short a spring; As quick a growth to meet decay, As you, or anything. We die As your hours do, and dry Away, Like to the summer's rain ; Or as the pearls of morning's dew, Ne'er to be found again. R. Herrick. MAY MORNING. Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger, Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her The flowery May, who from her green lap throws The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose. Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire Mirth and youth, and warm desire ; Woods and groves are of thy dressing, Hill arid dale doth boast thy blessing. Thus we salute thee with our early st>ng, And welcome thee, and wish thee long. /. Milton. WOODLAND AND WILD. 19 THE NIGHTINGALE. No cloud, no relique of the sunken day Distinguishes the West no long thin slip Of sullen light, no obscure trembling hues. Come, we will rest on this old mossy bridge ! You see the glimmer of the stream beneath, But hear no murmuring : it flows silently, O'er its soft bed of verdure. All is still, A balmy night ! and though the stars be dim, Yet let us think upon the vernal showers That gladden the green earth, and we shall find A pleasure in the dimness of the stars. And hark! the nightingale begins its song, " Most musical, most melancholy " bird ! A melancholy bird ! Oh ! idle thought ! In Nature there is nothing melancholy. But some night-wandering man whose heart was pierced With the remembrance of a grievous wrong, Or slow distemper, or neglected love, (And so, poor wretch ! filled all things with himself, And made all gentle sounds tell back the tale Of his own sorrow) he, and such as he, First named these notes a melancholy strain. And many a poet echoes the conceit ; Poet who hath been building up the rhyme When he had better far have stretched his limbs Beside a brook in mossy forest-dell, By sun or moonlight, to the influxes Of shapes and sounds and shifting elements Surrendering his whole spirit, of his song And of his fame forgetful! So his fame Should share in Nature's immortality, A venerable thing! and so his song Should make all Nature lovelier, and itself Beloved like Nature ! But 'twill not be so ; And youths and maidens most poetical, 20 WOODLAND AND WILD. Who lose the deepening twilights of the spring In ball-rooms and hot theatres, they still, Full of meek sympathy, must heave their sighs O'er Philomela's pity-pleading strains. My friend, and thou, our sister! we have learnt A different lore: we may not thus profane Nature's sweet voices, always fall of love And joyance! 'Tis the merry nightingale That crowds, and hurries, and precipitates With fast thick warble his delicious notes, As he were fearful that an April night Would be too short for him to utter forth His love-chant, and disburthen his full soul Of all its music ! And I know a grove Of large extent, hard by a castle huge, Which the great lord inhabits not; and so This grove is wild with tangling underwood, And the trim walks are broken up, and grass, Thin grass, and king-cups grow within the paths. But never elsewhere in one place I knew So many nightingales; and far and near, In wood and thicket, over the wide grove, They answer and provoke each other's song, With skirmish and capricious passagirigs, And murmurs musical and swift jug-jug, And one low piping sound more sweet than all Stirring the air with such a harmony, That should you close your eyes, you might almost Forget it was not day ! On moon-lit bushes, Whose dewy leaflets are but half disclosed, You may perchance behold them on the twigs, Their bright, bright eyes, their eyes both bright and full, Glistening, while many a glow-worm in the shade Lights up her love-torch. A most gentle maid, Wlio dwelleth in her hospitable home WOODLAND AND WILD. 21 Hard by the castle, and at latest eve (Even like a lady vowed and dedicate To something more than Nature in the grove) Glides through the pathways ; she knows all their notes, That gentle maid! and oft a moment's space, What time the moon was lost behind a cloud, Hath heard a pause of silence ; till the moon Emerging, hath awakened earth and sky With one sensation, and these wakeful birds Have all burst forth in choral minstrelsy, As if some sudden gale had swept at once A hundred airy harps ! And she hath watched Many a nightingale perched giddily On blossomy twig still swinging from the breeze, And to that motion tune his wanton song Like tipsy joy that reels with tossing head. Farewell, warbler! till to-morrow eve, And you, my friends, farewell, a short farewell! We have been loitering long and pleasantly, And now for our dear homes. That strain again ! Full fain it would delay me ! My dear babe, W r ho, capable of no articulate sound, Mars all things with his imitative lisp, How he would place his hand beside his ear, His little hand, the small forefinger up, And bid us listen ! And I deem it wise To make him Nature's play-mate. He knows well The evening star; and once, when he awoke In most distressful mood (some inward pain Had made up that strange thing, an infant's dream), I hurried with him to our orchard-plot, And he beheld the moon, and, hushed at once, Suspends his sobs, and laughs most silently, While his fair eyes, that swam with undropped tears, Did glitter in the yellow moonbeam ! Well ! It is a father's tale. But if that Heaven 22 WOODLAND AND WILD. Should give me life, his childhood shall grow up Familiar with these songs, that with the night He may associate joy. Once more, farewell, Sweet nightingale ! Once more, my friends, farewell ! S. T. Coleridge. FLOWEES AND BIRDS. "DOSES, their sharp spines being gone, Not royal in their smells alone, But in their hue ; Maiden pinks, of odour faint, Daisies smell-less, yet most quaint, And sweet thyme true ; Primrose, first-born child of Ver, Merry spring-time's harbinger, With her bells dim : Oxlips in their cradles growing, Marigolds on death-beds blowing, Lark-heels trim ; All, dear Nature's children sweet, Lie 'fore bride and bridegroom's feet, Blessing their sense! Not an angel of the air, Bird melodious, or bird fair, Be absent hence ! The crow, the slanderous cuckoo, nor The boding raven, nor chough hoar, Nor chattering pie, May on our bride-house perch or sing, Or with them any discord bring, But from it fly ! /. Fletcher. WOODLAND AND WILD. 23 THE SKY-LARK. H ! Sky-lark, for thy wing ! Thou bird of joy and light, That I might soar and sing At heaven's empyreal height ! With the heathery hills beneath me, Whence the streams in glory spring, And the pearly clouds to wreath me, Oh Sky-lark ! on thy wing ! Free, free from earth-born fear, I would range the blessed skies, Through the blue divinely clear, Where the low mists cannot rise! And a thousand joyous measures From my chainless heart should spring, Like the bright rain's vernal treasures, As I wandered on thy wing. But oh! the silver chords, That around the heart are spun, From gentle tones and words, And kind eyes that make our sun! To some low sweet nest returning, How soon my love would bring, There, there the dews of morning, Oh, Sky-lark! on thy wing! Felicia Hemans. 24 WOODLAND AND WILD. TO A SKYLARK. HAIL to thee, blithe spirit! Bird thou never wert, That from heaven, or near it, Pourest thy full heart In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. Higher still and higher, From the earth thou springest Like a cloud of fire ; The blue deep thou wingest, And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest. In the golden lightning Of the sunken sun, O'er which clouds are brightening, Thou dost float and run ; Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun. The pale purple even Melts around thy flight ; Like a star of heaven, In the broad daylight Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight.' Keen as are the arrows Of that silver sphere, Whose intense lamp narrows In the white dawn clear, Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there. All the earth and air With thy voice is loud, As, when night is bare, From one lonely cloud The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflowed. WOODLAND AND WILD. 25 What thou art we know not; What is most like thee ? From rainbow clouds there flow not Drops so bright to see, As from thy presence showers a rain of melody. Like a poet hidden In the light of thought, Singing hymns unbidden Till the world is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not : Like a high-born maiden In a palace tower, Soothing her love-laden Soul in secret hour With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower : Like a glowworm golden In a dell of dew, Scattering unbeholden Its ae'real hue Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from the view : Like a rose embowered In its own green leaves, By warm winds deflowered, Till the scent it gives Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy-winged thieves. Sound of vernal showers On the twinkling grass, Kain-awakened flowers, All that ever was Joyous and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass. Teach us, sprite or bird, What sweet thoughts are thine : I have never heard Praise of love or wine That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine. 26 WOODLAND AND WILD. Chorus hymeneal, Or triumphal chaunt, Matched with thine would be all But an empty vaunt A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want. What objects are the fountains Of thy happy strain ? What fields, or waves, or mountains? What shapes of sky or plain? What love of thine own kind ? what ignorance of pain ? With thy clear keen joyance Languor cannot be : Shadow of annoyance Never came near thee: Thou lovest, but ne'er knew love's sad satiety. Waking or asleep, Thou of death must deem Things more true and deep Than we mortals dream, Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream ? We look before and after, And pine for what is not : Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught ; Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought. * Yet if we could scorn Hate, and pride, and fear; If we were things born Not to shed a tear, i know not how thy joy we ever should come near. Better than all measures Of delightful sound, Better than all treasures That in books are found, Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground ! WOODLAND AND WILD. 27 Teach me half the gladness That thy brain must know, Such harmonious madness From my lips would flow, The world should listen then, as I am listening now. P. B. Shelley. LIME BLOSSOMS. THE flower of the tree is the flower for mo, That life out of life, high-hanging and free, By the finger of God and the south wind's fan Drawn from the broad bough, as Eve from Man ! From the rank red earth it never up-grew ; It was woo'd from the bark in the breezy blue. Hail, blossoms green 'mid the limes unseen, That charm the bees to your honey'd screen, As like to the green trees that gave you birth As noble manners to inward worth! We see you not ; but, we scarce know why, We are glad when the air ye have breathed goes by. J O flowers of the lime! 'twas a merry time When under you first we read old rhyme, And heard the wind roam over pale and park, (We "not I) 'mid the lime-grove dark ! Summer is heavy and sad. Ye bring With your tardy blossoms a second spring. Aubrey de Vere. 28 WOODLAND AND WILD. SUMMER. INTER is cold-hearted, Spring is yea and nay, Autumn is a weathercock Blown every way: Summer days for me When every leaf is on its tree; When Robin's not a beggar, And Jenny Wren's a bride, And larks hang singing, singing, singing, Over the wheat-fields wide, And anchored lilies ride, And the pendulum spider Swings from side to side, And blue-black beetles transact business, And gnats fly in a host, And furry caterpillars hasten That no time be lost, And moths grow fat and thrive, And ladybirds arrive. Before green apples blush, Before green nuts embrown, * Why, one day in the country Is worth a month in town ; Is worth a day and a year Of the dusty, musty, lag-last fashion That days drone elsewhere. Christina EossettL WOODLAND AND WILD. 29 A SUMMER DAY. I STOOD tiptoe upon a little hill, The air was cooling, and so very still, That the sweet buds which with a modest pride Pull droopingly, in slanting curve aside, Their scanty-leaved, and finely-tapering stems, Had not yet lost their starry diadems Caught from the early sobbing of the morn. The clouds were pure and white as flocks new-shorn, And fresh from the clear brook; sweetly they slept On the blue fields of heaven, and then there crept A little noiseless noise among the leaves, Born of the very sigh that silence heaves; For not the faintest motion could be seen Of all the shades that slanted o'er the green. There was wide wandering for the greediest eye, To peer about upon variety; Far round the horizon's crystal air to skim, And trace the dwindled edgings of its brim ; To picture out the quaint and curious bending Of a fresh woodland alley never-ending: Or by the bowery clefts, and leafy shelves, Guess where the jaunty streams refresh themselves. I gazed awhile, and felt as light and free As though the fanning wings of Mercury Had play'd upon my heels : I was light-hearted, And many pleasures to my vision started; So I straightway began to pluck a posy Of luxuries bright, milky, soft and rosy. A bush of May-flowers with the bees about them ; Ah, sure no tasteful nook could be without them ! And let a lush laburnum oversweep them, And let long grass grow round the roots, to keep them Moist, cool and green ; and shade the violets, That they may bind the moss in leafy nets. 30 WOODLAND AND WILD. A filbert-hedge with wildbriar overtwined, And clumps of woodbine taking the soft wind Upon their summer thrones; there too should be The frequent chequer of a youngling tree, That with a score of light green brethren shoots From the quaint mossiness of aged roots : Eound which is heard a spring-head of clear waters, Babbling so wildly of its lovely daughters, The spreading blue-bells ; it may haply mourn That such fair clusters should be rudely torn From their fresh beds, and scatter'd thoughtlessly By infant hands, left on the path to die. ***** Here are sweet peas, on tiptoe for a flight : With wings of gentle flush o'er delicate white, And taper fingers catching at all things, To bind them all about with tiny rings. Linger awhile upon some bending planks That lean against a streamlet's rushy banks, And watch intently Nature's gentle doings : They will be found softer than ring-doves' cooings. How silent comes the water round that bend ! Not the minutest whisper does it send WOODLAND AND WILD. 31 To the o'erhanging sallows : blades of grass Slowly across the chequer 'd shadows pass. Why you might read two sonnets, ere they reach To where the hurrying freshnesses aye preach A natural sermon o'er their pebbly beds; Where swarms of minnows show their little heads, Staying their wavy bodies 'gainst the streams, To taste the luxury of sunny beams Temper'd with coolness. How they ever wrestle With their own sweet delight, and ever nestle Their silver bellies on the pebbly sand! If you but scantily hold out the hand, That very instant not one will remain; But turn your eye, and they are there again. The ripples seem right glad to reach those cresses, And cool themselves among the emerald tresses ; The while they cool themselves, they freshness give, And moisture, that the bowery green may live: So keeping up an interchange of favours, Like good men in the truth of their behaviours. Sometimes goldfinches one by one will drop From low-hung branches : little space they stop ; But sip, and twitter, and their feathers sleek; Then off at once, as in a wanton freak : Or perhaps, to show their black and golden wings, Pausing upon their yellow flutterings. Were I in such a place, I sure should pray That nought less sweet might call my thoughts away Than the soft rustle of a maiden's gown Fanning away the dandelion's down ; Than the light music of her nimble toes Patting against the sorrel as she goes. How she would start, and blush, thus to be caught Playing in all her innocence of thought ! O let me lead her gently o'er the brook, Watch her half-smiling lips and downward look ; O let me for one moment touch her wrist, Let me one moment to her breathing list; 32 WOODLAND AND WILD. And as she leaves me, may she often turn Her fair eyes looking through her locks auburne. What next? A tuft of evening primroses, O'er which the mind may hover till it dozes; O'er which it well might take a pleasant sleep, But that 'tis ever startled by the leap Of buds into ripe flowers ; or by the flitting Of divers moths, that aye their rest are quitting ; Or by the moon lifting her silver rim Above a cloud, and with a gradual swim Coming into the blue with all her light. J. Keats. SUNRISE ON THE HILLS. STOOD upon the hills, when heaven's wide arch Was glorious with the sun's returning march, And woods were brightened, and soft gales Went forth to kiss the sun-clad vales. The clouds were far beneath me ; bathed in light, They gathered mid-way round the wooded height, And, in their fading glory, shone Like hosts in battle overthrown, As many a pinnacle, with shifting glance, Through the gray mist thrust up its shattered lance, And rocking on the cliff was left The dark pine blasted, bare, and cleft, The veil of cloud was lifted, and below Glowed the rich valley, and the river's flow Was darkened by the forest's shade, Or glistened in the wide cascade ; Where, upward in the mellow blush of day, The noisy bittern wheeled his spiral way. WOODLAND AND WILD. 33 I heard the distant waters dash, 1 saw the current whirl and flash, And richly, by the blue lake's silver beach, The woods were bending with a silent reach. Then o'er the vale, with gentle swell, The music of the village bell Came sweetly to the echo-giving hills : And the wild horn, whose voice the woodland fills, Was ringing to the merry shout, That faint and far the glen sent out, Where, answering to the sudden shot, thin smoke, Through thick-leaved branches, from the dingle broke. If thou art worn and hard beset With sorrows that thou wouldst forget, If thou wouldst read a lesson that will keep Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep, Go to the woods and hills ! No tears Dim the sweet look that nature wears. H. W. Longfellow. A SUMMER MORN. To yonder hill, whose sides, deform'd and steep Just yield a scanty sustenance to the sheep, With thee, my friend, I oftentimes have sped, To see the sun rise from his healthy bed ; To watch the aspect of the summer niorn, Smiling upon the golden fields of corn, And taste delighted of superior joys, Beheld through Sympathy's enchanted eyes: With silent admiration oft we view'd The myriad hues o'er heaven's blue concave strew'd ; F 34 WOODLAND AND WILD. The fleecy clouds, of every tint and shade, Kound which the silvery sunbeam glancing play'd, And the round orb itself, in azure throne, Just peeping o'er the blue hill's ridgy zone; We mark'd delighted, how with aspect gay, Reviving Nature hail'd returning day; Mark'd how the flowerets rear'd their drooping heads, And the wild lambkins bounded o'er the meads, While from each tree, in tones of sweet delight, The birds sung paeans to the source of light: Oft have we \vatch'd the speckled lark arise, Leave his grass bed, and soar to kindred skies, And rise, and rise, till the pained sight no more Could trace him in his high aerial tour; Though on the ear, at intervals, his song Came wafted slow the wavy breeze along ; And we have thought how happy were our lot, Bless'd with some sweet, some solitary cot, Where, from the peep of day, till russet eve Began in every dell her forms to weave, We might pursue our sports from day to day, And in each other's arms wear life away. H. Kirke White. SUMMEE MOODS. I LOVE at eventide to walk alone, Down narrow lanes o'erhung with dewy thorn, Where from the long grass underneath, the snail Je black creeps out and sprouts his timid horn. I love to muse o'er meadows newly mown, Where withering grass perfumes the sultry air; WOODLAND AND WILD. 35 Where bees search round with sad and weary drone, In vain for flowers that bloomed but newly there ; While in the juicy corn, the hidden quail Cries " Wet my foot !" and, hid as thoughts unborn, The fairy-like and seldom seen land-rail Utters " Craik, craik !" like voices underground : Right glad to meet the evening's dewy veil, And see the light fade into glooms around. /. Clare. THE EVENING STAK. STAB that bringest home the bee, And sett'st the weary labourer free ! If any star shed peace, 'tis thou, That send'st it from above, Appearing when heaven's breath and brow Are sweet as hers we love. Come to the luxuriant skies, Whilst the landscape's odours rise, Whilst far-off lowing herds are heard, And songs, when toil is done, From cottages whose smoke unstirred Curls yellow in the sun. 36 WOODLAND AND WILD. > Star of love's soft interviews, Parted lovers on thee muse; Their remembrancer in heaven Of thrilling vows thou art, Too delicious to be riven By absence from the heart. T. Campbell. IF aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song, May hope, O pensive Eve ! to soothe thine ear, Like thy own brawling springs, Thy springs and dying gales. O nymph reserved ! while now the bright-hair'd sun Sits in yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts, With brede ethereal wove, O'erhang his wavy bed : Now air is hush'd, save where the weak-eyed bat, With short shrill shriek flits by on leathern wing; Or where the beetle winds His small but sullen horn. As oft he rises 'midst the twilight path, Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum : Now teach me, maid composed, To breathe some soften'd strain, Whose numbers, stealing thro' thy darkening vale, May not unseemly with its stillness suit, As musing slow, I hail, Thy genial, loved return ! WOODLAND AND WILD. 37 For when thy folding-star arising shows His paly circlet at his warning lamp, The fragrant hours, and elves Who slept in buds the day. And many a nymph, who wreathes her brows with sedge, And sheds the freshening dews, and, lovelier still, The pensive Pleasures, sweet, Prepare thy shadowy car. Then let me rove some wild and heathy scene ; Or find some ruin, 'midst its dreary dells, Whose walls more awful nod By thy religious gleams. Or, if chill blustering winds, or driving rain, Prevent my willing feet, be mine the hut, That, from the mountain's side, Views wilds, and swelling floods, And hamlets brown, and dim-discover'd spires, And hears their simple bell, and marks o'er all Thy dewy fingers draw The gradual dusky veil. 38 WOODLAND AND WILD. While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he wont, And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve ! While summer loves to sport Beneath thy lingering light; While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves, Or Winter, yelling through the troublous air, Affrights thy shrinking train, And rudely rends thy robes ; So long, regardful of thy quiet rule, Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, smiling Peace, Thy gentlest influence own, And love thy favourite name ! W. Collins. MILKEN TIME.* 'TwER when the busy birds did vlee, Wi' sheenen wings, vrom tree to tree, To build upon the mossy lim', Their hollow nestes' rounded rim ; The while the zun, a-zinken low, Did roll along his evenen bow, I come along where wide-horn'd cows, 'Ithin a nook, a screen'd by boughs, Did stan' an' flip the white-hoop'd pails, Wi' heairy tufts o' swingen tails; An' there wer Jenny Coom a-gone Along the path a vew steps on, A-bearen on her head, up-straight, Her pail, wi' slowly-riden waight, * This poem and that on " Hay Miaken " are taken, by permission, from Poems in the Dorset- shire dialect. By the Rev. W. Barnes, 3 vols. J. R. Smith, Soho Square. WOODLAND AND WILD. 39 An' hoops a-sheenen, lily-white, Agean the evenen's slanten light; An' zo I took her pail, an' left Her neck a-freed vrom all its heft; An' she a-looken up an' down, Wi' sheaply head an' glossy crown, Then took my zide, an' kept my peace A-talken on wi' smilen feace, An' zetten things in sich a light, I'd fain ha' hear'd her talk all night: O ' An' when I brought her milk avore The geate, she took it in to door, An' if her pail had but allow'd Her head to vail, she would ha' bow'd, An* still, as 'twer, I had the zight Ov her sweet smile droughout the night. W. Barnes. EVENING. HEPHEBDS all, and maidens fair, Fold your flocks up, for the air 'Gins to thicken, and the sun Already his great course hath run. See the dewdrops how they kiss Every little flower that is; Hanging on their velvet heads, Like a rope of crystal beads. See the heavy clouds low falling, And bright Hesperus down calling The dead Night from under ground ; At whose rising mists unsound, Damps and vapours fly apace, Hovering o'er the wanton face Of these pastures, where they come, Striking dead both bud and bloom. 40 WOODLAND AND WILD. Therefore, from such danger, lock Every one his loved flock; And let your dogs lie loose without, Lest the wolf come as a scout From the mountain, and ere day Bear a lamb or kid away ; Or the crafty thievish fox Break upon your simple flocks. To secure yourselves from these, Be not too secure in ease; Let one eye his watches keep, While the other eye doth sleep ; So you shall good shepherds prove, And for ever hold the love Of our great God. Sweetest slumbers, And soft silence, fall in numbers On your eyelids ! So, farewell ! Thus I end my evening's knell. J. Fletcher. SUNSET. YET the rich blessing which this hour bestows Let us not mar with mournful thoughts like these See yonder where the sun of evening glows, How gleam the green -girt cottages! He stoops, he sinks and overlived is day; But he hastes on, to kindle life anew. Ah ! that no wing lifts me from earth away Him to pursue, and evermore pursue: Then should I in eternal evening light The hushed world at my feet behold, See every vale in calm, and flaming every height, And silver brooks see lost in floods of gold. WOODLAND AND WILD. 41 Then would not the wild mountain hinder more My course divine with all its rugged heads: Its heated bays even now the ocean spreads My wondering eyes before. Yet the god seems at last away to sink ; But the new impulse stirs with might : I hasten his eternal beams to drink, The day before me, and behind the night, The heaven above me spread, and under me the sea : Fair dream ! which while I dream on, he is gone. Ah! that an actual wing may not so soon Unto our spirit's wing united be, And yet it is to each inbred. That still his spirit forward, upward springs, When hidden in blue spaces overhead The lark his shattering carol sings; When over pine-clad mountains soars The eagle, spread upon the air, When over seas and over moors The crane doth to its home repair. Archbishop Trench. From the German of Goethe. TWILIGHT CALM. O, PLEASANT eventide! Clouds on the western side Grow grey and greyer hiding the warm sun : The bees and birds, their happy labours done, Seek their close nests and bide. Screened in the leafy wood The stockdoves sit and brood : The very squirrel leaps from bough to bough But lazily ; pauses ; and settles now Where once he stored his food. 42 WOODLAND AND WILD. One by one the flowers close, Lily and dewy rose Shutting their tender petals from the moon : The grasshoppers are still ; but not so soon Are still the noisy crows. The dormouse squats and eats Choice little dainty bits Beneath the spreading roots of a broad lime ; Nibbling his fill, he stops from time to time And listens where he sits. From far the lowings come Of cattle driven home : From farther still the wind brings fitfully The vast continual murmur of the sea, Now loud, now almost dumb. The gnats whirl in the air, The evening gnats, and there The owl opes broad his eyes and wings to sail For prey ; the bat wakes ; and the shell-less snail Comes forth clammy and bare. Hark ! that's the nightingale, Telling the self-same tale Her song told when this ancient earth was young; So echoes answered when her song was sung In the first wooded vale. We call it love and pain The passion of her strain ; And yet we little understand or know : Why should it not be rather joy that so Throbs in each throbbing vein ? In separate herds the deer Lie ; here the bucks, and here The does, and by its mother sleeps the fawn : Through all the hours of night until the dawn They sleep, forgetting fear. WOODLAND AND WILD. 43 The hare sleeps where it lies With wary half-closed eyes ; The cock has ceased to crow, the hen to cluck : Only the fox is out, some heedless duck Or chicken to surprise. Remote, each single star Comes out, till there they are All shining brightly : how the dews fall damp ! While close at hand the glowworm lights her lamp Or twinkles from afar. But evening now is done As much as if the sun Day-giving had arisen in the east : For night has come, and the great calm has ceased, The quiet sands have run. Christina Rossetti. A SUMMER EYE. DOWN the sultry arc of day The burning wheels have urged their way, And Eve along the western skies, Spreads her intermingling dyes, 44 WOODLAND AND WILD. Down the deep, the miry lane, Creeking comes the empty wain, And driver on the shaft-horse sits, Whistling now and then by fits; And oft with his accustom'd call, Urging on the sluggish Ball. The barn is still, the master's gone, And thresher puts his jacket on, While Dick, upon the ladder tall, Nails the dead kite to the wall. Here comes shepherd Jack at last, He has penn'd the sheep-cote fast, For 'twas but two nights before A lamb was eaten on the moor : His empty wallet Rover carries, Now for Jack, when near home, tarries ; With lolling tongue he runs to try, If the horse-trough be not dry. The milk is settled in the pans, And supper messes in the cans ; In the hovel carts are wheel'd, And both the colts are drove a-field ; The horses are all bedded up, And the ewe is with the tup, The snare for Mister Fox is set, The leaven laid, the thatching wet, And Bess has slinked away to talk With Roger in the holly-walk. Now on the settle all, but Bess, Are set to eat their supper mess : And little Tom and roguish Kate Are swinging on the meadow gate. Now they chat of various things, Of taxes, ministers, and kings, Or else tell all the village news, How madam did the squire refuse ; Darjou pinx 1 Pirodon lith WOODLAND AND WILD. 45 How parson on his tithes was bent, And landlord oft distrain'd for rent. Thus do they talk, till in the sky The pale-eyed moon is mounted high, And from the alehouse drunken Ned Has reel'd then hasten all to bed. The mistress sees that lazy Kate The happing coal on kitchen grate Has laid while master goes throughout, Sees shutters fast, the mastiff out, The candles safe, the hearths all clear, And nought from thieves or fire to fear, Then both to bed together creep, And join the general troop of sleep. H. Kirke White. EVENING. FROM yonder wood mark blue-eyed Eve proceed: First thro' the deep and warm and secret glens, Through the pale glimmering privet-scented lane, And through those alders by the river-side: Now the soft dust impedes her, which the sheep Have hollow'd out beneath their hawthorn shade. But ah ! look yonder ! see a misty tide Kise up the hill, lay low the frowning grove, Enwrap the gay white mansion, sap its sides Until they sink and melt away like chalk; Now it comes down against our village-tower, Covers its base, floats o'er its arches, tears 46 WOODLAND AND WILD. The clinging ivy from the battlements, Mingles in broad embrace the obdurate stone, (All one vast ocean), and goes swelling on In slow and silent, dim and deepening waves. W. 8. Landor. THE NIGHTS. H the summer night Has a smile of light And she sits on a sapphire throne ; Whilst the sweet winds load her With garlands of odour, From the bud to the rose o'er blown ! But the autumn night Has a piercing sight, And a step both strong and free ; And a voice for wonder, Like the wrath of the thunder, When he shouts to the stormy sea ! And the winter night Is all cold and white, And she singeth a song of pain ; Till the wild bee hummeth, And warm spring cometh, When she dies in a dream of rain ! tlie night brings sleep To the green woods deep ; To the bird of the woods its nest ; To care soft hours ; To life new powers; To the sick and the wear) 7 Rest ! Barry Cornwall. WOODLAND AND WILD. 47 THE JACKDAW. THEEE is a bird, who, by his coat, And by the hoarseness of his note, Might be supposed a crow ; A great frequenter of the church, Where, bishop-like, he finds a perch, And dormitory too. Above the steeple shines a plate, That turns and turns, to indicate From what point blows the weather, Look up your brains begin to swim, 'Tis in the clouds that pleases him, He chooses it the rather. Fond of the speculative height, Thither he wings his airy flight, And thence securely sees The bustle and the raree-show That occupy mankind below, Secure, and at his ease. You think, no doubt, he sits and muses On future broken bones and bruises, If he should chance to fall. No ; not a single thought like that Employs his philosophic pate, Or troubles it at all. He see, that this great roundabout, The world, with all its motley rout, Church, army, physic, law, Its customs and its businesses Is no" concern at all of his, And says what says he ? Caw. 48 WOODLAND AND WILD. Thrice-happy bird! I too have Been Much of the vanities of men ; And sick of having seen 'em, Would cheerfully these limbs resign For such a pair of wings as thine, And such a head between 'em. W. Cowper. THE THRUSH. 'LL pay my rent in music,' said a thrush, Who took his lodging 'iieath my eaves in spring, Where the thick foliage droop'd. And well he kept His simple contract. Not for quarter-day He coldly waited, nor a draft required To stir his memory, nor my patience tried With changeful currencies, but every morn Brought me good notes at par, and broke my sleep With his sweet-ringing coin. Sometimes a song, All wildly trilling through his dulcet pipes, Falling, and caught again, and still prolong'd, Betrayed in what green nook the warbler sat, Each feather quivering with excess of joy, While from his opening beak and brightening eye There seein'd to breathe a cadence, 'This is meant For your especial benefit.' The lay With overruling shrillness more than once Did summon me to lay my book aside And wait its close ; nor was that pause a loss, WOODLAND AND WILD. 49 But seemed to tune and shape the inward ear To wisdom's key-tone. Then I had a share In softer songs, that cheer'd his brooding mate, Who, in the patience of good hope, did keep Her lengthen'd vigil ; and the voice of love That flow'd so fondly from his trusting soul Made glad mine own. Then, too, there was a strain From blended throats, that to their callow young Breathed tenderness untold ; and the weak chirp Of new-born choristers, so deftly train'd Each in the sweet way that he ought to go, Mix'd with that breath of household charities Which makes the spirit strong. And so I felt My rent was fully paid, and thought myself Quite fortunate, in these our times, to find Such honest tenant. But when autumn bade The northern birds to spread their parting wiug, And that small house was vacant, and o'er hedge And russet grove and forest hoar with years The hush of silence settled, I grew sad To miss my kind musicians, and was fain To patronize with a more fervent zeal Such fireside music as makes winter short, And storms unheard. Yet leave within our hearts Dear melodists, the spirit of your praise,- Until ye come again ; and the brown nest, That now its downy lining to the winds H 50 WOODLAND AND WILD. Turns desolate, shall thrill at your return With the loud welcome home. For He who touch'd Your breasts with minstrelsy, and every flower With beauty, hath a lesson for his sous, In all the varied garniture that decks Life's banquet-board ; and he's the wisest guest Who taketh gladly what his God doth send, Keeping each instrument of joy in tune That helps to fit him for the choir of heaven. Mrs. Sigourney. USH! my heedless feet from under Slip the crumbling banks for ever ; Like echoes to a distant thunder, They plunge into the gentle river. The river-swans have heard my tread, And startle from their reedy bed. beauteous birds ! rnethinks ye measure Your movements to some heavenly tune ! beauteous birds! 'tis such a pleasure To see you move beneath the moon, 1 would it were your true delight To sleep by day and wake all night. 8. T. Coleridge. WOODLAND AND WILD. 51 THE BELFRY PIGEON. ON the cross-beam under the old south bell The nest of a pigeon is builded well. In summer and winter that bird is there, Out and in with the morning air : I love to see him track the street, With his wary eye and active feet ; And I often watch him as he springs, Circling the steeple with easy wings, Till across the dial his shade has pass'd, And the belfry edge is gain'd at last. Tis a bird I love, with its brooding note, And the trembling throb in its mottled throat; There's a human look in its swelling breast, And the gentle curve of its lowly crest ; And I often stop with the fear I feel He runs so close to the rapid wheel. Whatever is rung on that noisy bell Chime of the hour or funeral knell The dove in the belfry must hear it well, When the tongue swings out to the midnight moon- 52 WOODLAND AND WILD. When the sexton cheerly rings for noon When the clock strikes clear at morning light When the child is waked with " nine at night "- When the chimes play soft in the Sabbath air, Filling the spirit with tones of prayer Whatever and all in the bell is heard, He broods on his folded feet unstirr'd, Or, rising half in his rounded nest, He takes the time to smooth his breast, Then drops again with filmed eyes, And sleeps as the last vibration dies. Sweet bird ! I would that I could be A hermit in the crowd like thee! With wings to fly to wood and glen, Thy lot, like mine, is cast with men , And daily, with unwilling feet, Tread, like thee, the crowded street ; But, unlike me, when day is o'er, Thou canst dismiss the world and soar, Or, at a half-felt wish for rest, Canst smooth the feathers on thy breast, And drop, forgetful, to thy nest. N. P. Willis. THE OWL. ALOFT in my ancient, sky-roofed hall, In my old gray turret high, Where the ivy waves o'er the crumbling wall, A king ! a king reign I ! Tu-whoo ! I wake the woods with my startling call To the frighted passer-by. WOODLAND AND WILD. 53 The gadding vines in the chinks that grow Come clambering up to me ; And the newt, the bat, and the toad, I trow, A merry band are we. Tu-whoo ! Oh ! the coffined monks in their cells below, Have no goodlier company. alft When the sweet dew sleeps in the midnight cool, To some tree-top I win ; While the toad leaps up on her throne-like stool, And our revels loud begin Tu-whoo ! And the bull-frog croaks by yon stagnant pool, Ere he sportive plunges in. 54 WOODLAND AND WILD. And the blind bat wheels through the cloister shades, Where none unscared may pass; And the newt glides forth through the long arcades, Where the glowworm lights the grass Tu-whoo ! And will-o'-the-wisp, o'er the broad green glades, Flits on to the far morass. And thus I ween all the livelong night A gladsome life lead we ; While the stars look down from their jewelled height On our sports approvingly. Tu-whoo ! They may bask who will in the mid-day light. But the midnight gloom for me ! Mary E. Howitt. TO THE GRASSHOPPER AND THE CRICKET. GREEN little vaulter in the sunny grass, Catching your heart up at the feel of June, Sole voice that's heard amidst the lazy noon, When even the bees lag at the summoning brass; And you, warm little housekeeper, who class With those who think the candles come too soon, Loving the fire, and with your tricksome tune Nick the glad silent moments as they pass ; O sweet and tiny cousins, that belong, One to the fields, the other to the hearth ! Both have your sunshine ; both, though small, are strong, At your clear hearts, and both seem given to earth To ring in thoughtful ears this natural song In doors and out, summer and winter, mirth. Leigh Hunt. WOODLAND AND WILD. 55 THE GRASSHOPPER AND THE CRICKET. THE poetry of earth is never dead : When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead: That is the grasshopper's he takes the lead In summer luxury he has never done With his delights, for when tired out with fun, He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed. The poetry of earth is ceasing never: On a lone winter evening, when the frost Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills The cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever, And seems to one, in drowsiness half lost, The grasshopper's among some grassy hills. /. Keats. THE BEE. -o HOU wert out betimes, thou busy, busy bee ! As abroad I took my early way, Before the cow from her resting-place Had risen up and left her trace On the meadow, with dew so gray, Saw I thee, thou busy, busy bee. Thou wert working late, thou busy, busy bee I After the fall of the cistus flower, When the primrose-of-evening was ready to burst, I heard thee last, as I saw thee first; In the silence of the evening hour, Heard I thee, thou busy, busy bee. 56 WOODLAND AND WILD. Thou art a miser, tliou busy, busy bee! Late and early at employ ; Still on thy golden stores intent, Thy summer in heaping and hoarding is spent, What thy winter will never enjoy ; Wise lesson this for me, thou busy, busy bee ! Little dost thou think, thou busy, busy bee ! What is the end of thy toil. When the latest^flowers of the ivy are gone, And all thy work for the year is done, Thy master comes for the spoil. Woe then for thee, thou busy, busy bee ! R. Southey. BEES. THEREFORE doth Heaven divide The state of man in divers functions, Setting endeavour, in continual motion ; To which is fixed, as an aim or butt, Obedience: for so work the honey-bees; Creatures, that, by a rule in nature, teach The act of order to a peopled kingdom. They have a king and officers of sorts: Where some, like magistrates, correct at home ; Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad; Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings, Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds ; Which pillage they with merry march bring home To the tent-royal of their emperor: Who, busied in his majesty, surveys The singing masons building roofs of gold ; The civil citizens kneading up the honey; WOODLAND AND WILD. 57 The poor mechanic porters crowding in Their heavy burthens at his narrow gate; The sad-eyed justice, with his surly hum, Delivering o'er to executors pale The lazy yawning drone. W. Shakspere. THE GLOWWORM. BENEATH the hedge, or near the stream, A worm is known to stray ; That shows by night a lucid beam Which disappears by day. Disputes have been, and still prevail, From whence his rays proceed ; Some give that honour to his tail, And others to his head. But this is sure the hand of night That kindles up the skies, Gives him a modicum of light, Proportion'd to his size. Perhaps indulgent Nature meant, By such a lamp bestow'd, To bid the traveller, as he went, Be careful where he trod; Nor crush a worm, whose useful light Might serve, however small, To show a stumbling-stone by night, And save him from a fall. Whate'er she meant, this truth divine Is legible and plain, 'Tis power almighty bids him shine, Nor bids him shine in vain. 58 WOODLAND AND WILD. Ye proud and wealthy, let this theme Teach humbler thoughts to you, Since such a reptile has its gem, And boasts its splendour too. W. Cowper. THE HEDGE-ROWS. EHOLD a length of hundred leagues displayed- That web of old historic tapestry With its green patterns, broidered to the eye, Is with domestic mysteries inlaid! Here hath a nameless sire in some past age In quaint uneven stripe or curious nook, Clipped by the wanderings of a snaky brook, Carved for a younger son an heritage. There set apart, an island in a bower, With right of road among the oakwoods round, Are some few fields within a ring-fence bound, Perchance a daughter's patrimonial dower. So may we dream, while to our fancy come Kind incidents and sweet biographies, Scarce fanciful, as flowing from the ties And blissful bonds which consecrate our home To be an earthly heaven. From shore to shore That ample, wind-stirred network doth ensnare Within its delicate meshes many a rare And rustic legend, which may yield good store Of touching thought unto the passenger: Domestic changes, families decayed, And love or hate, in testaments displayed By dying men, still in the hedge-rows stir. F. W. faber. WOODLAND AND WILD. 59 FIELD FLOWERS. YE field flowers! the gardens eclipse you, 'tis true, Yet, wildings of Nature, I doat upon you, For ye waft me to summers of old, When the earth teem'd around me with fairy delight, And when daisies and buttercups gladdened my sight, Like treasures of silver and gold. I love you for lulling me back into dreams Of the blue Highland mountains and echoing streams, And of birchen glades breathing their balm, While the deer was seen glancing in sunshine remote, And the deep mellow crush of the wood-pigeon's note Made music that sweeten'd the calm. 60 WOODLAND AND WILD. Not a pastoral song has a pleasanter tune Than ye speak to my heart, little wildings of June : Of old ruinous castles ye tell, Where I thought it delightful your beauties to find, When the magic of Nature first breath'd on my mind, And your blossoms were part of her spell. Even now what affections the violet awakes; What loved little islands, twice seen in their lakes, Can the wild water-lily restore; What landscapes I read in the primrose's looks, And what pictures of pebbled and minnowy brooks, In the vetches that tangled their shore! Earth's cultureless buds, to my heart ye were dear, Ere the fever of passion or ague of fear Had scathed my existence's 'bloom; Once I welcome you more, in life's passionless stage, With the visions of youth to revisit my age, And I wish you to grow on my tomb. T. Campbell. THE DAISY. WITH little here to do or see Of things that in the great world be, Daisy! again I talk to thee, / For thou art worthy. Thou unassuming commonplace Of Nature, with that homely face, And yet with something of a grace, Which Love makes for thee! WOODLAND AND WILD. 61 Oft on the dappled turf at ease I sit and play with similes, Loose types of things through all degrees, Thoughts of thy raising: And many a fond and idle name I give to thee for praise or blame, As is the humour of the game, While I am gazing. A nun demure of lowly port; Or sprightly maiden of Love's court, In thy simplicity the sport Of all temptations ; A queen in crown of rubies drest ; A starveling in a scanty vest; Are all, as seems to suit thee best, Thy appellations. A little cyclops, with one eye Staring to threaten and defy, That thought comes next and instantly The freak is over, The shape will vanish and behold A silver shield with boss of gold, That spreads itself, some fairy bold In fight to cover! I see thee glittering from afar And then thou art a pretty star ; Not quite so fair as many are In heaven above thee ! Yet like a star, with glittering crest, Self-poised in air thou seem'st to rest; May peace come never to his nest, Who shall reprove thee ! 62 WOODLAND AND WILD. Bright Flower! for by that name at last, When all my reveries are past, I call thee, and to that cleave fast, Sweet silent creature ! That breath'st with me in sun and air, Do thou, as thou art wont, repair My heart with gladness, and a share Of thy meek nature ! W. Wordsworth. THE DANDELION. EAE common flower, that grow'st beside the way, Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold, First pledge of blithesome May, Which children pluck, and full of pride, uphold, High-hearted buccaneers, o'erjoyed that they An Eldorado in the grass have found, Which not the rich earth's ample round May match in wealth, thou art more dear to me Than all the prouder summer blooms may be. Gold such as tliine ne'er drew the Spanish prow Through the primeval hush of Indian seas, Nor wrinkled the lean brow Of age, to rob the lover's heart of ease ; 'Tis the Spring's largess, which she scatters now WOODLAND AND WILD. 63 To rich and poor alike, with lavish hand ; Though most hearts never understand To take it at God's value, but pass by The offered wealth with unrewarded eye. Thou art my tropics and mine Italy ; To look on thee unlocks a warmer clime ; The eyes thou givest me Are in the heart, and heed not space or time : Not in mid June the goldeu-cuirassed bee Feels a more summer-like, warm ravishment In the white lily's breezy tent, His conquered Sybaris, than I, when first From the dark green thy yellow circles burst. Then think I of deep shadows on the grass, Of meadows where in sun the cattle graze, Where, as the breezes pass The gleaming rushes lean a thousand ways, Of leaves that slumber in a cloudy mass, Or whiten in the wind, of waters blue That from the distance sparkle through Some woodland gap, and of a sky above, Where one white cloud like a stray lamb doth move. My childhood's earliest thoughts are linked with thee; The sight of thee calls back the robin's song, Who, from the dark old tree Beside the door, sang clearly all day long, And I, secure in childish piety, Listened as if I heard an angel sing With news from heaven, which he did bring Fresh every day to my untainted ears When birds and flowers and I were happy peers. How like a prodigal doth nature seem, When thou, for all thy gold, so common art ! Thou teachest me to deem More sacredly of every human heart, Since each reflects in joy its scanty gleam 64 WOODLAND AND WILD. Of heaven, and could some wondrous secret show, Did we but pay the love we owe, And with a child's undoubtiug wisdom look On all these living pages of God's book. J. R. Lowell. THE SWEETBRIAR. WILD rose, sweetbriar, eglantine, All these pretty names are mine, And scent in every leaf is mine, And a leaf for all is mine, And the scent oh, that's divine ! Happy-sweet and pungent-fine, Pure as dew, and pick'd as wine. As the rose in gardens dress'd Is the lady self-possess'd ; I'm the lass in simple vest, The country lass whose blood's the best. Were the beams that thread the briar In the morn with golden fire Scented, too, they'd smell like me, All Elysian pungency. Leigh Hunt. THE GARDEN. DEAR garden ! once again with lingering look Reverted, half remorseful, let me dwell Upon thee as thou wert in that old time Of happy days departed. Thou art changed, WOODLAND AND WILD. 65 And I have changed thee Was it wisely done? Wisely and well, they say who look thereon With unimpassioned eye cool, clear, undimm'd By moisture such as memory gathers oft In mine, while gazing on the things that are Not with the hallowed past, the loved the lost Associated as those I now retrace With tender sadness. The old shrubbery walk Straight as an arrow, was less graceful far Than this fair winding among flowers and turf, Till with an artful curve it sweeps from sight To reappear again, just seen and lost Among the hawthorns in the little dell. Less lovely the old walk, but there I ran Holding my mother's hand, a happy child ; There were her steps imprinted, and my father's, And those of many a loved one, now laid low In his last resting place. No flowers, methinks, That now I cultivate are half so sweet, So bright, so beautiful as those that bloomed In the old formal borders. These clove pinks Yield not such fragrance as the true old sort That spiced our pot-pourrie (my mother's pride) With such peculiar richness; and this rose, With its fine foreign name, is scentless, pale, Compared with the old cabbage those that blushed In the thick hedge of spiky lavender Such lavender as is not no\v-a-days; And gilly-flowers are not as they were then Sure to " come double ;" and the night breeze now Sighs not so loaded with delicious scents Of lily and sevinger. O, my heart ! Is all indeed so altered? or art thou The changeling, sore aweary now at times Of all beneath the sun? Caroline Southeij. 66 WOODLAND AND WILD. THE FOUNTAIN. INTO the sunshine, full of the light, Leaping and flashing from morn till night ! Into the moonlight, whiter than snow, Waving so flower-like when the winds blow ! Into the starlight, rushing in spray, Happy at midnight, happy by day ! WOODLAND AND WILD. G7 Ever in motion, blithesome and cheery, Still climbing heavenward, never aweary ; Glad of all weathers, still seeming best, Upward or downward, motion thy rest ; Full of a nature nothing can tame Changed every moment, ever the same ; Ceaseless aspiring, ceaseless content, Darkness or sunshine thy element ; Glorious fountain ! Let my heart be Fresh, changeful, constant, upward, like thee ! /. R. Lowell. THE COTTAGE. MINE be a cot beside the hill ; A beehive's hum shall soothe rny 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. The village church among the trees, Where first our marriage vows were given, With merry peals shall swell the breeze, And point with taper spire to Heaven. S. Rogers. 68 WOODLAND AND WILD. HAY MIAKEN. 'Tis merry ov a zummer's day, Wher vo'ke be out a-miaken hay ; Wher men an' women in a string Da ted ar turn the grass, an' zing, Wi' cheemen vaices, merry zongs, A-tossen o' ther slieenen prongs Wi' yarms a-zvvangen left an' right, In colour'd gowns an' shirt sleeves white ; Ar, wider spread, a-riaken roun' The ruosy hedges o' the groun' Wher Sam da zee the speckled sniake, An' try to kill en wi' his riake ; An' Poll da jump about an' squal, To zee the twisten slooworm oral. 'Tis merry wher a gay-tongued lot Ov hay-miakers be all a-squot, On lightly-russlen hay a-spread Below an elem's lofty head, To rest ther weary limbs an' munch Ther bit o' dinner, ar ther nunch ; Wher teethy riakes da lie all roun' By picks a-stuck up into groun' : An' wi' ther vittles in ther laps, An' in ther tinnen cups ther draps 0' cider sweet, ar frothy yale, Ther tongues da run wi' joke an' tiale. An' when the zun, so low an' red, Da sheen above the leafy head O' scome girt tree, a rizen high Avore the vi'ry western sky, 'Tis merry wher all han's da goo Adirt the groun', by two an' two, A-riaken, auver humps an' hollers, The russlen grass up into rollers. WOODLAND AND WILD. 69 An' oone da row it in in line, An' oone da cluose it up benine ; An' a'ter they the little buoys Da stride an' fling ther yarms all woys, Wi' busy picks an' proud young looks A-miaken up ther tiny pooks. An' zoo 'tis merry out among The vo'ke in hay-viel' al da-long. William Barnes. A GIPSY ENCAMPMENT. SEE a column of slow-rising smoke O'ertop the lofty wood that skirts the wild : A vagabond and useless tribe there eat Their miserable meal. A kettle, slung Between two poles upon a stick transverse, Keceives the morsel flesh obscene of dog, Or vermin, or at best of cock purloined From his accustomed perch. Hard-faring race ! They pick their fuel out of every hedge, Which, kindled witli dry leaves, just saves unquench'd The spark of life. The sportive wind blows wide Their fluttering rags, and shows a tawny skin, The vellum of the pedigree they claim. Great skill have they in palmistry, and more To conjure clean away the gold they touch, Conveying worthless dross into its place; Loud when they beg, dumb only when they steal. Strange ! that a creature, rational, and cast In human mould, should brutalize by choice His nature ; and, though capable of arts By which the world might profit, and himself, Self-banished from society, prefer Such squalid sloth to honourable toil ! 70 WOODLAND AND WILD. Yet even these, though feigning sickness oft They swathe the forehead, drag the limping limb, And vex their flesh with artificial sores, Can change their whine into a mirthful note, When safe occasion offers; and with dance And music of the bladder and the bag, Beguile their woes, and make the woods resound. Such health and gaiety of heart enjoy The houseless rovers of the sylvan world ; And, breathing wholesome air, and wandering much, Need other physic none to heal the effects Of loathsome diet, penury, and cold. W. Coivper. ANGLING. FLOW, river, flow ! Where the alders grow; Where the mosses rest On the bank's high breast ; Flow on, and make sweet music ever, Thou joyous and beloved river. Such peace upon the landscape broods, There is such beauty in the woods ; Such notes of joy come from the copse, And from the swinging oak-tree tops; There are such sounds of life, and health, and pleasure Abroad upon the breeze, And on the river rippling at sweet leisure, Beneath its banks of fringing trees, That to my mind a thought of death or pain Seems a discordant note in heavenly strain. Death is the rule of life: the hawk in air Pursues the swallow for his daily fare ; WOODLAND AND WILD. 71 The blackbird and the linnet rove On a death-errand through the grove ; The happy slug and glowworm pale, Must die to feed the nightingale; The mighty lion hunts his destined prey ; And the small insect, fluttering on our way, Devours the tinier tribes that live unseen In shady nooks and populous forests green ; The hungry fish, in seas and rivers, Are death-receivers and death-givers ; And animalculee conceal'd from sight, In littleness sublime and infinite, That whirl in drops of water from the fen Creatures as quarrelsome as men Or float in air upon invisible wings, Devour the countless hosts of smaller things. But simple is the law which they obey They never torture when they slay, Unconquerable need, the law of life, Impels the fiercest to the fatal strife : They feel no joy in stopping meaner breath, Tia man alone that makes a sport of death. So, gentle river, flow, Where the green alders grow, 72 WOODLAND AND WILD. Where the pine-tree rears its crest, And the stock-dove builds her nest, Where the wild-flower odours float, A.nd the lark with gushing throat Pours out her rapturous strains To all hills and plains; And if, amid the stream, The lurking angler dream, Of hooking fishes with his treacherous flies, Reflect, oh river, the unclouded skies, And bear no windy ripple on thy breast, The cloud and ripple he loves best, So that the innocent fish may see, And shun their biped enemy. Flow, river, flow, Where the violets grow, Where the bank is steep, And the mosses sleep, And the green trees nod to thy waves below : Flow on and make sweet music ever, Thou joyous and beloved river! G. Maekay. THE DESOLATE VILLAGE. 1 WALKED by niysel' ower the sweet braes o' Yarrow, When the earth wi' the gowans o' July was drest ; But the sang o' the bonny burn sounded like sorrow, Bound ilka house cauld as a last simmer's nest. I look'd through the lift o' the blue smiling morning, But never ae wee cloud o' mist could I see On its way up to heaven, the cottage adorning, Hanging white ower the green o' its sheltering tree. WOODLAND AND WILD. 73 By the outside I kenn'd that the inner was forsaken, That nae tread o' footsteps was heard on the floor; loud craw'd the cock whare was nane to awaken, And the wild raven croak'd on the seat by the door ! Sic silence sic lonesomeness, oh, were bewildering ! I heard nae lass singing when herding her sheep ; 1 met nae bright garlands o' wee rosy children Dancing on to the schoolhouse just waken'd frae sleep. I pass'd by the school-house when strangers were coming, Whase windows with glad faces seem'd all alive; Ae moment I hearken'd, but heard nae sweet humming, For a night o' dark vapour can silence the hive. I pass'd by the pool where the lasses at daw'ing Used to bleach their white garments wi' daffin and din ; But the foam in the silence o' nature was fa'ing, And nae laughing rose loud through the roar of the linn. I gaed into a small town when sick o' my roaming Whare ance play'd the viol, the tabor, and flute; 'Twas the hour loved by labour, the saft smiling gloaming, Yet the green round the Cross-stane was empty and mute. To the yellow-flower'd meadow, and scant rigs o' tillage, The sheep a' neglected had come frae the glen; The cushat-dow coo'd in the midst o' the village ; And the swallow had flown to the dwellings of men ! Sweet Denholm ! not thus, when I lived in thy bosom, Thy heart lay so still the last night o' the week ; Then nane was sae weary that love would nae rouse him, And grief gaed to dance with a laugh on his cheek. Sic thoughts wet my een as the moonshine was beaming On the kirk-tower that rose up sae silent and white; The wan ghastly light on the dial was streaming, But the still finger tauld not the hour of the night. L 74 WOODLAND AND WILD. The mirk-time pass'd slowly in siching and weeping, I waken 'd, and nature lay silent in mirth; Ower a' holy Scotland the Sabbath was sleeping, And heaven in beauty came down on the earth. The morning smiled on but nae kirk-bell was ringing, Nae plaid or blue bonnet came down frae the hill; The kirk-door was shut, but nae psalm-tune was singing, And I miss'd the wee voices sae sweet and sae shrill. I look'd ower the quiet o' Death's empty dwelling, The lav'rock walk'd mute 'mid the sorrowful scene, And fifty brown hillocks wi' fresh mould were swelling Ower the kirk-yard o' Denholm, last summer sae green, The infant had died at the breast o' its mither; The cradle stood still at the mitherless bed ; At play the bairn sunk in the hand o' its brither ; At the fauld on the mountain the shepherd lay dead. Oh ! in spring-time 'tis eerie, when winter is over, And birds should be glinting ower forest and lea, When the lintwhite and mavis the yellow leaves cover, And nae blackbird sings loud frae the tap o' his tree. But eerier far, when the spring- land rejoices, And laughs back to heaven with gratitude bright ; To hearken! and naewhere hear sweet human Voices, When man's soul is dark in the season o' light ! J. Wilson. SOLITUDE. O VALE of visionary rest! Hush'd as the grave it lies With heaving banks of tenderest green, Yet brightly, happily serene, WOODLAND AND WILD. 75 As cloud-vale of the sleepy west Reposing on the skies. Its reigning spirit may not vary What change can seasons bring Unto so sweet, so calm a spot, Where every loud and restless thing Is like a far-off dream forgot? Mild, gentle, mournful, solitary, As if it aye were spring, And Nature lov'd to witness here, The still joys of the infant year, 'Mid flowers and music wandering glad, For ever happy, yet for ever sad. This little world how still and lone With that horizon of its own ! And, when in silence falls the night, With its own moon how purely bright! No shepherd's cot is here no shealing Its verdant roof through trees revealing No branchy covert like a nest, Where the weary woodmen rest, And their jocund carols sing O'er the fallen forest-king. Inviolate by human hand The fragrant white-stemm'd birch-trees stand,. With many a green and sunny glade 'Mid their embowering murmurs made By gradual soft decay- Where stealing to that little lawn From secret haunt and half afraid, The doe, in mute affection gay, At close of eve leads forth her fawn Amid the flowers to play. And in that dell's soft bosom, lo! Where smileth up a cheerful glow Of water pure as air, 7(3 WOODLAND AND WILD. A tarn by two small streamlets spread In beauty o'er its waveless bed, Keflecting in that heaven so still, The birch-grove mid- way up the hill, And summits green and bare. How lone! beneath its veil of dew That morning's rosy fingers drew, Seldom shepherd's foot hath prest One primrose in its sunny rest. The sheep at distance from the spring May here her lambkins chance to bring, Sporting with their shadows airy, Each like tiny water fairy Imaged in the lucid lake! The hive-bee here doth sometimes make Music, whose sweet niurmurings tell Of his shelter'd straw-roof d cell, Standing 'mid some garden gay, Near a cottage far away. By the lake-side, on a stone Stands the heron all alone, Still as any lifeless thing! Slowly moves his laggard wing, And cloud-like floating with the gale Leaves at last the quiet vale. Wilson. A MOUNTAIN STREAM. THERE is a stream (I name not its name, lest inquisitive tourist Hunt it, and make it a lion, and get it at last into guide-books) Springing far off from a loch unexplored in the folds of great mountains, Falling two miles through rowan and stunted alder, enveloped Then for four more in a forest of pine, where broad and ample Spreads, to convey it, the glen with heathery slopes on both sides : WOODLAND AND WILD. 77 Broad and fair the stream, with occasional falls and narrows ; But, where the glen of its course approaches the vale of the river, Met and blocked by a huge interposing mass of granite, Scarce by a channel deep-cut, raging up, and raging onward, Forces its flood through a passage so narrow a lady would step it. There, across the great rocky wharves, a wooden bridge goes, Carrying a path to the forest ; below, three hundred yards, say, Lower in level some twenty-five feet, through flats of shingle, Stepping-stones and a cart-track cross in the open valley. But in the interval here the boiling pent-up water Frees itself by a final descent, attaining a basin, Ten feet wide and eighteen long, with whiteness and fury Occupied partly, but mostly pellucid, pure, a mirror; Beautiful there for the colour derived from green rocks under; Beautiful, most of all, where beads of foam uprising Mingle their clouds of white with the delicate hue of the stillness, Cliff over cliff for its sides, with rowan and pendant birch boughs, Here it lies, unthought of above at the bridge and pathway, Still more enclosed from below by wood and rocky projection. You are shut in, left alone with yourself and perfection of water, Hid on all sides, left alone with yourself and the goddess" of bathing. A. H. Clough. THE WIND. THE wind went forth o'er land and sea, Loud and free ; Foaming waves leapt up to meet it, Stately pines bowed down to greet it; While the wailing sea And the forest's murmured sigh Joined the cry Of the wind that swept o'er land and sea. 78 WOODLAND AND WILD. The wind that blew upon the sea Fierce and free, Cast the bark upon the shore, Whence it sailed the night before Full of hope and glee ; And the cry of pain and death Was but a breath, Through the wind that roared upon the sea. The wind was whispering on the lea Tenderly ; But the white rose felt it pass, And the fragile stalks of grass Shook with fear to see All her trembling petals shed, As it fled So gently by, the wind upon the lea. Blow, thou wind, upon the sea Fierce and free, And a gentler message send, Where frail flowers and grasses bend, On the sunny lea ; For thy bidding still is one, Be it done . In tenderness or wrath, on land or sea ! Adelaide A. Procter. A SUMMER STORM. UNTREMULOUS in the river clear, Toward the sky's image, hangs the imaged bridge, So still the air, that I can hear The slender clarion of the unseen midge ; Out of the stillness, with a gathering creep, WOODLAND AND WILD. 79 Like rising wind in leaves, which now decreases, Now lulls, now swells, and all the while increases, The huddling tramp of a drove of sheep, Tilts the loose planks, and then as gradually ceases In dust on the other side; life's emblem deep, A confused noise between two silences, Finding at last in dust precarious peace. On the wide marsh the purple-blossomed grasses Soak up the sunshine; sleeps the brimming tide, Save when the wedge-shaped wake in silence passes Of some slow water-rat, whose sinuous glide Wavers* the long green sedge's shade from side to side ; But up the west, like a rock-shivered surge, Climbs a great cloud edged with sun-whitened spray ; Huge whirls of foam boil toppling o'er its verge, And falling still it seems, and yet it climbs alway. Suddenly all the sky is hid As with the shutting of a lid, 80 WOODLAND AND WILD. One by one great drops are falling Doubtful and slow, Down the pane they are crookedly crawling, And the wind breathes low; Slowly the circles widen on the river, Widen and mingle, one and all ; Here and there the slenderer flowers shiver, Struck by an icy rain-drop's fall. Now on the hills I hear the thunder mutter, The wind is gathering in the west; The up-turned leaves first whiten and flutter, Then droop to a fitful rest ; Up from the stream with sluggish flap Struggles the gull, and floats away ; Nearer and nearer rolls the thunder-clap, We shall not see the sun go down to-day : Now leaps the wind on the sleepy marsh, And tramples the grass with terrified feet, The startled river turns leaden and harsh, You can hear the quick heart of the tempest beat. Look ! look ! that livid flash ! And instantly follows the rattling thunder, As if some cloud-crag, split asunder, Fell, splintering with a ruinous crash, On the earth, which crouches in silence under; And now a solid gray wall of rain Shuts oif the landscape, mile by mile ; For a breath's space I see the blue wood again, And, ere the next heart-beat, the wind-hurled pile, That seemed but now a league aloof, Bursts rattling over the sun-parched roof; Against the windows the storm comes dashing, through tattered foliage the hail tears crashing, The blue lightning flashes The rapid hail clashes, The white waves are tumbling And; in one baffled roar, WOODLAND AND WILD. 81 Like the toothless sea mumbling A rock- bristled shore, The thunder is rumbling And crashing and crumbling, Will silence return never more ? Hush ! still as death, The tempest holds his breath As from a sudden will ; The rain stops short, but from the eaves You see it drop, and hear it from the leaves, All is so bodingly still ; Again, now, now, again Plashes the rain in heavy gouts, The crinkled lightning Seems ever brightening, And loud and long Again the thunder shouts His battle-song, One quivering flash, One wildering crash, Followed by silence dead and dull, As if the cloud, let go, Leapt bodily below To whelm the earth in one mad overthrow, And then a total lull. Gone, gone, so soon ! No more my half-crazed fancy there Can shape a giant in the air, No more I see his streaming hair, The writhing portent of his form ; The pale and quiet moon Makes her calm forehead bare, And the last fragments of the storm, Like shattered rigging from a fight at sea, Silent and few, are drifting over me. J". R. Lowell. M 82 WOODLAND AND WILD. THE CLOUD. I BEING fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams ; I bear light shades for the leaves when laid In their noon-day dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun. I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under, And then again I dissolve in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder. I sift the snow on the mountains below, And their great pines groan aghast ; And all the night 'tis my pillow white, While I sleep in the arms of the blast. Sublime on the towers of my skiey bowers, Lightning, my pilot, sits ; In a cavern under is fettered the thunder; It struggles and howls at fits: Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion, This pilot is guiding me, Lured by the love of the genii that- move In the depths of the purple sea; Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills, Over the lakes and the plains, Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream, The spirit he loves remains; And I all the while bask in heaven's blue smile, Whilst he is dissolving in rains. The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes, And his burning plumes outspread, Leaps on the back of my sailing rack, When the morning star shines dead. WOODLAND AND WILD. 83 As on the jag of a mountain crag, Which an earthquake rocks and swings, An eagle alit one moment may sit In the light of its golden wings. And when sunset may breathe, from the lit sea beneath, Its ardours of rest and of love, And the crimson pall of eve may fall From the depth of heaven above, With wings folded I rest on mine airy nest, As still as a brooding dove. That orbed maiden, with white fire laden, Whom mortals call the Moon, Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor, By the midnight breezes strewn ; And wherever the beat of her unseen feet, Which only the angels hear, May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof, The stars peep behind and peer; And I laugh to see them whirl and flee, Like a swarm of golden bees, When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent, Till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas, Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high, Are each paved with the moon and these. I bind the sun's throne with the burning zone, And the moon's with a girdle of pearl ; The volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and swim, When the whirlwinds my banner unfurl. From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape, Over a torrent sea, Sunbeam proof, I hang like a roof, The mountains its columns be. The triumphal arch through which I march, With hurricane, fire, and snow, When the powers of the air are chained to my chair, Is the million-coloured bow ; The sphere-fire above its soft colours wove, While the moist earth was laughing below. 84 WOODLAND AND WILD. 1 ain the daughter of earth and water, And the nursling of the sky : I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores ; I change, but I cannot die. For after the rain, when with never a stain, The pavilion of heaven is bare, And the winds and sunbeams, with their convex gleams, Build up the blue dome of air. I silently laugh at my own cenotaph, And out of the caverns of rain, Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb, I arise and unbuild it again. P. B. Shelley. o>, A RAILWAY JOURNEY. On and HE young oak casts its delicate shadow Over the still and emerald meadow; The sheep are cropping the fresh spring grass, And never raise their heads as we pass ; The cattle are taking their noon-day rest, And chewing the cud with a lazy zest, Or, bathing their feet in the reedy pool, Switch their tails in the shadows cool; But away, away, WQ may not stay, Panting and puffing, and snorting and starting, And shrieking and crying, and madly flying, on, there's a race to be run and a goal to be won ere the set of the sun. Two white clouds are poised on high, Sunning their wings in the azure sky; Two white swans float to and fro Languidly in the stream below, As it sleeps beneath a beechwood tall, Clouds, and swans, and trees, and all, WOODLAND AND WILD. 85 Image themselves in the quiet stream, Passing their lives in a sunny dream ; But away, away, we may not stay, Panting and puffing, and snorting and starting, And shrieking and crying, and madly flying, On and on, there's a race to be run and a goal to be won ere the set of the sun. Under the tall cliffs, green and deep, The ocean rests in its mid-day sleep; The waves are heaving lazily Where the purple sea-weeds float; Sunbeams cross on the distant sea, Speck'd by the sail of the fisher's boat ; But away, away, we may riot stay, Panting and puffing, and snorting and starting, And shrieking and crying, and madly flying, On and on, there's a race to be run and a goal to be won ere the set of the sun. Into the deep dell's still retreat, Where the river rushes beneath our feet, Skirting the base of moorland hills, By the side of rocky rills, 86 WOODLAND AND WILD. * Where the wild-bird bathes and plumes its wing, Where the fields are fresh with the breath of spring, Where the earth is hush'd in her noon-day prayer, No place so secret but we come there. On nature's mid-day sleep we break, And are miles away ere her echoes wake; We startle the wood-nymphs in their play, And ere they can hide are away, away ! Away, away, we may not stay, Panting and puffing, and snorting and starting, And shrieking and crying, and madly flying, On and on, there's a race to be run and a goal to be won ere the set of the sun. The Author of " The Three Wakings" MOONLIGHT ON THE SEA. IT is the midnight hour: the beauteous sea, Calm as the cloudless heaven, the heaven discloses, While many a sparkling star, in quiet glee, Far down within the watery sky reposes. As if the Ocean's heart were stirr'd With inward life, a sound is heard, Like that of dreamer murmuring in his sleep; 'Tis partly the billow, and partly the air That lies like a garment floating fair Above the happy deep. The sea, I ween, cannot be fann'd By evening freshness from the land, For the land it is far away ; But God hath will'd that the sky-born breeze In the centre of the loneliest seas Should ever sport and play. The mighty Moon she sits above, Encircled with a zone of love, A zone of dim and tender light, That makes her wakeful eye more bright ; o o WOODLAND AND WILD. 87 She seems to shine with a sunny ray, And the night looks like a mellow'd day ! The gracious Mistress of the Main Hath now an undisturbed reign, And from her silent throne looks down, As upon children of her own, On the waves that lend their gentle breast In gladness for her couch of rest ! My spirit sleeps amid the calm The sleep of a new delight ; And hopes that she ne'er may awake again, But for ever hang o'er the lovely main, And adore the lovely night. Scarce conscious of an earthly frame, She glides away like a lambent flame, And in her bliss she sings; Now touching softly the ocean's breast, Now mid the stars she lies at rest, As if she sail'd on wings ! Now bold as the brightest star that glows More brightly since at first it rose, Looks down on the far-off flood, And there all breathless and alone, As the sky where she soars were a world of her own, She mocketh that gentle mighty one As he lies in his quiet mood. "Art thou," she breathes, "the tyrant grim That scoffs at human prayers, Answering with prouder roar the while, As it rises from some lonely isle Through groans raised wild, the hopeless hymn Of shipwreck'd mariners? Oh ! thou art harmless as a child Weary with joy, and reconciled For sleep to change its play ; And now that night hath stay'd thy race, Smiles wander o'er thy placid face As if thy dreams were gay." J. Wilson. 88 WOODLAND AND WILD. THE SHORE. 'UKN to the watery world! but who to thee (A wonder yet unview'd) shall paint the Sea ? Various and vast, sublime in all its forms, When lull'd by zephyrs, or when roused by storms, Its colours changing, when from clouds and sun Shades after shades upon the surface run : Embrown'd and horrid now, and now serene, In limpid blue, and evanescent green; And oft the foggy banks on ocean lie, Lift the fair sail, and cheat the experienced eye. Be it the Summer-noon: a sandy space The ebbing tide has left upon its place ; Then just the hot and stony beach above, Light twinkling streams in bright confusion move ; (For heated thus, the warmer air ascends, And with the cooler in its fall contends) Then the broad bosom of the ocean keeps An equal motion, swelling as it sleeps, Then slowly sinking; curling to the strand, Faint, lazy waves o'ercreep the ridgy sand, Or tap the tarry boat with gentle blow, And back return in silence, smooth and slow. WOODLAND AND WILD. 89 Ships in the calm seem anchor'd; for they glide On the still sea, urged solely by the tide ; Art thou not present, this calm scene before, Where all beside is pebbly length of shore, And far as eye can reach, it can discern no more ? Yet sometimes comes a ruffling cloud to make The quiet surface of the ocean shake ; As an awaken'd giant with a frown Might show his wrath, and then to sleep sink down. View now the Winter-storm ! above, one cloud, Black and unbroken, all the skies o'ershroud ; The unwieldy porpoise through the day before Had roll'd in view of boding men on shore ; And sometimes hid and sometimes show'd his form, Dark as the cloud, and furious as the storm. All where the eye delights, yet dreads to roam, The breaking billows cast the flying foam Upon the billows rising all the deep Is restless change; the waves so swelled and steep, Breaking and sinking, and the sunken swells, Nor one, one moment, in its station dwells : But nearer land, you may the billows trace, As if contending in their watery chase ; May watch the mightiest till the shoal they reach, Then break and hurry to their utmost stretch: Curl'd as they come, they strike with furious force, And then renewing, take their grating course, Baking the rounded flints, which ages past Boll'd by their rage, and shall to ages last. Far off the petrel in the troubled way Swims with her brood, or flutters in the spray ; She rises often, often drops again, And sports at ease on the tempestuous main. High o'er the restless deep, above the reach Of gunner's hope, vast nights of wild-ducks stretch ; Far as the eye can glance on either side, In a broad space and level line they glide; 90 WOODLAND AND WILD. All in their wedge-like figures from the north, Day after day, flight after flight, go forth. Inshore their passage tribes of sea-gulls urge ; And drop for prey within the sweeping surge ; Oft in the rough opposing blast they fly Far back, then turn, and all their force apply, While to the storm they give their weak complaining cry ; Or clap the sleek white pinion to the breast And in the restless ocean dip for rest. G. Crab-be. A SEA-SIDE SONG. THE day is down into his bower: In languid lights his feet he steeps: The flush'd sky darkens, low and lower, And' closes on the glowing deeps. In creeping curves of yellow foam Up shallow sands the waters slide : And warmly blow what whispers roam From isle to isle the lulled tide : The boats are drawn : the nets drip bright : Dark casements gleam : old songs are sung And out upon the verge of night Green lights from lonely rocks are hung. WOODLAND AND WILD. 91 O winds of eve that somewhere rove Where darkest sleeps the distant sea, Seek out where haply dreams my love, And whisper all her dreams to me! Owen Meredith. THE GREENWOOD. 'Tis merry in greenwood, thus runs the old lay,- In the gladsome month of lively May, When the wild birds' song on stem and spray Invites to forest bower ; Then rears the ash his airy crest, Then shines the birch in silver vest, And the beech in glistening leaves is drest, And dark between shows the oak's proud breast, Like a chieftain's frowning tower; Though a thousand branches join their screen, Yet the broken sunbeams glance between, And tip the leaves with lighter green, With brighter tints the flower : Dull is the heart that loves not then The deep recess of the wild-wood glen, Where roe and red-deer find sheltering den, When the sun is in his power. Less merry, perchance, is the fading leaf That follows so soon on the gather'd sheaf, When the greenwood loses the name ; Silent is then the forest bound, Save the redbreast's note, and the rustling sound Of frost-nipt leaves that are dropping round, Or the deep-mou th'd cry of the distant hound That opens on his game : Yet then, too, I love the forest wide, Whether the sun in splendour ride, 92 WOODLAND AND WILD. And gild its many-colour'd side ; Or whether the soft and silvery haze, In vapoury folds, o'er the landscape strays, And half involves the woodland maze ; Like an early widow's veil, Where winipling tissue from the gaze The form half hides, and half betrays, Of beauty wan and pale. Sir Walter Scott, TO AUTUMN. OEASON of mists and mellow fruitfulness ! Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun ; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run ; To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core ; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease, For summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells. WOODLAND AND WILD. 93 Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store? Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind ; Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep, Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers ; And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep Steady thy laden head across a brook; Or by a cider-press, with patient look, Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours. Where are the songs of spring ? Ay, where are they ? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day, And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue; Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn Among the river sallows, borne aloft Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies; And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn ; Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft, And gathering swallows twitter in the skies. John Keats. 94 WOODLAND AND WILD. AUTUMN. THOU comest, Autumn, heralded by the rain, With banners, by great gales incessant fanned, Brighter than brightest silks of Samarcand, And stately oxen harnessed to thy wain ! Thou standest, like imperial Charlemagne, Upon thy bridge of gold ; thy royal hand Outstretched with benedictions o'er the land, Blessing the farms through all thy vast domain. Thy shield is the red harvest moon, suspended So long beneath the heaven's o'erhanging eaves ; Thy steps are by the farmer's prayers attended ; Like flames upon an altar shine the sheaves ; And, following thee, in thy ovation splendid, Thine almoner, the wind, scatters the golden leaves. H. W. Longfellow. WOODLAND AND WILD. 95 NUTTING. -!T seems a day (I speak of one from many singled out), One of those heavenly days that cannot die ; When, in the eagerness of boyish hope, I left our cottage-threshold, sallying forth With a huge wallet o'er my shoulders slung, A nutting-crook in hand ; and turned my steps Tow'rd some far-distant wood, a figure quaint, Trick'd out in proud disguise of cast-off weeds Which for that service had been husbanded, By exhortation of niy frugal dame Motley accoutrement, of power to smile At thorns, and brakes, and brambles, and, in truth, More ragged than need was! O'er pathless rocks, Through beds of matted fern, and tangled thickets, Forcing my way, I came to one dear nook Unvisited, where not a broken bough Drooped with its withered leaves, ungracious sign Of devastation ; but the hazels- rose Tall and erect, with tempting clusters hung, A virgin scene! A little while I stood, Breathing with such suppression of the heart As joy delights in; and, with wise restraint Voluptuous, fearless of a rival, eyed The banquet ; or beneath the trees I sate Among the flowers, and with flowers I played ; A temper known to those, who, after long And weary expectation, have been blest With sudden happiness beyond all hope. Perhaps it was a bower beneath whose leaves The violets of five seasons re-appear And fade, unseen by any human eye ; Where fairy water-breaks do murmur on For ever; and I saw the sparkling foam, And with my cheek on one of those green stones 96 WOODLAND AND WILD. That, fleeced with moss, under the shady trees, Lay round me, scattered like a flock of sheep I heard the murmur and the murmuring sound, In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay Tribute to ease ; and, of its joy secure, The heart luxuriates with indifferent things, Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones And on the vacant air. Then up I rose, And dragged to earth both branch and bough with crash, And merciless ravage : and the shady nook Of hazels, and the green and mossy bower, Deformed and sullied, patiently gave up Their quiet being : and, unless I now Confound my present feelings with the past, Ere from the mutilated bower I turned Exulting, rich beyond the wealth of kings, I felt a sense of pain when I beheld The silent trees, and saw the intruding sky. Then, dearest maiden, move along these shades In gentleness of heart; with gentle hand Touch for there is a spirit in the woods. W. Wordsworth. THE FOREST. THE scenes are desert now and bare, Where flourished once a forest fair, When these waste glens with copse were lined, And peopled with the hart and hind. Yon thorn perchance whose prickly spears Have fenced him for three hundred years, WOODLAND AND WILD. 97 While fell around his green compeers- Yon lonely thorn, would he could tell The changes of his parent dell, Since he, so gray and stubborn now, Waved in each breeze a sapling bough ; Would he could tell how deep the shade A thousand mingled branches made, How broad the shadows of the oak, How clung the rowan to the rock, And through the foliage showed his head, With narrow leaves, and berries red ; What pines on every mountain sprung, O'er every dell what birches hung, In every breeze what aspens shook, What alders shaded every brook ! WOODLAND AND WILD. "Here, in my shade," methinks he'd say, " The mighty stag at noontide lay : The wolf I've seen, a fiercer game, (The neighbouring dingle bears his name,) With lurching step around me prowl, And stop against the moon to howl ; The mountain boar, on battle set, His tusks upon my stem would whet ; While doe and roe, and red-deer good, Have bounded by through gay green- wood. Then oft, from Newark's riven tower, Sallied a Scottish monarch's power : A thousand vassals mustered round, With horse, and hawk, and horn, and hound ; And I might see the youth intent, Guard every pass, with cross-bow bent ; And through the brake the rangers stalk, And falconers hold the ready hawk ; And foresters, in green-wood trim, Lead in the leash the gaze-hounds grim, Attentive, as the bratchet's bay From the dark covert drove the prey, To slip them as he broke away. The startled quarry bounds amain, As fast the gallant greyhounds strain; Whistles the arrow from the bow, WOODLAND AND WILD. 99 Answers the harquebuss below ; While all the rocking hills reply, To hoof-clang, hound, and hunter's cry, The bugles ringing lightsomely." Sir Walter Scott. y. COUNTEY SPORTS. SEE ! from the brake the whirring pheasant springs, And mounts exulting on triumphant wings : Short is his joy, he feels the fiery wound, Flutters in blood, and panting beats the ground. Ah! what avails his glossy, varying dyes, His purple crest, and scarlet-circled eyes. The vivid green his shining plumes unfold, His painted wings, and breast that flames with gold? Nor yet, when moist Arcturus clouds the sky, The woods and fields their pleasing toils deny. To plains with well-breath'd beagles we repair, And trace the mazes of the circling hare, (Beasts, urged by us, their fellow-beasts pursue, And learn of man each other to undo) : With slaughtering guns the unwearied fowler roves, When frosts have whiten'd all the naked groves; Where doves in flocks the leafless trees o'ershade. And lonely woodcocks haunt the watery glade, He lifts the tube, and levels with his eye: Straight a short thunder breaks the frozen sky : 100 WOODLAND AND WILD. Oft, as in airy rings they skim the heath, The clamorous lapwings feel the leaden death ; Oft, as the mounting larks their notes prepare, They fail, and leave their little lives in air. A. Pope. SHOOTING. HERE the rude clamour of the sportsman's joy, The gun fast thundering, and the winded horn, Would tempt the muse to sing the rural game : How, in his mid-career, the spaniel, struck Stiff by the tainted gale, with open nose, Outstretch'd, and finely sensible, draws full, Fearful, and cautious, on the latent prey ; As in the sun the circling covey bask Their varied plumes, and watchful every way, Through the rough stubble turn the secret eye, Caught in the meshy snare, in vain they beat Their idle wings, entangled more and more ; : WOODLAND AND WILD. 101 Nor on the surges of the boundless air, Though borne triumphant, are they safe ; the gun Glanced just, and sudden, from the fowler's eye O'ertakes their sounding pinions ; and again, Immediate, brings them from the towering wing, Dead to the ground ; or drives them wide-dispersed, Wounded, and wheeling various, down the wind. J. Thomson. HUNTING. POOR is the triumph o'er the timid hare ! Scared from the corn and now to some lone seat Retired : the rushy fen ; the ragged furze ; Stretch'd o'er the stony heath ; the stubble chapp'd The thistly lawn ; the thick-entangled broom ; Of the same friendly hue, the wither'd fern ; The fallow ground laid open to the sun, Concoctive ; and the nodding sandy bank, Hung o'er the mazes of the mountain brook. Vain is her best precaution, though she sits Conceal'd with folded ears, unsleeping eyes, By Nature raised to take the horizon in: 102 WOODLAND AND WILD. And head couch'd close betwixt her hairy feet, In act to spring away. The scented dew Betrays her early labyrinth; and deep, In scatter'd sullen openings, far behind, With every breeze she hears the coming storm. But nearer and more frequent, as it loads The sighing gale, she springs amazed, and all The savage soul of game is up at once: The pack full-opening, various, the shrill horn Resounded from the hills ; the neighing steed, Wild for the chase : and the loud hunter's shout ; O'er a weak, harmless, flying creature, all Mix'd in mad tumult, and discordant joy. J. Thomson. WOODLAND AND WILD. 103 THE EISING- OF THE SUN. WAKE ! wake ! wake to the hunting ! Wake ye, wake! the morning is nigh! Chilly the breezes blow Up from the sea below, Chilly the twilight creeps over the sky! Mark how fast the stars are fading! Mark how wide the dawn is spreading ! Many a fallow deer Feeds in the forest near; Now is no time on the heather to lie ! Rise, rise ! look on the ocean ! Rise ye, rise, and look on the sky ! Softly the vapours sweep Over the level deep, Softly the mists on the waterfall lie ! In the cloud red tints are glowing, On the hill the black cock's crowing; And through the welkin red, See where he lifts his head, (Forth to the hunting!) The sun's riding high! Reginald Heber. 104 WOODLAND AND WILD. FADING FLOWERS. HE purple iris hangs his head j On his lean stalk, and so declines ; The spider spills his silver thread Between the bells of columbines : An alter'd light in flickering eves Draws dews thro' these dim eyes of ours Death walks in yonder waning bowers, And burns the blistering leaves. Ah, well-a-day ! Blooms overblow : Suns sink away : Sweet things decay. The drunken beetle, roused ere night, Breaks blundering from the rotting rose, Flits thro' blue spidery aconite, And hums, and conies, and goes : His thick, bewilder'd song receives A drowsy sense of grief like ours: He hums and hums among the bowers, And bangs about the leaves. Ah, well-a-day! Hearts overflow : Joy flits away : Sweet things decay. Her yellow stars the jasmine drops In mildew'd mosses one by one: The hollyhocks fall off their tops : The lotus-blooms all white i' the sun : The freckled foxglove faints and grieves ; The smooth-paced slumbrous slug devours The glewy globes of gorgeous flowers, And smears the glistering leaves. Ah, well-a-day ! Life leaves us so : Love dare not stay : Sweet things decay. WOODLAND AND WILD, 105 From brazen sunflowers, orb and fringe, The burning burnish dulls and dies: Sad Autumn sets a sullen tinge Upon the scornful peonies: The dewy frog limps out, and heaves A speckled lump in speckled bowers: A reeking moisture clings, and lowers The lips of lapping leaves. Ah, well-a-day! Ere the cock crow, Life's charm'd array Reels all away. Owen Meredith. THE LAST LEAF. IN spring and summer winds may blow, And rains fall after, hard and fast ; The tender leaves, if beaten low, Shine but the more for shower and blast. But when their fated hour arrives, When reapers long have left the field, When maidens rifle turn'd-up hives, And their last juice fresh apples yield, A leaf perhaps may still remain Upon some solitary tree, Spite of the wind and of the rain: A thing you heed not if you see. At last it falls. Who cares ? Not one : And yet no power on earth can ever Replace the fallen leaf upon Its spray, so easy to dissever. If such be love I dare not say, Friendship is such, too well I know, I have enjoy 'd my summer day ; 'Tis past; my leaf now lies below. W. S. Landor. p 10G WOODLAND AND WILD. WITHERED LEAVES. DELICATE leaves, with yout shifting colours, Crimson and golden, or russet brown, Under what sunsets of calui October, Out of what groves were ye shaken down? When the sun, dying in red and amber, Tinted the woods with the hues he wore, As the stain'd light in a great cathedral, Through the east window, falls on the floor. In your high homes where the tall shafts quiver, And the green boughs, like a trellis, cross, When ye grow brighter, and change, and wither, Symbols ye are of our gain and loss. Hopes that we cherish'd, and grand ideals, Dreams that to colour and substance grew, Ah ! they were lofty and green and golden, Now they lie dead on our hearts like you. Silent as snow from his airy chamber, Down on the earth drops the wither'd leaf, Silently back, on the heart of the dreamer, Noticed of none, falls the secret grieft" Yet ye deceive us, beautiful prophets ; For like one side of an ocean shell, Cast by the tide on a dripping sand-beach, Only a half of the truth ye tell. Much of decadence and death ye sing us, Eightly ye tell us earth's hopes are vain, But of the life out of death no whisper, Saying, ' We die, but we live again.' Bring us some teacher, leaves autumnal- Some voice to sing, from your crimson skies, Of the home where our hope is immortal, Of the land where the leaf never dies. C. F. Alexander. WOODLAND AND WILD. 107 THE DOG'S GRAVE. LIE here, without a record of thy worth, Beneath a covering of the common earth ! It is not from unwillingness to praise, Or want of love, that here no stone we raise : More thou deserv'st; but this man gives to man, Brother to brother, this is all we can. Yet they to whom thy virtues made thee dear Shall find thee through all changes of the year : This oak points out thy grave ; the silent tree Will gladly stand a monument of thee. We grieved for thee, and wished thy end were past And willingly have laid thee here at last : For thou hadst lived till everything that cheers In thee had yielded to the weight of years ; Extreme old age had wasted thee away, And left thee but a glimmering of the day ; Thy ears were deaf, and feeble were thy knee?, I saw thee stagger in the summer breeze, 108 WOODLAND AND WILD. Too weak to stand against its sportive breath, And ready for the gentlest stroke of death. It came, and we were glad; yet tears were shed; Both man and woman wept when thou wert dead; Not only for a thousand thoughts that were Old household thoughts, in which thou hadst thy share ; But for some precious boons vouchsafed to thee, Found scarcely anywhere in like degree! For love, that comes wherever life and sense Are given by God, in thee was most intense ; A chain of heart, a feeling of the mind, A tender sympathy, which did thee bind Not only to us Men, but to thy Kind: Yea, for thy fellow-brutes in thee we saw A soul of love, love's intellectual law : Hence, if we wept, it was not done in shame ; Our tears from passion and from reason came, A-nd, therefore, shalt thou be an honoured name! W. Wordsworth. THE DEPARTURE OF THE BIRDS. Autumn scatters his departing gleams, Warn'd of approaching Winter, gather'd play The swallow-people ; and toss'd wide around, O'er the calm sky, in convolution swift, The feather'd eddy floats : rejoicing once, Ere to their wintry slumbers they retire ; In clusters clung, beneath the mouldering bank, And where, unpierced by frost, the cavern sweats. Or rather into warmer climes conveyed, With other kindred birds of season, there They twitter cheerful, till the vernal months Invite them welcome back : for, thronging, now Innumerous wings are in commotion all. /. Thomson. WOODLAND AND WILD. 109 THE CHURCHYARD. OUR ancient church! its lonely tower, Beneath the loftier spire, Is shadowed when the sunset hour Clothes the tall shaft in fire ; It sinks beyond the distant eye, Long ere the glittering vane, High wheeling in the western sky, Has faded o'er the plain. Like sentinel and nun, they keep Their vigil on the green ; One seems to guard, and one to weep, The dead that lie between ; And both roll out, so full and near, Their music's mingling waves, They shake the grass, whose pennoned spear Leans on the narrow graves. The stranger parts the flaunting weeds, Whose seeds the winds have strown So thick beneath the line he reads, They shade the sculptured stone ; The child unveils his clustered brow, And ponders for a while The graven willow's pendent bough, Or rudest cherub's smile. But what to them the dirge, the knell? These were the mourner's share ; The sullen clang, whose heavy swell Throbbed through the beating air; The rattling cord, the rolling stone, The shelving sand that slid, And, far beneath, with hollow tone, Bung on the coffin's lid. 110 WOODLAND AND WILD. The slumberer's mound grows fresh and green, Then slowly disappears ; The mosses creep, the gray stones lean, Earth hides his date and years ; But, long before the once-loved name Is sunk or worn away, No lip the silent dust may claim, That pressed the breathing clay. Go where the ancient pathway guides, See where our sires laid down Their smiling babes, their cherished brides, The patriarchs of the town; Hast thou a tear for buried love? A sigh for transient power? All that a century left above, Go, read it in an hour! 0. Wendell Holmes. THE CHURCHYARD. E walked within the churchyard bounds, My little boy and I He laughing, running happy rounds, I pacing mournfully. " Nay, child ! it is not well," I said, "Among the graves to shout, To laugh and play amongst the dead, And make this noisy rout." A moment to my side he clung; Leaving his merry play, A moment stilled his joyous tongue, Almost as hushed as they; WOODLAND AND WILD. Ill Then, quite forgetting the command In life's exulting burst Of early glee, let go my hand, Joyous as at the first. And now I did not check him more, For, taught by Nature's face, I had grown wiser than before, Even in that moment's space : She spread no funeral pall above That patch of churchyard ground, But the same azure vault of love As hung o'er all around. And white clouds o'er that spot would pass, As freely as elsewhere ; The sunshine on no other grass A richer hue might wear. And formed from out that very mould In which the dead did lie, The daisy with its eye of gold Looked up into the sky. The rook was wheeling overhead, Nor hastened to be gone The small bird did its glad notes shed, Perched on a gray head-stone. And God, I said, would never give This light upon the earth, Nor bid in childhood's heart to live These springs of gushing mirth, If our one wisdom were to mourn, And linger with the dead, , To nurse, as wisest, thoughts forlorn Of worm and earthy bed. no! the glory earth puts on, The child's unchecked delight, .Both witness to a triumph won (If we but read aright). 112 WOODLAND AND WILD. A triumph won o'er sin and death, From these the Saviour saves ; And, like a happy infant, Faith Can play among the graves. Archbishop Trench. THE CHURCH DIAL. BENEATH me was the misty sea, O'er which a beetling summit hung, And, half way up, a blasted tree With creaking brandies swung : The yellow crowsfoot blossomed there, And juicy samphire to the bare And lean rock clung. And sweetly to the very edge The soft and thymy greensward crept, And, hanging slightly o'er the ledge, Perpetually wept With drippings from a hidden spring, Heard only when the murmuring Of ocean slept. There, almost stooping o'er the wave, A rustic chapel stood ; below The sea had hollowed out a cave With labour long and slow ; And it was plain that any shock That church from off its brow of rock Might overthrow. And many a simple heart would grieve At this rude sacrilege of time, Who loved for prayer, at noon or eve. The chalky downs to climb, While to their litanies the wave, With its eternal thunder, gave Tvesponse sublime. WOODLAND AND WILD. 113 So plaintively the soft sea wailed, So blue and breezy were the skies, So tranquilly the white ships sailed In pomp before my eyes, The very sweetness of it all Did there my willing spirit call To moralize. The dial on the chapel side With ivy tendrils was entwined, As though the flight of time to hide Were office true and kind ; While, on the breath of ocean borne, The restless shoots in playful scorn Waved unconfined. This incident, the quiet hour, The sanctity of that lone place, Conspired to give the sight a power Of true pathetic grace ; And, as I gazed on it, methought That somewhat of a sign was wrought For me to trace. For I interpreted the gesture, To illustrate how holy faith Was the poor soul's unfading vesture, The saint's immortal wreath ; And, with significance sublime, It taught how faith abolished time By killing death. Mute preacher ! pensive evergreen ! O may I learn, this day, from thee, The obscure sage of this lone scene Hard by the mighty sea, How faith may, through Another's merit, For all the sons of time inherit Eternity ! F. W. Faler. 114 WOODLAND AND WILD. THE CLOSE OF AUTUMN. THE melancholy days are come, the saddest ot the year, Of wailing winds and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere. Heaped in the hollows of the grove the withered leaves lie dead, They rustle to the eddying gust and to the rabbit's tread. The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay, And from the wood top calls the crow, through all the gloomy day. Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprung and stood, In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood? Alas! they all are in their graves the gentle race of flowers Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours : The rain is falling where they lie but the cold November rain Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again. The windflower and the violet, they perished long ago, And the briar-rose and the orchis died, amid the summer's glow ; But on the hill the golden rod, and the aster in the wood, And the yellow sunflower by the brook in autumn beauty stood, Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the plague on men, And the brightness of their smile was gone from upland, glade, and glen. WOODLAND AND WILD. 115 And now when comes the calm mild day as still such days will come, To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home ; When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still, And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill, The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore, And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more. And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died, The fair meek blossom that grew up and faded by my side. In the cold moist earth we laid her, when the forest cast the leaf, And we wept that one so lovely should have had a lot so brief; Yet not unmeet it was that one, like that young friend of ours, So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers. W. C. Bryant. THE CLIFF. S slow I climb the cliff's ascending side, Much musing on the track of terror past, When o'er the dark wave rode the howling blast, Pleased I look back, and view the tranquil tide That laves the pebbled shores ; and now the beam Of evening smiles on the gray battlement And yon forsaken tower that time has rent : The lifted oar far off with silver gleam Is touched, and the hushed billows seem to sleep. Soothed by the scene e'en thus on sorrow's breast A kindred stillness steals, and bids her rest ; Whilst sad airs stilly sigh along the deep, Like melodies that mourn upon the lyre, Waked by the breeze, and as they mourn expire. W. L. Bowles. 110 WOODLAND AND WILD. THE SEA-GULLS. BY the grey sand-hills, o'er the cold sea-shore ; where, dumbly peering, Pass the pale-sail'd ships, scornfully, silently; wheeling, and veering Swift out of sight again ; while the wind searches what it finds never, O'er the sand-reaches, bays, billows, blown beaches, homeless for ever! And, in a vision of the bare heaven seen and soon lost again, Over the rolling foam, out in the mid-seas, round by the coast again, Hovers the sea-gull, poised in the wind above, o'er the bleak surges, In the green briny gleam, briefly reveal'd and gone ; . . . fleet, emerges Out of the tumult of some brain where memory labours, and fretfully Moans all the night long a wild-winged hope, soon fading regretfully. Owen Meredith. WOODLAND AND WILD. 117 THE FIELD MOUSE. WEE, sleekit, cowrin', tim'rous beastie, Oh, what a panic's in thy breastie! Thou needna start awa' sae hasty, Wi' bickering brattle ! * I wad be laith to rin and chase thee Wi' murd'ring pattle! t I'm truly sorry man's dominion Has broken Nature's social union, And justifies that ill opinion Which makes thee startle At me, thy poor earth-born companion, And fellow-mortal ! I doubt na, whyles, t but thou may thieve ; What then ? poor beastie, thou maun live ! A daimen icker in a thrave 'S a sma' request : I'll get a blessing wi' the lavej And never miss't! Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin! It's silly wa's the win's are strewin' ! And naething now to big IT a new ane 0' foggage green! And bleak December's winds ensuin', Baith snell ** and keen ! Thou saw the fields laid bare and waste, And weary winter comin' fast, And cozie here beneath the blast, Thou thought to dwell, Till, crash! the cruel coulter past Out through thy cell. * Hurrying run. t Pattle or pettle, the plough-spade. J Sometimes. An car of corn in a thrave that is, twenty-four sheaves. || Kemainder. t Build. ** Sharp. 118 WOODLAND AND WILD. That wee bit heap o' leaves and stibble Has cost thee mony a weary nibble! Now thou's turn'd out for a' thy trouble, But* house or hauldf To thole t the winter's sleety dribble, And cranreuch cauld ; But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane || In proving foresight may be vain: The best-laid schemes o' mice and men Gang aft a-gley,*fl~ And lea'e us nought but grief and pain For promised joy. Still thou art blest, compared wi' me ! The present only toucheth thee : But, och! I backward cast my e'e On prospects drear! And forward, though I canna see, I guess and fear. R. Burns. SNOW. SNOW, snow, beautiful snow, Falling so widely on all below: As heavenly gifts do ever Filling each hollow among the hills, Hiding the track of the frozen rills, Lost in the gushing river. Without. f Holding. J Endure. Hoar-frost. || Not alone. ^f Wrong. WOODLAND AND WILD. 119 Snow, snow, beautiful snow, Lying so lightly on all below, Garden and field spread over, White as a spotless winding-sheet ; The flowers are lifeless, and thus 'tis meet The face of the dead to cover. Snow, snow, beautiful snow, Melting so softly from all below, Into the cold earth sinking: Soon thy last traces shall disappear, And spring, with carpet of flowers, be here, And none of the snow be thinking. Yet greener the hollows among the hills, And fuller the flow of the sparkling rills, Since the snow with moisture fed them. Thus when our lives shall melt away, Fresh and bright would their influence stay, If in holy deeds we shed them. Isa Craig. 120 WOODLAND AND WILD. THE MOON-RAINBOW. FOR lo, what think you ? suddenly The rain and the wind ceased, and the sky Received at once the full fruition Of the moon's consummate apparition. The black cloud-barricade was riven, Ruined beneath her feet, and driven Deep in the west; while, bare and breathless, North and south and east lay ready For a glorious thing, that, dauntless, deathless, Sprang across them, and stood steady. 'Twas a moon-rainbow, vast and perfect, From heaven to heaven extending, perfect As the mother-moon's self, full in face. It rose, distinctly at the base With its seven proper colours chorded, Which still, in the rising, were compressed, Until at last, they coalesced. And supreme the spectral creature lorded In a triumph of whitest white, Above which intervened the night. But above night too, like only the next, The second of a wondrous sequence, Reaching in rare and rarer frequence, Till the heaven of heavens were circumflext, Another rainbow rose, a mightier, Fainter, flushier, and flightier, Rapture dying along its verge ! Oh, whose foot shall I see emerge, Whose, from the straining topmost dark, On to the keystone of that arc? R. Browning WOODLAND AND WILD. 121 THE RAVEN. NDERNEATH an old oak tree There was of swine a huge company, That grunted as they crunched the mast; For that was ripe, and fell full fast. Then they trotted away, for the wind grew high : One acorn they left, and no more might you spy. Next came a raven, that liked not such folly: He belonged, they did say, to the witch Melancholy ! Blacker was he than blackest jet, Flew low in the rain, and his feathers not wet. He picked up the 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. Many autumns, many springs Travelled he with wandering wings : Many summers, many winters I can't tell half his adventures. At length he came back, and with him a she, And the acorn was grown to a tall oak tree, They built them a nest in the topmost bough, And young ones they had, and were happy enow. But soon came a woodman in leathern guise, His brow, like a pent-house, hung over his eyes. He'd an axe in his hand, not a word he spoke, But with many a hem ! and a sturdy stroke, At length he brought down the poor raven's own oak. His young ones were killed ; for they could not depart, And their mother did die of a broken heart. The boughs from the. trunk the woodman did sever; And they floated it down on the course of the river. They sawed it in planks, and its bark they did strip, And with this tree and others they made a good ship. 122 WOODLAND AND WILD. The ship, it was launched ; but in sight of the land Such a storm there did rise as no ship could withstand. It bulged on a rock, and- the waves rushed in fast : Round and round flew the raven, and cawed to the blast. He heard the last shriek of the perishing souls See ! See ! o'er the topmast the mad water rolls ! Eight glad was the raven, and off he went fleet, And Death riding. home on a cloud he did meet, And he thank'd him again and again for this treat: They had taken his all, and revenge it was sweet. 8. T. Coleridge. THE FOUR DOGS. ON his morning rounds the Master Goes to learn how all things fare ; Searches pasture after pasture, Sheep and cattle eyes with care ; And, for silence or for talk, He hath comrades in his walk ; Four dogs, each pair of different breed, Distinguished two for scent, and two for speed. See a hare before him started! Off they fly in earnest chase; Every dog is eager-hearted, All the four are in the race: And the hare whom they pursue, Knows from instinct what to do; Her hope is near ; no turn she makes ; But, like an arrow, to the river takes. Deep the river was, and crusted Thinly by a one-night's frost; But the nimble Hare hath trusted To the ice, and safely cross'd; WOODLAND AND WILD. 123 She hath cross'd, and without heed All are following at full speed, When, lo! the ice, so thinly spread, Breaks and the greyhound, Dart, is overhead ! Better fate have Prince and Swallow See them cleaving to the sport! Music has no heart to follow, Little Music, she stops short. She hath neither wish nor heart, Hers is now another part : A loving creature she, and brave ! And fondly strives her struggling friend to save. From the brink her paws she stretches, Very hands as you would say ! And afflicting moans she fetches, As he breaks the ice away. For herself she hath no fears, Him alone she sees and hears, Makes efforts with complainings ; nor gives o'er Until her fellow sinks to reappear no more. W. Wordsworth. WATER-FOWL. MARK how the feathered tenants of the flood, With grace of motion that might scarcely seem Inferior to angelical, prolong Their curious pastime ! shaping in mid air (And sometimes with ambitious wing that soars High as the level of the mountain tops) A circuit ampler than the lake beneath Their own domain; but ever, while intent On tracing and retracing that large round, Their jubilant activity evolves 124 WOODLAND AND WILD. Hundreds of curves and circlets, to and fro, Upward and downward, progress intricate Yet unperplexed, as if one spirit swayed Their indefatigable flight. 'Tis done Ten times, or more, I fancied it had ceased ; But lo ! the vanished company again Ascending ; they approach I hear their wings, Faint, faint at first ; and then an eager sound, Pass'd in a moment and as faint again! They tempt the sun to sport amid their plumes; They tempt the water, or the gleaming ice, To show them a fair image ; 'tis themselves, Their own fair forms, upon the glimmering plain, Painted more soft and fair as they descend Almost to touch ; then up again aloft, Up with a sally and a flash of speed, As if they scorned both resting-place and rest! W. Wordsworth. WOODLAND AND WILD. 125 THE WILD FOWL'S VOICE. IT chanced upon the merry merry Christmas eve, I went sighing past the church across the moorlands dreary O! never sin and want and woe this earth will leave, And the bells but mock the wailing sound, they sing so cheery. How long, O Lord ! how long, before Thou come again ? Still in cellar, and in garret, and on mountain dreary, The orphans moan, and widows weep, and poor men toil in vain. Till earth is sick of hope deferr'd, though Christmas bells be cheery. Then arose a joyous clamour, from the wild fowl on the mere, Beneath the stars, across the snow, like clear bells ringing, And a voice within cried " Listen ! Christmas carols even here, Though thou be dumb, yet o'er their work, the stars and snows are singing. Blind! I live, I love, I reign; and all the nations through, With the thunder of My judgments even now are ringing; Do thou fulfil thy work, but as yon wild fowl do, Thou wilt heed no less the wailing, yet hear through it angels singing." C. Kinqsley. THE BIRDS IN WINTER. Now from the roost, or from the neighbouring pale, Where, diligent to catch the first faint gleam Of smiling clay, they gossiped side by side, Come trooping at the housewife's well-known call The feather'd tribes domestic. Half on wing, And half on foot, they brush the fleecy flood, 126 WOODLAND AND WILD. Conscious and fearful of too deep a plunge. The sparrows peep, and quit the sheltering eaves To seize the fair occasion. Well they eye The scattered grain, and thievishly resolved To escape the impending famine, often scared As oft return, a pert voracious kind. Clean riddance quickly made, one only care Kemains to each, the search of sunny nook, Or shed impervious to the blast. Resigned To sad necessity the cock foregoes His wonted strut ; and wading at their head With well-considered steps, seems to resent His altered gait and stateliness entrenched. How find the myriads, that in summer cheer The hills and valleys with their ceaseless songs, Due sustenance, or where subsist they now ? Earth yields them nought; the imprisoned worm is safe Beneath the frozen clod ; all seeds of herbs Lie covered close ; and berry-bearing thorns That feed the thrush (whatever some suppose) Afford the smaller minstrels no supply. W. Cowper. FKOST. AT eve, Steam'd eager from the red horizon round, With the fierce rage of winter deep suffused, An icy gale, oft shifting, o'er the pool Breathes a blue film, and in its mid career Arrests the bickering stream. The loosened ice, Let down the flood, and half dissolved by day, Bustles no more ; but to the sedgy bank Fast grows, or gathers round the pointed stone, A crystal pavement, by the breath of heaven Cemented firm, till, seized from shore to shore, The whole imprison'd river growls below. Loud rings the frozen earth, and hard reflects A double noise; while at his evening watch, WOODLAND AND WILD. 127 The village dog deters the nightly thief; The heifer lows ; the distant waterfall Swells in the breeze ; and, with the hasty tread Of traveller, the hollow-sounding plain Shakes from afar. The full ethereal round, Infinite worlds disclosing to the view, Shines out intensely keen; and, all one cope Of starry glitter, glows from pole to pole. From pole to pole the rigid influence falls, Thro' the still night, incessant, heavy, strong, And seizes nature fast. It freezes on; Till morn, late-rising o'er the drooping world, Lifts her pale eye unjoyous. Then appears The various labour of the silent night : Prone from the dripping eave, and dumb cascade, Whose idle torrents only seem to roar, The pendent icicle ; the frost-work fair, Where transient hues, and fancied figures rise; Wide-spouted o'er the hill, the frozen brook, A livid tract, cold-gleaming on the morn ; The forest bent beneath the plumy wave; 128 WOODLAND AND WILD. And by the frost refined the whiter snow, Incrusted hard, and sounding to the tread Of early shepherd, as he pensive seeks His pining flock, or from the mountain top, Pleased with the slippery surface, swift descends, /. Thomson. WOODS IN WINTER. WHEN winter winds are piercing chill, And through the hawthorn blows the gale, With solemn feet I tread the hill, That overbrows the lonely vale. O'er the bare upland, and away Through the long reach of desert woods, The embracing sunbeams chastely play, And gladden these deep solitudes. Where, twisted round the barren oak, The summer vine in beauty clung, And summer winds the stillness broke, The crystal icicle is hung. Where, from their frozen urns, mute springs Pour out the river's gradual tide, Shrilly the skater's iron rings, And voices fill the woodland side. Alas ! how changed from the fair scene, When birds sang out their mellow lay, And winds were soft, and woods were green, And the song ceased not with the day. WOODLAND AND WILD. 129 But still wild music is abroad, Pale, desert woods ! within your crowd ; And gathering winds, in hoarse accord, Amid the vocal reeds pipe loud. Chill airs and wintry winds ! my ear Has grown familiar with your song ; I hear it in the opening year, I listen, and it cheers me long. H. W. Longfellow. THE SEASONS. * So forth issued the Seasons of the year ; First, lusty Spring, all dight in leaves and flowers That freshly budded, and new blossoms did bear, In which a thousand birds had built their bowers, That sweetly sung to call forth paramours; And in his hand a javelin he did bear, And on his head (as fit for warlike stours) A gilt engraven morion he did wear, That as some did him love, so others did him fear. Then came the jolly Summer, being dight In a thin silken cassock coloured green That was unlined all, to be more light, And on his head a garland well beseen He wore, from which, as he had chafed been, The sweat did drop, and in his hand he bore A bow and shaft, as he in forest green Had hunted late the libbard or the boar, And now would bathe his limbs, with labour heated sore. s 130 WOODLAND AND WILD. Then came the Autumn, all in yellow clad, As though he joyed in his plenteous store, Laden with fruits that made him laugh, full glad That he had banished Hunger, which tofore Had by the belly oft him pinched sore; Upon his head a wreath, that was enroled With ears of corn of every sort, he bore, And in his hand a sickle he did hold, To reap the ripened fruits the which the earth had yold. Lastly came Winter, clothed all in frieze, Chattering his teeth for cold that did him chill, Whilst on his hoary beard his breath did freeze, And the dull drops that from his purpled bill As from a limbeck did adown distil ; In his right Land a tipped staff he held, With which his feeble steps he stayed still, For he was faint with "cold and weak with eld That scarce his loosed limbs he able was to weld. E. Spenser. I N D E X. PAGE ALOFT in my ancient, sky-roofed hall Mary E. Hewitt ... 52 As slow I climb the cliffs ascending side W.L.Bowles . . .115 At eve J. Thomson .... 126 Behold a length of hundred leagues displayed F. W. Faber .... 58 Beneath me was the misty sea .... . F. W. Faber > . . . 112 Beneath the hedge, or near the stream ........ W. Cowper .... 57 By the grey sand-hills, o'er the cold sea-shore: where, dumbly "I Owen M d'th 116 peering ....../ Dear common flower, that grow'st beside the way . . . . . J. E. Lowell .... 62 Dear garden ! once again with lingering look Caroline Southey . . 64 Delicate leaves, with your shifting colours C. F. Alexander . . . 106 Down the sultry arc of day . H. K irke White ... 43 Early in spring-time, on raw and windy mornings C. Kingsley .... 9 Fair Daffodils, we weep to see . . . R. Herrick .... 18 Fair pledges of a fruitful tree B. Herrick . . . 16 Flow, river, flow C. MacJcay .... 70 For lo, what think you ? suddenly E.Browning. . . . 120 From yonder wood mark blue-eyed Eve proceed W. 8. Landor ... 45 Frost-locked all the winter . . . . . Christina Rossetti . . 9 Green little vaulter in the sunny grass . Leigh Hunt .... 54 Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove J. Logan 14 Hail to thee, blithe spirit P. B. Shelley ... 24 Here the rude clamour of the sportman's joy. J.Thomson . . . .100 Hush my heedless feet from under 8. T. Coleridge ... 50 I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers P. B. Shelley ... 82 If aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song W. Collins .... 36 ' I'll pay my rent in music,' said a thrush Mrs. Sigourney ... 48 I love at eventide to walk alone J. Clare 34 In spring and summer winds may blow W. S. Landor . . . 105 Into the sunshine, full of the light J. R. Lowell .... 66 I see a column of slow-rising smoke W. Cowper .... 69 I stood tiptoe upon a little hill J. Keats 29 I stood upon the hills, when heaven's wide arch . . . . . H. W. Longfellow . . 32 It chanced upon the merry merry Christmas eve C. Kingsley . . . .125 It is the midnight hour : the beauteous sea . J.Wilson .... 86 It seems a day W. Wordsworth ... 95 I walked by mysel' ower the sweet braes o' Yarrow ..../. Wilson .... 72 I wandered lonely as a cloud W. Wordsworth ... 17 Lie here, without a record of thy worth W. Wordsioorth . . .107 Mark how the feathered tenants of the flood W. Wordsworth . . . 123 Mine be a cot beside the hill S. Rogers .... 67 No cloud, no relique of the sunken day . . . ... . . S. T. Coleridge . . 19 Now from the roost, or from the neighbouring pale W. Cowper .... 125 Now that the winter's gone, the earth hath lost . . . . . T. Carew 8 Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger J. Milton 18 O blithe new comer ! I have heard W. Wordsworth. . . 13 Oh ! Sky-lark, for thy wing Felicia Hemans . . .23 Oh the summer night Barry Cornwall ... 46 On his morning rounds the master . W. Wordsworth . . .122 1 32 INDEX. PAGE On the cross-beam under the old south bell N. P. Willis .... 51 0, pleasant eventide Christina Rossetti . . 41 O the flower of the tree is the flower for me Aubrey de Vere ... 27 Our ancient church ! its lonely tower. . t 0. Wendell Holmes . .109 O vale of visionary rest J. Wilson .... 74 Poor is the triumph o'er the timid hare J. Thomson .... 101 Roses, their sharp spines being gone J. Fletcher .... 22 Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness John Keats . . . .92 See ! from the brake the whirring pheasant springs . . . . A Pope 99 See where surly Winter passes off J. Thomson .... 1 Shepherds all, and maidens fair J. Fletcher .... 39 Snow, snow, beautiful snow Isa Craig . . . .118 So forth issued the Seasons of the year E. Spenser .... 129 Star that bringest home the bee T. Campbell .... 35 Sweet bird, that sing'st away the early hours W. Drummond ... 15 The cock is crowing W. Wordsworth ... 7 The day is down into his bower Owen Meredith ... 90 The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year . . . . W.C.Bryant . . .114 The poetry of earth is never dead /. Keats 55 The purple iris hangs his head . . Owen Meredith . . . 104 Therefore doth Heaven divide W. Shakspere ... 56 There is a bird, who, by his coat W. Cowper .... 47 There is a stream (I name not its name, lest inquisitive tourist . A. H. dough ... 76 The scenes are desert now and bare Sir Walter Scott . . 96 The snow has left the cottage top J. Clare . . 2 mu it, i. i j j 1 1 (Henry Howard, Earl of The soote season, that bud and bloom forth brings < I Surrey 7 The wind went forth o'er land and sea Adelaide A. Procter . . 77 They came to where the brushwood ceased, and day .... Matthew Arnold. . . 12 The young oak casts its delicate shadow . . i The Author of the " Three { Wakings .... 84 Thou comest, autumn, heralded by the rain H. W. Longfellow . . 94 Thou wert out betimes, thou busy, busy bee E. Southey .... 55 'Tis merry in greenwood, thus runs the old lay Sir Walter Scott ... 91 'Tis merry ov a zummer's day William Barnes ... 68 To yonder hill, whose sides, deform'd and steep H. KirJce While ... .33 Turn to the watery world ! but who to thee G. Crabbe .... 88 ' Twer when the busy birds did vlee W. Barnes . : . 38 Underneath an old oak tree 8. T. Coleridge . . .121 Untremulous in the river clear J. R. Lowell .... 78 Wake ! wake ! wake to the hunting Reginald Heber . . . 103 Wee, sleekit, cowrin', tim'rous beastie R. Burns 117 We walked within the Churchyard bounds Archbishop Trench . .110 When Autumn scatters his departing gleams J. Thomson .... 108 When winter winds are piercing chill H. W. Longfellow . .128 Wild rose, sweetbriar, eglantine Leigh Hunt .... 64 Winter is cold-hearted Christina Rossetti . . 28 Winter is past ; the heart of Nature warms 0. Wendett Holmes . . 11 With little here to do or see W. Wordsworth ... 60 Ye field flowers ! the gardens eclipse you, 'tis true T. Campbell .... 59 Yet the rich blessing which this hour bestows Archbishop Trench . . 40 ffla 1 mmm