T U I B R A R V OK THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA GIKT OK Received ^ OCT 29 1892 ' '^^ . Accessions Xo. 08* LLQO^q Shelf No. CfJ%^^ zi_i b ^^f> 4 V\ %^ ; xT' Z' -7^ -& • • o • > « V v4 o 'a ;> w-P ■^ « aj w ;j

<, « fc. •*i» .^ ; . ^ ::-■ -.r •P '^ H •? «» tJ ^ * \ \ 1 OF TBI*. ^ (, SELECTED FROM MANY SOURCES. VVITH MANY ILLUSTRATIONS FROM ORIGINAL DESIGNS BY T. MORAN, MISS H ALLOC K, CHURCH, FENN, PARSONS, KENSETT, JOHNSON, BOLLES, Eic. O. ' ' V \: ^HSJI \ !•: W \' ( ) I^ K : SCRIDNER, ARMSTRONC, AND COMl'ANV SUCCKSSOKS Til ( IIAKI.ES SCRH'.NER AND COMl'ANA'. •873- Eatered accorfii^ to Act of Congress, in the year 1S72, by ScKiB>-ES, Armstkoxg, axd Compant, in the OSee of tlie librarian of Congress, at WashingtoQ- STEKEOTTPEO AJID P R I > T E D BY B. O. HOCGHTOBI AJtD COMPANY. PUBLISHERS" NOTE. The present volume completes the reissue of Folk-Sokg=. .r the vari- ous titles of SoxGS OF Life ; SoxGS of Home ; Soxgs of the Heart, and Soxgs of N'ature. The comprehensiveness and completeness of each part, with the numerous new forms and additional iI!ustrat?OTi5. ha- 'X'Th- mended these selections anew to the public fevor. and tL form a choice library" of poetry and song. CONTENTS. A Foui;sT Hymn William Ciil/en Bnjunl . MiG N"«)NETTE Mnil/ BnidU'jj . TiiK Dying Loveii Richard llennj Stoddard. I'll 1 LOME I, \ Mallliew Arnold. Lcc Y Asiiton's Song S/V 1 1 'allcr Scott . Spring and AYinteh Willia-m Shakcsjwarc. Sabina Willidm Comfrevc. . Wind and Kain Richard Ileiirij Stoddanl . The H;;r,i'UY Piceon Nathaniel Parker Willis. 'l"nK Siiki'HEUd's Son fonnna liaillie . The Count's Little DAUuiiTEit I//s R. S. Grceuow/h . The Holly Tree Rol>ert Sonthej/ . TiiB Nymi'H coaiplaining for the Death of her Y.wvs.. .Andre id Marcell. Come, Beauteous Day William /feiin/ Ilinlhiit . The Nkjii r I'iix'e Rohert I/i rric/c. A Winter Scene Josiah Gillierl Holland. I'l" IV I hi; Tree (icorfje MaclJonald . \\\MS lo 1 III; Flowers Horace Smith. Song ro May R 17 I'.t 2.J 25 2'.> .il ■■V.\ .U .■!.■) ."t'.l 411 II I I ir. 47 4S I'.l .Ml .".2 Vlll CONTENTS. TiiK Fadkd ViDi.iOT Thomas Bailty Ahlrich . The Mountain IIeart's-eask Bret Harte. Tides B. H. . To Primroses Robert Herrick . To Blossoms Robert Herrick . To Daffodils Robert Herrick . The iMo ther Nightingale Roscoe after de Villegas. To THE IIuMBLEBEE Ralph Woldo EmersoH . Of a' THE AiRTS THE WiND CAN BLAW Robert Burns. Evening Alfred Tennyson . The River-god to Amoret John Fletcher. Summer Longings Denis Florence McCarthy. Lines to an Indian Air Percy Bysshe Shelley . How thick the Wild Flowers blow about our Feet R. C. Trench. The Cave of Silver Fitz-James O'Brien. A Dirge John Webster . My Life is like the Summer Rose Richard Henry Wilde. The Orphan's Christmas-tree Bayard Taylor after Rueckert. Beside the Sea William Winter. When Sparrows build and the Leaves break forth Jeanlngelow. Fulfilment Mary Elizabeth Dodge . Blow, blow, thou Winter Wind Shakespeare . The Rose Edmund Waller . A Dead Rose Elizabeth Barrett Browning. The Tiger William Blake . My River From the German of Eduard Moerke. Song of the Brook Alfred Tennyson . The Call George Darley . The Sea Richard Henry Stoddard. MiDsr.MMKR Louisa Bushnell. Dirge Thomas Lovell Beddoes. Drifting Thomas Buchanan Read. The Minstrel's Song in Ella Thomas Chatterton. Qua cursum Ventus Arthur Hugh Clough . As I LAY A Thinking Richard Harris Barham. To Cynthia Ben Jonson. To the (Jrassiioi'per and Cricket Lei7 A \'i<)I.kt Wliitncv 143 A I-OIIHS'I' IIVMN. TlIK proves uriw (IimTs first tcniplt'S. Kvc. liKlli li';ii-|lf(l A FOREST HYMN. To lu'w the shaft, nnd lay tlie architrave, And spread tlie roof above them — ere he framed The lofty vault, to gather and roll back The sound of anthems ; in the darkling wood, Amid the cool and silence, he knelt down, And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks And supplication. For his simple heart Might not resist the sacred influences Which, from the stilly twilight of the place, And from the gray old trunks that high in heaven Mingled their mossy boughs, and from the sound Of the invisible breath that swayed at once All their green tops, stole over him, and bowed His spirit with the thought of boundless power And inaccessible majesty. Ah, why Should we, in the world's riper years, neglect God's ancient sanctuaries, and adore Only among the crowd, and under roofs That our frail hands have raised? Let me, at least, Here, in the shadow of this aged wood. Offer one hymn — thrice happy, if it find Acceptance in His ear. Father, thy hand H:itli reared tliese venerable columns, thou Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down Upon the naked earth, and, fortlnvith, rose All those fiiir ranks of trees. They, in thy sun. Budded, and shook their green leaves in fhy breeze, And shot toward licaAcii. The century-living crow Whose birth was in their tops, grew old and died A FORK ST IIYMX. Among llicir branches, till, at last, they stood, As now they stand, massy, and tall, and dark, Fit shrine for hnnd^le worshipper to hold Communion with his IVIaker. These dim vaults. These winding aisles, of liumau pomp or pride Report not. No fantastic carvings show The boast of our vain race to change the form Of thy fair works. But thou art here — thou fill'sfc The solitude. Thou art in the soft winds That run along the summit of these trees In music : thou art in the cooler breath That from the inmost darkness of the place Comes, scarcel}' felt : the barky trunks, thci ground, The fresh moist ground, are all instinct with thc(\ Here is continual worship ; — Nature, here, In the tranquillity that thou dost love. Enjoys thy presence. Noiselessly, around, From ])ercli to perch, the solitary bird Passes ; and 3'on clear spring, that, midst its herbs, Wells softly forth and wandering steeps the roots Of half tlie mighty forest, tells no tale Of all the good it does. Thou hast not left Thyself without a witness, in these shades, Of thy perfections. Grandeur, strength, and grace Are here to speak of thee. This mighty oak — By whose iminoval)l(' stem I stand and simmu Almost aniiihil;itc(l — not a ])riiic(', In all that |iroii(l old world bcvoiid the d(>cp. E'er wore his crown as loftily as he Wears the green coronal of leaves with whicli Thv haml has griK'ed him. Nestled at his root A FOREST IIYMX. Is beauty, such as blooms not in the gLare Of the broad sun. That deHcate forest flower, With scented breath and look so like a smile, Seems, as it issues from the shapeless mould, An emanation of the indwelling Life, A visible token of the upholding Love, That are the soul of this great universe. INIy heart is awed within me when I think Of the great mu'acle that still goes on, In silence, round me — the perpetual work Of thy creation, finished, yet renewed Forever. Written on thy works I read The lesson of th}^ own eternity. Lo I all grow old and die — but see again, How on the faltering footsteps of decay Youth presses — ever gay and beautiful youtli In all its beautiful forms. These lofty trees Wave not less proudly that their ancestors INIoulder beneath them. O, there is not lost One of earth's charms : upon her bosoni yet, After the flight of untold centuries. The freshness of her far beginning lies And yet shall lie. Life mocks the idle hate Of his arch-enemy Death — yea, seats himself Upon the tyrant's throne — the sepulchre. And of the triumphs of his ghastly foe ]\Iakes his own nourishment. For he came forth From thine own bosom, and shall liavo no end. There have been holy men who hid themsel\i'.= Deep in the woody wilderness, and gave A FOREST HYMX. Their lives to tliouglit and prayer, till tlicv outlived The generation born ^Yith them, nor seemed Less aged than the hoary trees and rocks Around them ; — and there have been holy men Who deemed it were not well to pass life thus. But let me often to these solitudes Retire, and in thy presence reassure M}^ feeble virtue. Here its enemies, The passions, at thy plainer footsteps shrink And tremble and are still. O God ! Avhen thou Dost scare the world Avith tempests, set on fire The heavens with falling thunderbolts, or fill. With all the waters of the fii-mament, TIk; swift dark whirlwind that uproots the woods And drowns the villages ; when, at thy call. Uprises the great deep and throws himself Upon the continent, and overwhelms Its cities — who forgets not, at the sight Of these tremendous tokens of thy power. His pride, and lays his strifes and follies by ? O, from these sterner aspects of thy face Spare me and mine, nor let us need the wrath Of the nuul unchained elements to teach Who rules them, lie it ours to meditate, In these calm shades, thy mihlcr majesty, And to tilt' 1 leant iful order of thy works I^earn to conform the. order of our lives. AVii.i.iAM L'lli.kn 1)i;y.\nt. /^> ^ §m mGNONETTE. •" Your qualities surpass your charms." — Language of Flowers. I PASSED beiore her "-arden ij^ate : Slie stood among her roses, And stooped a little from the state In which Iier pride reposes, To make lier flowers a graceful plea For luring and delavino- me. (J MI(;XO>s'KTTE. " When suinmer blossoms fade so soon," She said witli ^^'inning sweetness, " Who does not wear the badge of June Lacks something of completeness. JNIy garden \yelcomes you to-day, Come in and gather, while you may." I entered in : she led me through A maze of leafy arches. Where velvet-purple pansies grew Beneath the sighing larches, — A shadowy, still, and cool retreat That gave excuse for lingL'ring feet. She paused ; pulK-d down a trailing vine ; And twisted round her fino-er Its Starr}- sprays of jessamine. As one A\ho seeks to lino-pr. But I smiled lightly in her face. And passed on to the open space. Passed many a flower bed fitly set In trim ami bloDmiiig order. And pliiiked at last some mignonette 'i'liat strayed along the border; A simple thing flmf liad no bloom. And but a faint and far perfume. She wondered why I would not choose Tliat drciimv auiar\llis, — 8 MIGNONETTE. " And could I really, then, refuse Those heavenly white lilies ! And leave ungathered on the slope This passion-breathing heliotrope ? " She did not know — what need to tell So fair and fine a creature ? — That there was one who loved me well Of widely different nature ; A little maid whose tender youth. And innocence, and simple truth, Had won my heart with qualities That far surpassed her beauty. And held me with unconscious ease Enthralled of love and duty ; Whose modest graces all were met And syniboled in my mignonette. I passed outside her garden-gate, And left her proudly smiling : , Her roses bloomed too late, too late She saw, for my beguiling. I wore instead — and wear it yet — The single spray of mignonette. Its fragrance greets me unaware, A vision clear recalling Of shy, sweet eyes, and drooping hair In girlish tresses falling, THE DYING LOVER. And little hands so white and fine That timidly creep into mine ; As she — all ignorant of the arts That wiser maids are plying — Has crept into my heart of hearts Past doubting or denying ; Therein, while suns shall rise and set, To bloom unchanged, my Mignonette ! Mary Dradi.ev. THE DYING LOVER. The grass that is under me now A\'ill soon be over me sweet ! When you walk this way again, I shall not hear your feet. You may walk this way attain And shed your tears like dew: They will be no more to me, then, Than mine are now to you, Richard IIkxry Stoddard. PHILOMELA. Hark ! all, the Nightingale ! The tawny-throated ! Hark ! fi-om that moonlit cedar what a burst ! What triumph ! hark — what pain ! O wanderer from a Grecian shore, Still, after many years, in distant lands. Still nourishing in thy bewildered brain That wild, unquenched, deep-sunken, old-world pain ! Say, will it never heal ? And can this fragrant lawn, With its cool trees, and night, And the sweet, tranquil Thames, And moonshine, and the dew. To thy racked heart and brain Afford no balm? Dost thou to-night behold. Here, through the moonlight on this English grass, The unfl'iendly palace in the Thracian wild ? Dost thou again peruse. With liot cheeks and seared eyes. The too clear web, and thy dumb sister's shame"/ Dost thou once more essay Thy flight; and feel come over thee. Poor fiigitive, the feathery change. Once more ; and once more make resomid, ID LUCY ASIITON-S SUNG. 11 With 1()\L' and hate, triumpli and aixony, Lone DauHs, and the high Cephisian vale? Listen, Eugenia ! How thick the bursts come crowding througli the leaves I Again — thou hearest ? Eternal passion ! Eternal pain ! Mattiif.w Aknold. LUCY ASHTON'S SOXC. Look not thou on Beauty's cliaiinini:' ; .Sit thou still when kings are arming ; Taste not when the wine-cup glistens ; Speak not when the peo[)le listens ; Stop thine ear against the singer ; From the red gold keep thy tingi-r : Vacant heart and hand and eve Easv live, and (juiet die. Siu Wai.tki: S(-wlio ! — a merry note. While gi-easy Joan doth keel the pot. SlIAKKSTKAIIi;. SABINA. See, see! She wakes — Sabina wakes! And now the sun beo-ins to rise: Less glorious is the morn t])at breaks From his bright beams than her fair ej'es. With light united, Day they give ; But difierent fiites ere night fulfill : How many by his warmth will live! How many will iier coldness kill ! WlI.I.IAM CoXCiUKVK. WIXD AND RAIN. Rattle tlie window. Winds I Rain, driji on the panes ! There are tears and sio;hs in our hearts and eves. And a -wearv weio-lit on our brains. .iSfc.uiS''- L'he irrav sea heaves and heaves. On tlie dreary flats of sand ; And the blasted limb of the churchyard vew. It shakes like a 'ihostly hand I The dead are engulfed beneath it, Sunk in the grassy waves ; I>ut we have more dead in our hearts to-day riian the Earth in all her graves ! RiciiAijo IIkni:y SroDDAiti) 14 THE BELFRY PIGEON. On the cross-Lcam under the Okl South bell The nest of a pigeon is buikled well. In summer and winter that bird is there, Out and in witli the mornin"; air. I love to see him track the street, With his warv eye and active feet : Ami I often watch him as he springs. Circling the steeple Avith easy wings, Till across the dial his shade has passed, And the belfiy edge is gained at last. 'Tis a bird I love, with its brooding note, And the trembling throb in its mottled throat ; Thei'e's a human look in its swellinix 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 Ijell, Chime of the hour, or funeral knell, The dove in the belfry must hear it well. When the tongue swino;s out to the nii(Iniut still the sound that I lo'e best Alack ! I canna hear. < ) no I sad and slow ! The shadow lingers still, And like a lanely ghaist I stand, ^Vnd croon upon the hill. I hear below the water roar, The mill with clackino; din ; And Luckv scoldiuii frae her door. To bring the bairnies in. O no ! sad and slow ! These are nae sounds for me ; The shadow of our ti-ystinif bush. It creeps sae drearilie. » 17 18 THE SIIEPHEllD'S SON. I coft yestreen frae chapman Tarn A snood o' bonnie blue, And promised, when our trysting cam. To tie it round her brow. O no ! sad and slow ! The time it winna pass ; The shadow of that weary thorn Is tethered on the grass. O now I see her on the way I She's past the witches' knowe ; She's climbing up the brownie's brae ; INIy heart is in a lowe ! O no ! 'tis not so ! 'Tis glaumrie I liae seen ; The shadow of the hawthorn bush Will move nae mair till e'en. Mv book of o;race I'll trv to read, Though conned wi' little skill ; When Colley barks I'll raise my head. And find her on the hill, O no ! sad and slow ! The time will ne'er be gane ; The shadow of the trysting bush Is fixed like ony stano. Joanna Baillie. THE COUNT'S LITTLE DAUGHTER: A LEGEND OF NUUEMBEllG. 'eii the gray old Gerinnu city The sluulow of mourning l:iy : More tenderly kissed each mother Her little child that day. With a (Iccpcr prjiyer eaith father Laid liis Imiid on his first-born's he;ul, For in the c;is(Ie above them L:iy the Count's little daughter, dead. Slow moved till' great procession Down from tlic casllc gate, 'i"o wlicri' llif lilai-k-ilra|>cd culhedral r>la/,c(l in liiiicreal slate. 20 THE COUNT'S LITTLE DAUGHTER: A LEGEND OF NUKEMBEUG And they laid the little child down, In her robes of satin and gold, To sleep with her dead forefathers In their stone crypt, dark and cold. At midnight the Countess lay weeping 'Neath her gorgeous canopy, She heard as it were a rustling, And little feet come nigh. She started up in the darknass. And with yearning gesture wild, She cried, "Has tlio Father heard me? Art thou come back, my child ? " Then a child's voice, soft and pleading, Said, " I've come, O mother dear. Tin: (oi'NT-s i.rriij-: daughter: a i.kgend of mki:mi5kk(;. lil Ti» :tsk it' you will not lay mo \\'li('r(' the little birds 1 can hear; — •'The little birtls in their singing, And the children in their plnv. Where tlu; sun shines bright on the All the loni; summer day. lowers "Jn the stoiu; cryj)t I Vw weeping, For I cunnitt choose but fear, Such waitings dire and ceaseless From the dead Counts* coHins 1 hear *■' And liii all aliiM!'. dear mot lici-. No otiii'r cliilil is there ; ( ), la\' me to slec|i III 1 lie SIlllslllMe Where all i^ luiiiht and lair. 22 THE COUNT'S LITTLE DAUGHTER : A LEGEND OF NUREMBERG. " I cannot stay, dear mother, I must back to the moans and gloom ; I must lie there, fearing and weeping, Till you take me from my tomb." Then the Countess roused her husband. Saying, " Give to me, I pray. That spot of green by the deep fosse, Where the children love to play. " For our little one lies weeping, And asks, for Christ's dear sake, That 'mid song and sunlight and flowers. Near children her grave we make." And the green spot was made a garden. Blessed by priests with book and prayer, THE HOLLY TREE. And tlii'V laid the Count's little dauo'liter ' Mid flowers and sunliu'lit tliere. And to the children forever The Count and Countess gave As a play-ground, that smiUng garden By their little daughter's grave. 28 INIliS. R. S. (Jlir.KXOL'GH. /''^>^ OP s THE HOLLY TREE. O KKADKU ! linst thou ever stood to see Tlic holly tree? The eyi- that contemplates it well, perceives Its glossy leaves Ordered hy an intelligence so wise As nii;j:ht confound the ath(!ist's sophistries. ■l-[ THE HOLLY TREP:. Below, a circling fence, its leaves are seen Wrinkled and keen ; No grazing cattle, through their prickly roimd, Can reach to wound ; But as they grow where nothing is to fear, Smooth and unarmed the pointless leaves appear. I love to view these thino;s with curious eves. And morahze ; And in this wisdom of the holly tree Can emblems see Wherewith, jjerchance, to make a pleasant rhyme. One which may profit in the after-time. Thus, though abroad, perchance, I might a])pear Harsh and austere. To those who on my leisure would intrude Reserved and rude ; Gentle at home, amid my friends, Fd be, Like the high leaves u\)on the holly tree. And should my youth, as youth is apt I know, Some harshness show. All vain asperities I, day by day. Would wear away, Till the smooth temper of my age should be Like the high leaves upon the holly tree. And as, when all the sunnner trees are seen > So bright and green. THE XVMril CO.Ml'LAIXING FOi; THE DEATH OF HKlt FAWN. 25 The liolly leaves their fadeless hues display Less bright than tliev ; But when the bare and wintry woods we see, What then so cheerful as the holly tree ? So, serious should my youth appear among Tile thoughtless throng : So would I seem, amid the young and gay, More grave than they ; Tluit in niv age as cheerful I might be As the green winter of the hollv tree. RoiiKHT SOUTHEY. THE NYMPH COMPLAINING FOR THE DEATH OF HEIi FAWN The wanton troopers, riding by. Have shot my fawn, and it will die. Ungentle men ! they cannot thrive, Who killed thee. Thou ne'er didst, alive. Them any harm ; alas ! nor could Thy death yet do them any good. Tm sure I never wished them ill. Nor do I for all this, nor will ; I>ut, if iny simple pi'ayers may vol Prevail with Heaven to forget Thy murder, I will join my tears, Rather than fail. But O, mv fears I 26 THE NYMPH COMPLAINING FOR THE DEATH OF HER FAWN. It cannot die so. Heaven's Kino; Keeps register of everything, And notliing may we use in vaiji ; Even beasts must be witli justice slain, Else men are made their deodands. Though they should wash their guilty hands In this Avarm life-blood, Avhich doth part From thine and wound me to the heart. Yet could they not be clean — their stain Is dyed in such a purple grain ; There is not such another in The world, to offer for their sin. Inconstant Sylvio ! Avhen yet I had not found him counterfeit. One morning (I remember well), Tied in this silver chain and bell, Gave it to me. Nay, and I know What he said then — I'm snre I do : Said he, " Look how yqjir huntsman here Hath tauo;ht a fawn to hunt his dear I" But Sylvio soon had me beguiled : This waxed tame, while he grew wild ; And, quite regardless of my smart, Left me his fawn, but took his heart. Thenceforth, I set myself to play jNIy solitary time away, With this ; and, very Avell content, Could so mine idle life have spent. For it was full of sport, and liccht Of foot and heart, and did invite i\Ic to its game. It seemed to bless Tin: XY.AIl'lI COMPLAINING FOR THE DEATH OF HEIl FAWN. 27 Itself in me ; liow could I less Thau love it? 01 I cannot be Unkind t" a beast that loveth me. Had it lived lon^, I do not know Whether it, too, nn'oht have done so As Svlvio did — his vr\{\s niiiiht be Perhaps as false, or more, than he. For I am sure, for aught that I Could in so short a time esjiy, Thy love Avas far more better than The love of false and cruel man. With sweetest milk, and sugar, first I it at mine own fingers nursed ; And as it grew, so every day It waxed more white and sweet than they. It had so sweet a breath I and ofl I blushed to see its foot more sofl And white — shall I say tlian my hand? Nay ! any lady's of the land. It is a wondrous thino; how Heet 'Twas, on those little silver feet ! With what a i)retty, skipping grace It oft wouKl challenn;e me the race ! And when 't had left me far away, 'Twould stay, and run again, and stay ; For it was nimbler, nnich, than hinds, And trod as if on the tour winds. I have a garden of my veep, though I be stone. Until my tears, still droo[)ing, wear My breast, themselves engraving there. There at my feet shalt tliou be laid. Of purest alabaster made ; For I woidd have thine image be Wln'te as I can, though not as thee. AxDiM.w Makvki.l. COME, BEAUTEOUS DAY. Come, beauteous day ! Never did lover on his bridal night So chidr tliine over-eaiier liiflit As I thy long delay I 30 COME, REAUTEOUS DAY. Brincr me mv rest I Never can these sAveet thorny roses. Whereon my heart reposes, Be into skimber pressed. Day be my night 1 Night hath no stars to rival with her eyes ; Night hath no peace hke his who lies Upon her bosom white. She chd transmnte This my poor cell into a paradise, Gorgeons with blossoming lips and dewy eyes, And all her beantv's fruit. Nor dv;ll nor gray Seems to mine eyes this dim and wintry morn : Ne'er did the rosy banners of the dawn Herald a briohter day. Come, beauteous day ! Come ! or in sunny light, or storm eclipse I Bring me the immortal Summer of her lips ; Then have thy way I William Hkxky TIcrlul" THE NIGHT PIECE. Her eyes the glow-worme lend tliee. The shooting-starres attend tliec ; And the elves also, Whose little eyes glow Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee. No Will-o'-th'-Wispe mislight thee, Nor snake nor slow-wornie bite thee ; But on thy way, Not making stay. Since ffliost there's none t' affrijiht thee. Let not the darke thee cumber ; What though the moon does slumber ? The stars of the nio;ht Will lend thee their light, Like tapers cleare, without number. Then, Julia, let me woo thee, Thus, thus to come inito me ; And when I shall meet Thy silvery feet, My soule I'll pour into thee! RoiiKUT Hkukfck. 31 A WINTER SCENE. Winter's wild bii-thnight I In the fretful East The uneasy wind moans with its sense of cold, And sends its sighs through gloomy mountain gorge, Along the valley, u]) tlio whitening hill, To tease the sighing spirits of the pines. And waste in dismal Avoods their chilly hfe. The sky is dai'k, and on the huddled leaves — The restless, rustling leaves — sifts down its sleet, Till the sharp cr^'stals pin them to the earth. And they grow still beneath the rising storm. The roofless bullock hugs the sheltering stack, • With Clinging head and closely gathered feet. And waits with dumb endurance for the morn. Deep in a gusty cavern of the barn Tilt- wlili'ss calf stands blatant at his chain; ^\'ilil(' till- hiiitc mother, pent within her stall, Willi the wild stress of instinct goes distraught, And frets her horns, and bellows throuo;h the nio-ht. The stream inins l)lack ; and the far waterfall, 'J'hat sang so sweetly through the summer eves. Anil swelled and swayed to Zephyr's softest breath, I^eaps with a sullen mar the dark abyss, And hdwls its hoarse responses to the wind. The mill is still. The distant l'act(ir\-. That s\\arnie(l yestreen with many hn^'ereij life, i\nd l)ridged the river with a huiuhed bars C 33 34 UP IN THE TREE. Of molten light, is dark, and lifts its bulk With dim, uncertain angles, to the sky. Yet lower bows the storm. The leafless trees Lash their lithe limbs, and with majestic voice, Call to each other through the deepening gloom ; And slender trunks that lean on burly boughs Shriek with the sharp abrasion ; and the oak. Mellowed in fibre by unnumbered frosts, Yields to the shoulder of the Titan Blast, Foi'sakes its poise, and, with a booming crash, Sweeps a fierce passage to the smothered rocks. And lies a shattered ruin. JosiAH Gilbert Holland. UP IN THE TREE. What would you see, if I took you up My little aerie-stair? You would see the sky like a clear blue cup Turned upside down in the air. What would you do, up my aerie-stair, In my little nest on the tree ? My child with cries would trouble tlie air, To get what she could but see. IIYMX TO THE FLOWERS. 35 What would you get in the top of the tree, For all your crying and grief ? Not a star would you clutch of all you see — You could only gather a leaf. But when you had lost your greedy grief, Content to see from afar, You would find in your hand a withering leaf, In vour heart a shining star, Georgk jSIacDoxald. IIY:\rX TO THE FLOWERS. Day'-STARS I that ope your eyes with morn to twinkle From rainbow galaxies of earth's creation, And dt'w-didps on her lonely altars sprinkle As a libation ! Vc inatiu worshippers ! wJio bending lowly Before the uprisen sun — God's lidless eye — Throw from your chalices a sweet and holy Incense on high I 30 HYMN TO THE FLOWERS. Ye briglit mosaics ! that with storied beauty The floor of Nature's temple tessellate : What numerous emblems of instructive cluty Your forms create ! 'Neath cloistered bouiilis, each floral bell that swinireth. And tolls its perfume on the passing air, Makes Sabbath iu the flelds, ami ever riuiieth A call to ])rayer. IIY.MN TO THE FLOWERS. 37 Not to the domes where crumbling arch and column Attest the feebleness of mortal hand, But to that fane, most catholic and soltMun, Which God hatii planned : To that cathedral, boundless as our wonder, Whose quenchless lamps the sun and moon supply — Its choir the winds and waves, its oroan thundei". Its dome the skv. There — as in solitude and shade I wander Through the green aisles, or, stretched npoi\ the sod. Awed by the silence, reverently ponder The wavs of God — Your voiceless lips, O Flowers, are living [)reac!iers. Each cup a pulpit, and each leaf a book, Supplying to my fancy numerous teachers From loneli(!st nook. Floral Apostles I that in dewy splendor " Weep without woe, and blush without a crime,' O may I dee[)ly learn, and ne'er surnnder. Your lore sublime I " Thou wert not, Solniiiuii, in ;ill thv ulnry. Arrayed,*' the lilies cry, "in robes hke ours: IIow vain your grandeur! Ah, liow transitory Are limnaii Howers I 38 Hy:\ix to the flowers. In tlie sweet-scented pictures. Heavenly Artist, With wliich tiiou paintest Nature's wide-spread hall, What a deliglitful lesson thou impartest Of love to all! Not useless are ye. Flowers ! though made for j)leasure Blooming o'er field and wave, by day and night. From every sou^rce your sanction bids me treasure Harmless delight. Ephemeral sages ! what instructors hoary For such a world of thought could furnish scope ? Each fading calyx a memento 7nori, Yet fount of hope. Posthumous glories ! angel-like collection ! U])raised from seed or bulb interred in earth, Ye are to me a type of resurrection. And second birth. Were I, O G(j(I, in churchless lands remaining. Far from all voice of teachers or divines. My soul would find, in flowers of Thy ordaining, Priests, sermons, shrines ! Horace Smith, SONG TO MAY. May I queen of blossoms. And fulfillinjx flowers, Wirii wliat i)rctty music Slinll w'Q ciiarni the liours ? NVIlt tliou liave pipe and reed, I»l()wn in tlie open mead? Or to tlie lute give heed, In the green bowers ? Thou hast no need of us. Or |)ipe or Avire, That hast the golden bee Kij>ened with fire ; And many thousand more Songsters, that thee adore. Filling earth's grassy floor AN'itli lU'w desire. Thou liast thv miiihtv herds. Tame, and free livers ; Doubt not, thy nuisic too In tlic (\rL'\) rivers ; And the whole |ihiiiiv flin'ht. NVarI)hiig the day and niglit: Up at the gates of h-lit, See, the lai'k (|uivers! 31) 40 THE RIIODORA. When with the jacintli Coy fountains are tressed. And for the mournful bird Greenwoods are dressed, That did for Tereus pine, Then shall our songs be thine, To whom our hearts incline : Ma J, be thou blessed ! Loiu) TiirRi.ov/ THE RHODORA. In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes, 1 found the fresh Rhodora in the woods, Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook, To please the desert and the slnggish brook : The purple petals, fallen in the pool. Made the black waters with their beauty gay ; Here might the red-bird come his plumes to cool. And court the flower that cheapens his array. Rhodora ! if the sages ask thee why This charm is wasted on the marsh and sky. Dear, tell tlicm that if eyes were made for seeing. Then beauty is its own excuse for being. Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose ! I never thought to ask, I never knew ; But in my simple ignorance suppose The selfsame Power that brouoht me there, brou<'-ht vou. Ralph Waldo Emkhsox. THE FAIRIKS. Up tlie airy mountain, Down the rushy glen, We daren't o-o a luniting, For fear of little men ; Wee folk, good folk, Trooping all together ; Green jacket, red cap, And Avhite owl's feather! Down along the rocky shore Some make their home: Tliey live on crispy pancakes Of yellow tide-foam ; Some in the reeds Of the hlack mountain-lake, ^^'ith frogs for their watch-dogs. All night nwnke. High on the hill-top The old kino; sits ; He is now so old and gray He's nio-li lost his wits. With a bridge of wliite mist ( '(ihniilil THE BKOOK-SIDE. 1 WANDERED by the bruuk-side, I wandered by the niill ; I could not hear the brook flow. The noisy wheel was still ; There was no burr of grasshop})er, No chirp of any bird ; Bat the beating of my own heart Was all the sound T lieard. 50 THE BKOOK-SIDE. 51 I sat beneath the ehn-tree ; r watched the loiio;, lono; shade. And, as it grew still lon<;er, I (lid not feel afraid ; For I listened for a footfall, I listened for a word ; But the beatiiiiT of niv own heart Was all the sound I heard. He came not — no, he came not; The night came on alone : The little stars sat, one by one. Each on his golden throne; The evening wind passed by my cneek, The leaves above were stirred ; But the beating of my own heart Was all the sound I heard. Fast silent tears were Howinij;, When something stood behind ; A hand was on niv shoulder, I knew its touch was kind : It drew me nearer — nearer. We did not sj)eak one word ; For the beating of our own hearts Was all the sound we heard. KlCI/Al;i) MoNCKlOX MlI.NKS. LITTLE BELL. He pi-ayeth well, who loveth well Both man and bird and beast. •' The Ancient Mariner." Piped the blackbird on tlie beechwood s])i-ay : " Pretty maid, slow wandering this way, What's yonr name?" qnotli he; " What's your name ? O stop, and straight iinfola, Pretty maid Avith showery curls of gold." "LittJo Bell," said she. Little Bell sat down beneath the rocks. Tossed aside her gleaming golden locks : " Bonny bird," quoth she, " Sing me your best song before I go." " Here's the very finest song I know, Little Bell," said he. And the blackljird piped ; you never heard Half so gay a song from any bird. Full of quips and wiles : Now so round and rich, now soft and slow ; All for love of that sweet face below. Dimpled o'er with smiles. 52 LITTLE BELL. 53 Aiul the while the bonny bird did })our His full heart out freely, o'er and o'er, 'Neath the morning skies. In the little childish heart below All the sweetness seemed to grow and grow. And shine forth in happy overflow From the blue, bright eyes. Down the dell she tripped, and through the glade ; Peeped the squirrel from the hazel shade, And from out the tree Swung, and leaped, and frolicked, void of fear ; While bold blackbird piped that all might hear, ^'Little Bell!" piped he. Little Bell sat down amid the iWn ; "■ Squirrel, squirrel, to yonr task return : Bring me nuts ! " qnoth she. Up, away the frisky squirrel hi'^s. Golden wood-lights glancing in his eyes. And adown the tree, Great ripe nuts, kissed brown by July sun, In the little lap dropped one l)y one ; Hark, how blackbird pipes to see the fun " Happy Bell ! " pipes he. Little Bell looked up and down tlip i!;Iade: " Squiirel, squiri'd, it' you're not afraid, Cv. And shine out in happy overflow, From the blue, bright eyes. By her snow-white cot at close of day. Knelt sweet Bell, with folded palms, to pray. Very calm and clear Rose the praying voice to where, unseen, In blue heaven, an angel shape serene Paused awhile to hear. " What good child is this," the angel said, " That, with happy heart, beside her bed Prays so lovingly ? " Low and soft, O very low and soft ! Crooned the blackbird in the orchard croft : " Bell, dear Bell ! " crooned he. " Whom God's creatures love," the angel fair Murmured, " God doth bless with angels' care ; Child, thy bed shall be Folded safe from harm. — Love deep and kind Shall watch around, and leave good gifts behind. Little Bell, for thee." Thomas Wkstwood. THE FADED VIO]>ET. What tliouglit is folded in thy leaves ! What tender thought, what speechless pain I I hold thy faded lips to mine, Thou darling of the April rain. I hold tliy faded lips to mine. Though scent and azui'e tint are fled ; O ! dry, mute lips, ye are the type Of something in me cold and dead : Of something wilted like thy leaves, Of fragrance flown, of beauty dim ; Yet, for the love of those Avhite hands That found thee by a river's brim, Tliat found thee when thy sunny mouth Was pur])led, as with drinking wine : For love of her who love for.'Io\v. Tla-ough ;ill 111,. (Icwy-tasscllc.j w 1, G7 68 THE RIVKll-GOD TO A.MUliET. And shadowino; down the horned flood In iipi)lr;s — tan my brows, and blow Tlie fever from my clieek, and sigli Tlie flill new life that feeds thy breath Throughout my frame, till Doubt and Death, 111 brethren, let the fancy fly From belt to belt of crimson seas. On leagues of odor streamino- far. To where, in yonder orient star, A hundred sjjirits whisper " Peace ! " Alkukd Thnxyson THE RIVER-GOD TO AMORET. I AM this fountain's god. Below, My waters to a river grow ; And 'twixt two banks, with osiers set, That only prosper in the wet, Through the meadows do they glide, Wheeling still on every side — Sometimes winding round about. To find the evenest channel out. And if thou wilt go with me. Leaving mortal company. In the cool streams slialt thou lie. Free from harm as well as I. I will give thee, for thy food, No tisli that useth in the mud ; THE RIVER-GOD TO AMOKET 69 But trout and pike, tliat love to swim Wliere the gnivel, from the brim, Throuj^h the pure streams may be seen. Orient pearls, fit for a queen, Will I give, thy love to win, And a shell to keep them in. Not a fish in all my brook That shall disobey thy look. But, when thou wilt, come sliding by, And from thy white hand take a fly. And to make thee understand How I can my waves command, They shall bubble whilst I sing. Sweeter than the silver string : THE SOXG. Do not fear to put thy feet Naked in the river, sweet. Think not leech, or newt, or toad, Will bite thy foot when thou hast trod , Nor let the water risino; hicrh. As thou wad'st in, make thee crv And sob ; but ever live with me. And not a wave shall trouble thee ! John Flkichki?. SUMMER LONGINGS. Las mananas floridaii De Abril y Mayo. Caldebon Ah ! my lieart is weary waiting, Waiting for the May, Waiting for the pleasant rambles. Where the fragrant hawthorn brambles. With the woodbine alternating. Scent the dewy way. Ah ! my heart is Aveary waiting, Waiting for the May. Ah ! my heart is sick with longing, Longing for the May, Longing to escape from study, To the yomig face fair and ruddy. And the thousand charms belonging To the Summer's day. Ah ! my heart is sick with longing, Lono-ins: for the May. C5 O Ah ! my heart is sore with sighing, Sighing for the May, Sio-hing for their sure returning, When the summer beams are burning : 70 SIMMER LONGINGS. 71 Hopes and flowers that, dead or dvincr, All the Winter lay. Ah ! mv heart is sore with siehino;, Sighino; tor the May. Ah I my heart is pained with throbbing, Throbbing for the May, Throbbing for the seaside billows, Or the water-wooing willows. Where, in laughino; and in sobbincr. Glide the streams away. Ah I my heart, my heart is throbbing. Throbbing for the May. Waiting sad, dejected, weary, Waiting for the May I S])ring, goes by with wasted warnings, Moonlit evenings, sunbright mornings ; Snmmer comes — yet dark and dreary Life still ebbs away. Man is ever weary, weary, WnitiniT for the May I Denis Flouexce McCarthy LINES TO AN INDIAN AIR. I ARISE from dreams of thee sweet sleep of night, winds are breatliing hnv, stars are sliinino; briirht. om dreams of thee, it in my feet Has led me — who knows how ? To thy chamber window, sweet ! The wandering airs, thev faint On the dark and silent stream ; The champak odors fail Like sweet thoughts in a tlream The nightingale's comj)laint, It dies uyion lier heart : As I must on thine, I)elo\'ed as tliou art I 72 HOW THICK THE WH.D FLOWERS BLOW .ABOUT OUK FEET. 73 ( ), lift me from the grass ! I die, I faint, I fail ! Let thy love in kisses rain On my li])s and eyelids pale. My cheek is cold and white, alas ! ]My heart beats lond and fast ; O, press it close to thine again. Where it will break at last I PkKCY BySSIIK SllKI-LEY. now rilICK THE WILD FLOWERS BLOW ABOUT OUR FEET How thick the wild flowers blow about our feet. Thick strewn and unregarded, which, if rare. We should take ttote how beautiful they were, Ho\v delicately wrought, of scent how sweet. And iii(']-cies which on every path we meet, Whose vevy commonness should win more praise, Do for that very cause less wonder raise, Aii'l these with slighter thankfulness wo greet. \'et pause thou often on life's onward Avay, Pause time enough to stoop and gather one ( )t' these sweet wild flowers — time enough to tell Its l)eautv OMT : this when ihoii hast done. And niarkiMl it ihil\. then if thou canst lay It wet with ihaiikliil tears into thy bosom, well! IIk II \i;i> I iii.N i.mx 'J'uknch. THE CAVE OF SILVEK. Seek me tlio cave of silver ! Find me the cave of silver I RiHe the cave of silver ! Said Ilda to Brok the Bold : So you may kiss me often ; So you may ring my finger ; So you may bind my true love In the round hoop of gold ! Bring me no skins of foxes ; Brino- me no beds of eider ; Boast not your fifty vessels That fish in the Northern Sea ; For I "vvould lie u}^on velvet, And sail in a golden galley, And naught but the cave of silver Will win my true love for thee. Reena, the witch, hath told me That up in the wild Lapp mountains There lieth a cave of silver, Down deep in a valley-side ; So gather vour lance and rifle, And speed to the purple pastures, And seek ye the cave of silver As you seek me for your bride. 74 TllK CAVE OF SILVER. 75 I go, said Iji'uk, right proudly; I go to the })urple pastures, To seek for the cave of silver So long as my life shall hold ; Hut when the keen Lapp arrows Are fleshed in the heart tliat hjves yju, I'll leave my curse on the woman Who slauirhtered Brok the Piold ! Hut I Ma lauirhed as she shifted The Bergen scarf on her shoulder, And pointed her small white finger Right up at the mountain gate ; And cried, O my gallant sailor, Vou're brave enough to the fishes, lint the Lappish arrow is keener Than the hack of tlie thorny skate! The Sunnner passed, and the Winter Came down from tlie icy ocean : But Ijiick from the cave of silver Returned not Brok the Bold : And Ilda waited and waited, And sat at the door tdl sunset. And ga/.cd at the wild Lap]) mountains Thnt hlacki-ned the skies of K THE OlirHAN'S CIIRISTMAS-TIIEE. An^ orplian boy, with weary fci't, On Christmas Eve, alone, benighted. Went through the town from street street, To see the dustering candles lighted Tn homes where happy children meet. 1'IIW.I'^il'^'. ^ :,..:.~..:-^ •vJ^f? Before each house he stood, to mark The pleasant rooms that shone so fairl I^T The tapers lighted, spark by spark, Till all the trees were blazing rarel; And sad his heart was, in the dark. 78 Till-: ORPHANS ( lllMSTMAS- TllEIv Ti) ■WJ A l\l, -"^"V-, mi A '^M Jlc \V('j)t ; \\(' <'las])»^(l his hands aiul rricd : "Ah, every chihl to-iiiirht reioices • I liiMi- Christmas presents all divide, Ainiiiid their ti'ces. with iiierrv voices; Ihit ( Inistiiias is to me denied. " < Mice with my sister, hand in hand. At hniiie, hn\\ diij 1 1 1 v Ircc dehght me I No nthei' tapers slinne so e-i-md; Ihit all tm-o'et iiie, HOIK' invite me, Here, lipiiely. in the st ra ni:;ei'"s land. "■ \\ ill no one let me ill. Id share 'I ln' li^lit, — to take some corner ni^li it? In all these houses can't thev spare A s|»ot where [ may si! in (piiet — A lillle .seat anion"- them there'.'' 80 THE ORPHAN'S CHRISTMAS-TREE. " Will no one let me in to-night ? I ^vill not beg for gift or token; I only ask to see the sight And hear the thanks of others spoken, And that will be my own delight." He knocked at every door and gate ; He rapped at window-pane and shntter ; But no one heard and bade him wait, Or came, the " Welcome in ! " to utter : Their ears Avere dull to outer fate. Each father looked with eyes that smiled, Upon his happy children only : Their gifts the mother's heart beguiled To think of them : none saw the lonely- Forgotten boy, the orphan child. " O Christ-child, holy, kind, and dear ! I have no father and no mother. Nor friend save thee, to give me cheer. Be thou my help, there is none other. Since all forget me, wandering here I " The poor boy rubbed his hands so blue, His little hands, the frost made chilly ; His tattered clothes he closer drew And crouched within a corner stilly. And prayed, and knew not what to do. THE OUrilAN-S CIIRISTiMAS-TREE. 81 Then, suddenly, there shone a light; Along the street, approaching nearer Another i-liild, in garments white, Spake as he came — and clearer, dearer, His voice made nuisic in the night : "• I am the Christ I have thou no fear ! I Avas a child in my probation, And children mito me are near: I hear and heed thy supplication, Th()U"h all the rest forget thee here. " Mv saving Word to all I hear. And equally to eacli "tis given ; I bring the promise of my care Here, in the street, beneath the heaven, As Avell as in the chambers there. " And here, ]:)oor l)oy, thy Christmas-tree ^\'ill I adorn, and so make glimmer Thi-ough all this ()i)en space, f<»r thee, 'i'liat those within shall twinkle dininier For bright as thine they cannot be I " The Christ-cliild witli liis shining liand Tlien jiointi'd np. an on forever. I wind about, and in and out, With here a blossom sailing. And here and there a lusty trout. And here and there a grayling, 96 SON(; UF THE UliOOK. And here and there a foamy flake Upon me, as I travel, With many a silvery waterbreak Above the golden gravel ; And draw them all alonii', and flow To join the brimming river : For men may come and men may go. But I aiise of fullness set between The sowing and the r('a])ing time; What is to be and what has been Joined eaeli t,', m Q Is Heaven's own child, With Earth and Ocean reconciled ; DUIFTIXG. 103 The airs I feel Around me steal Are murmuring to the murmurino; keel. Over the rail ]My hand I trail Witliin the shadow of the sail : A joy intense, The coolino; sense Glides down my drowsy indolence. Witli dreamful eyes My spirit lies Where Summer sings and never dies ; O'erveiled with vines, She fjlows and shines Amoncp her future oil and wines. Her children, hid The cliffs amid, Are iiambollinir with the o;ambolling kid , Or down the walls, With tipsy calls. Laugh on the rocks like waterfalls. The fisher's child. With tresses wild, Unto the smooth, bright sand beguiled. With glowing lij)S Sings as she skip'^. Or ffi/es at the far-oti" ships. 104 DRIFTING. Yon deep bark goes Where Traffic blows, From lands of sun to lands of snows ^ This happier one, Its course is run — From lands of snow to lands of sun. O happy ship, To rise and dip, With the blue crystal at your lip 1 - O hapjiy crew. My heart with you Sails, and sail?, and sings anew ! No move, no more The worldly shore Upbraids me with its loud uproar ! With dreami'ui eves My spirit lies (Tnder the walls of Paradise ! Thomas Buchanan Reai> THE MINSTREL'S SONG IN ELLA- O, siXG unto my rouncielay J (J, drop tlie l)riny tear with iiie ! Dance no more at holiday: Like a running river be ! 3Lj love is dead, Crone to Jiis death-bed. All under the ivilhno tree. Black his hair as the winter nio-ht, White his neck as the summer snow. Ruddy his face as the morning light ; Cold he lies in the grave below. Sweet his tonjiue as the throstle's note ; Quick in dance as thought can be ; Deft his tal)or, cudgel stote. O I he lies by the willow tree. Hark I the raven flaps his wing, In tlic lirii'i'rd drll below ; Hark! the death-owl Iniid doth sing To the niirhtmarcs as thev go. 105 106 THE MINSTRP:L'S song JN ELLA. See ! the Avhite moon shines on liio-li I Whiter is my ti'ue-love's shroud — Whiter than the morning sky, Whiter than the evenino- cloud. Here, upon my true-love's grave, Shall the gairish flowers be laid ; Nor one holy saint to save All the sorrows of a maid. With my hands I'll bind the briers, Round his holy corse to gre ; Elf and fairy, light your fires ! Here my body still shall be. Come, with acorn-cup and thorn ! Drain my heart's blood all away I Life and all its good I scorn : Dance by night, or feast hy day! 3Ii/ love is dead, Gone to Ms death-bed, All under the loi'doiu tree. Water-w itches, crowned with reytes, Bear me to your deadly tide ! I die ! — I come I My true-love waits ! Thus the damsel spake — and died. Thomas Chatterton. (iUA CURSU^r VKXTl'S. As shiiis hi'calincd at eve, that lay With canvas droiipiiig-, side by side, Two towers of sail, at dawn of day Arc scarce long leagues apart descriecl ; When fell tilt' niglit, ii]i-s])rung llic Krcr/c, Aiul ;ill llii' darkling hours they plifd ; Nor (livimil lint rarh I he self-same seas ]>V <'acli was clraviiig. side l>v side : 1(»7 108 QUA CUKSUM VENTUS. E'en so — but why the tale reveal Of those whom, year by year unchano;e(l, Brief absence joined anew, to feel, Astounded, soul from soul estranged ? At dead of night their sails were filled, And onward each rejoicing steered ; Ah ! neither blame, for neither willed Or wist what first with dawn appeared. To veer, how vain ! On, onward strain. Brave barks ! — in light, in darkness too ! Through winds and tides one compass guides : To that and your own selves be true. But O blithe bi'eeze ! and O great seas ! Though ne'er that earliest parting past. On your wide plain they join again ; Together lead them home at last. One port, methought, alike they sought — One purpose hold where'er they fare ; O boundino- breeze, O rushino; seas. At last, at last, unite them there ! Ahtiiur Hugh Ci.ouoh AS I LAY A-THINKIXG. As I lay a-thiiikino-, a-tliiiikino;, a-tliiiikino;. Merry sang tlie Bird as she sat uinin the spray: There came a noble Kniuht With his hauberk sliinino- bright, And his gallant lieart was liglit — Free and gay ; And as I lay a-thinking, he I'ode upon his way. As I lay a-thinking, a-thinking, a-thinking, Sadly sang the Bird as slie sat upon the tree: There seemed a crimson ]>lain. Where a o-allant Kniiilit lav slain. And a steed with broken rein Ran free : As I lav a-thinkino- — most pitiful to see! As I lay a-thinking, a-thinking, a-thiid^ing. Merry sang the Bird as she sat upon the bough : A lovely Maid came by, And a gentle Youth was nigh, And he breathed many a sigh, And a vow ; As I lav a-thinkinir — her lieart was o-ladsome now. As I lay a-thinking, a-thinking, a-thinking, Sadly sang the Bird as she sat upnn the tlmrn : No more a ^'outh was there. But a ]\Iaiden rent her haii', 10!) 110 AS I LAY A-TIIIXKING. And cried in sad despair, " That I was born ! " As I lay a-tliinking, she perished forlorn. As I lay a-thinking, a-thinking, a-thinking, Sweetly sang the Bird as she sat upon the brier : There came a lovely Child, And his foce was meek and mild. Yet joyously he smiled On his sire : As I lav a-thinkino; — a cherub mioht admire. But as I lay a-thinking, a-thinking, a-thinking. And sadly sang the Bird as it perched upon a bier, That joyous smile was gone, And the face was white and wan. As the down upon the swan Doth appear : As I lav a-thinkiuii;, oh ! bitter flowed the tear ! As I lav a-thinkino;, the o-olden sun was sinkino; — Oh ! merrv sans; that Bird as it glittered on her breast With a thousand gorgeous dyes, While, soaring to the skies, 'Mid the stars she seemed to rise. As to her nest. As I lay a-thinking, her meaning was exprest : " Follow, follow me away ! It b()(jts not to delay : " ('T was so she seemed to say) " Here is rest ! " RicnAKD Harris Barham TO CYNTHIA. Queen ami Inintrcss, chaste and fair. Now the sun is hiid to sleep, Seated in tliy silver chair, State in wonted manner keep: Hesperus entreats thy light, Goddess excellently Ijright ! Earth. let not thy envious shade Dare itself to interpose ; Cynthia's shining orb was made Heaven to clear when day did close Bless us, then, with wished sight. Goddess excellently bright ! Lay thy bow of pearl apart. And tliy crystal-shining (piiver ; Give unto thv flying hart Space to breathe, how short soever : Thou that makest a day of night, Cofldess excellentiv bi-ijiht I IiKN JiiN-ioN. 1 II TO THE GRASSHOPPER AND CHICKET. Geeen little vaulter in the sunny grass, Catching jour heart up at the feel of June! Sole voice that 's heard amidst the lazy noon, When even the bees lag at the suninionino; 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 sincp in thouo;htful ears this natural sono; — In doors and out, summer and winter, mirth ! I.KiGH Hunt. PASSING THE ICEBERGS. A FEARLESS shape of brave device, Our vessel drives through inist and rain. Between the floatino; fleets of ice — The navies of the northern main. irj PASSING THE ICEBERGS. , H;; These Arctic ventures, blindly hurled, The proofs of Nature's oldeii force. Like fragments of a crystal world Long shattered from its skyey course — These are the buccaneers that friirht The middle sea with dream of wrecks, And freeze the soutii winds in their fliiiht. And chain the Gulf-stream to their decks. At every dragon prow and lielm There stands some Viking, as of yore : Grim heroes from the boreal rcLdm Where Odin rules the spectral shore. And oft beneath the sun or moon Their swift and eager falchions glow, While, like a storm-vexed wind, the rune Comes chafino; throu And speak her well ; for she nijoht say, If from hei- heart the words conld thaw. Great news from some far frozen hav. Or the remotest Esquimaux: Miii;ht tell of channels yet untold, I'liat sweep the pole from sea to sea , PASSING THE ICEBERGS. II5 Of lands wliicli God designs to liold A mighty people yet to be ; Of wonders which alone prevail Where day and darkness dimly meet ; Of all which spreads the Arctic sail ; Of Franklin, and his venturous fleet : How, haply, at sonie glorious goal His anchor holds, his sails are furled ; That Fame has named him on her scroll " Columbus of the Polar world I " Or how his plonghing barks wedge on Through splintering fields, with battered shares, Lit only by that spectral dawn, The mask that mocking darkness wears ; Or how, o'er embers black and few. The last of shivered masts and spars, He sits amid his frozen crew. In council with the norland stars. No answer — but the sullen flow Of ocean, heaving long and vast ; An ai'gosy of ice and snow, The voiceless North swings proudly jiast. Thomas IU'ciiavan Uiad THE ANGLER'S WISH. I IN tlic'se' riowei'V meads would hv : 'J'Ik'sc fiTstal stivams should solace nie, To whose harmonious, buhbliiio; noise 1 with my aiii2;le would rejoice — Sit here and see the turtle-dove Court his (diaste mate to acts of love. Or on that hank, feel the west wind Breathe health and plenty ; ))lease my mind in; TO THE NIGHTINGALE. To see sweet dew-drops kiss these flowers, And then waslied off by April showers: Here hear my Kenna sing a song, There see a bhickbird feed lier vounir. Or a leverook buihl lier nest ; Here give my weary spirits rest, And raise my h)\v-])itciied thouglits above Earth, or what poor mortals love : Thus, free from lawsuits, and the noise Of ])rinces' courts, I would rejoice. Or, with my Bryan and a book. Loiter long days near Shawford brook. There sit by him, and eat my meat : There see the sun both rise and set ; Tiiere bid good morning to next dav ; There meditate my time awav ; And angle on ; and beg to have A quiet passage to a welcome ura\e. IsAAK Walton li; TO THK NIGHTINGALE. <) NloiiTlxoATJ-,. that on von blooinv spi-av Warblest at ('\(>, when all the woods are still ! Thou wifli JVesh hope the lover's jieai't dost fill, ^^ hilc the jolly hours lead on jiropitions Mav. 1]8 THE DWINA. Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day, First heard before the shallow cuckoo's bill, Portend success in love. 0, if Jove's will Have linked that amorous power to thy soft lay, Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate Foretell my hopeless doom in some grove nigh ; As thou from year to year hast sung too late For my relief, yet hadst no reason why. Whether the Muse or Love call thee his mate, Both them I serve, and of their train am I. John Milton. THE DWINA. Stony-browed Dwina, thy face is as flint ! Horsemen and wao-ons cross, scorino- no dint : Cossacks patrol thee, and leave thee as hard ; Camp-fires but blacken and spot thee, like pard , For the dead, silent river lies rigid and still. Down on thy sedgy banks picket the troops. Scaring the night-wolves with carols and whoops ; Crackle their fagots of drift-wood and hay. And the steam of their pots fills the nostrils of day ; But the dead, silent river lies riirid and still. Sledges pass sliding from hamlet to town : Lovers and comrades — and none doth he drown ! THE DWIXA. 119 Harness-bells tinklino- in musical Hce, For to none comes the sorrow that came unto me ; And the dead, silent river lies rigid and still. I go to the Dwina ; I stand on his wave. Where Ivan, my dead, has no irrass on In's ^^fViwe : Stronger than granite that coffins a Czar, Solid as pavement, and polished as spar — Where the dead, silent river lies riy tlic side of a s|)i'iiiu!; oti tlic In-caNt of I Ichcllyii, Tender the twigs of a vounii; l)iivli-lr>'L'. The oak that in summer was sweet to he.-ir. And rustled its leaves in the fall ^t^ ihe year, And whistled and i-oared in tht' winter ahme. Is ffoue, and tlie birch in its stead ha~; ifrown. 1-21 122 KULNASATZ, MY REINDEER. The knight's bones are dust, And his good sword rust ; His soul is with the saints, I trust. Samuel Taylor Coleuidgk. kul:n"asatz, i\iy reindeek. KuLNASATZ, my reindeer. We have a long journey to go ; The moors are vast. And we must haste, Our strength, I fear. Will fail if we are slow : And so Our songs will, too. Kaige, the watery moor, Is pleasant unto me. Though long it be, Smce it doth to my mistress lead Whom I adore ; The Kilwa moor I ne'er again will tread. Tiioughts filled my mind. Whilst I through Kaige passed Swift as the wind. THE ROSEBUD. Aiul my desire Winged witli impatient fire : Mv reindeer, let us haste ! So shall we quickly end our pleasing pain — Behold my mistress there, With decent motion walking o'er the plain ! Kulnasatz, my reindeer, Look yonder ! where She washes in the lake ! See I while she swims, Tlie water from her purer limbs New clearness take ! AxoxYMOUS. (Icelandic.) 123 Anonviiious Translation. THE ROSEBUD. When Nature tries her finest touch, Weaving her vernal wreath, Mark ye how close she veils her round. Not to be traced by sight or sound, Nor soiled by ruder l)reath ? Who ever saw the earliest rose First o])en her sweet breast ? Or, when the sunnner sun goes down, The first soft star in evening's crown Light up her gleaming crest ? 124 THE ROSEBUD. Fondly we seek the dawning bloom On features wan and fair : The gazing eye no change can trace ; But look away a little space — Then turn — and lo ! 'tis there. But there 's a sweeter flower than e'er Blushed on the rosy spray, A brighter star, a richer bloom. Than e'er did western heaven illume At close of summer day. 'T is love, the last best gift of Heaven — Love, gentle, holy, pure ! But, tenderer than a dove's soft eye, The searching sun, the open sky. She never could endure. Even human love will shrink from sight, Here in the coarse rude earth : How then should rash intrudincr olance Break in upon her sacred trance Who boasts a heavenly birth ? So still and secret is her growth. Ever the truest heart. Where deepest strikes her kindly root. For hope or joy, for flower or fruit. Least knows its hajipy pai't. THE ROSEBUD. God only, and ooud angels, look Behind the blissful screen — As when, triumphant o'er His woes, The Son of God by moonlight rose, Bv all but heaven unseen : As when the holy Maid b^dield Her risen Son and Lord ; Thouffht hath not colors half so fair That she to paint that hour mav dare. In silence best adored. The o;racious Dt)V^e, that In'ouirht from hea\eij The earnest of our bliss. Of many a chosen witness telling, ()n many a happy vision dwelling. Sings not a note of this. So, truest image (tf the Christ, Old Israel's long-lost son, What time, witli sweet forgiving clieL-r. He called his conscious brctliii'M n^'ar, Would weep with them alone : He could not trust his melting -oul But in his .Maker's sight ; Then why should gentle hearts and tni<^ Bare to the i-ude world's withering \i''W Tlirir treasure of deliirht. 12o 126 SO^'G. No ! let the dainty rose awhile Her bashful fragrance hide ; Rend not her silken veil too soon, But leave her in her own soft noon To flourish and abide. John Keble. SOXG Trickles fast the April shower, Like the maiden's tear, In the tardy trysting hour. And no lover near. Joy, be sure, will soon return ; See, out-shines the sun ! Earth will bloom and cheeks will burn \Vith blushes many a one. Heaven will bless the happy glow, So the heart be true : Sun and shower may flit and flow. Love will shine all through. The Afterglow. BOATMAN'S HYMX. Bark, tliat bears me tlirono-h foam and scuiall, You in tlie storm are my castle-wall ! Though the sea should redden from l)ottom to top, From tilhn' to mast she takes no (h'op. On the tide top, the tide top — Wherry aroon^ my land and store ! On the tide top, the tide top, She is the boat can sail galore ! She dresses herself, and goes gliding on, Like a dame in her robes of the Indian lawn : For God has blessed her, gunnel and wale — And O ! if you saw her stretch out to the gale. On the tide top, the tide top — Wherry aroon, my land and store ! On the tide top, the tide top. Site is the boat can sail galore ! Whillan ahoy ! — Old heart of stone, Stooping so black o'er the beach alone, Answer me well : on the burstinii' bi'ine Saw you e\er a bark like uiiiie. On the tide ti>/>, ihr tide top? Wherry aroon, my land and store! On the tide top, the tide top. She is the boat can sad gah-re ! 127 128 r.OATMAN'S IIY]\IX. Says AVliillan, Siiu-o first I was made of stone, I ]ia\^e looked abroad o'er the beach alone; But, till to-day, on the bursting brine, Saw I never a bark like thine ! On the tide top^ the tide top — Wherry aroon^ my land and store ! On the tide top^ the tide top^ She is the hoat can sail galore ! ^A. God ol' tli(! air ! tlie seamen shout, AVlicii they see us tossing the brine about. Ur-IIILL. Give us the slielter of strand or rock, Or througli and througli us she goes with a shock! On the tide top^ the tide top — Wherry aroon, my land and store ! On the tide top^ the tide top, She is the boat can sail yalore ! AxoxvMOUS. (Iribli.) Translation of Samuei. Ferguson. 120 i^'.::.Xfr ur-inij.. D0K8 the i-(iad wlnil ii|i-Iiill all tlir wav? Yes, to till' \ry\- v\\<\. Will the day's journi'V take the \vlioIi« long ray thee, ])ut into yonder port ; For I fear a hurricane. " Last nii-i]i*A;j^),i'faiiw«vULil'i,.rj'./i\'S\'S'ff "•Cull ill tlic (loo's I '■ cries Jasper (rill: " Tli(! spoi-t is (joiic, the. chase is o'er : — I've gi'u yon tliicvin" skulk a pill! lie II rread, nor needest wine To make thine utterance divine ; Thou art canopied and clothed And unto Song betrothed ! Ill tliy lone aerial cage Thoii liasl ihiiie ancient heritage; 'J'lierL- is no task-work on th(M' laid P>ut tr» reliearse tlu' ditties tliou hast made; 'IliDii liast a lordly store And, tlioiigli tlioii si-attcrest them tree, Art rii-lifi' ili;iii briore, Holding ill fee The ulad doiuain of ininstrclsw 146 thp: songster. ni. Brave songster, bold Canary I Thou art not of thy listeners wary, Art not timorous, nor chary Of quaver, trill, and tone, Each perfect and thine own ; But renewest, shrill or soft. Thy greeting to the upper skies, Chanting thy latest song aloft With no tremor nor disguise. Thine is a music that defies The envious rival near ; Thou hast no fear Of the day's vogue, the scornful critic's sneer. Would, O wisest bard, that now I could cheerly sing as thou I Would I might chant the thoughts which on me t'.ir.mg, For the very joy of song ! Here, on the written page, I falter, yearning to impart The vague and wandering murmur of my hc?art. Haply a little to assuage This human restlessness and pain. And half forget my chain : Thou, unconscious of thy cage, Showerest music everywhere ; Thou hast no care But to pour out the largesse thou hast won From the south wind and the sun : SONG. 14" There are no prison-bars BetAvixt tliY tricksy spirit and the stars. When from its delicate clay Thy little life shall pass away, Thou wilt not meanly die, Nor voiceless yield to silence and decay ; But triumph still in art And act thy minstrel-part. Lifting a last, long pa3an To the unventured empyrean. — So bid the world go by. And they who list to thee aright. Seeing thee fold tliy wings and fall, shall say : " Tlie Songster perished of his own delight ! " Edmund Clakkxck Stkdmax. SONG. C<».Mi-: wirli the birds in tlie spring. Tin 111 Avhose voice rivalleth theirs ; Come with the flowers, and l)ring Sweet shame to tlieir bloom unawares: C()iti(', — l)iil < ), li(i\v can I wait I Come Ihroiigli tlic snows <>t to-day! C'dMii'. and till' gray l'>ailli elate Shall leap \^ni- tli\ sake into .May I IIauuikt McKwkn KninAir. IlIK liAlIEFOOr I'.OV. lilJ';sSlN<;s oil llicr. little liKlll. I'mrclixii i>ii\. Willi clicck' (il tan I Willi lli\ tiiriic(l-ii|) paiilaliidus. A 11(1 tli\ iiicri-\ wli'stlcd t illirs : Willi tli\ rcil lip. ivddci- still 1 IS THE BAREFOOT BOY I49 Kissed by strawberries 011 the hill ; With the sunshine on thv face. Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace ! From my heart I give thee joy: I was once a barefoot boy. Prince thou art — the grown-up man Only is republican. Let the million-dollarecl ride I Barefoot, trudging at his side, Thou hast more than he can buy. In the reach of ear and eye : Outward sunshine, inward joy. Blessings on thee, barefoot boy I O ! for boyliood's painless play, Slee]) that wakes in laughing day. Health that mocks the doctor's rules, Knowledge never learned of schools : Of the wild bee's morning chase, Of the wild flower's time and i)lace, Fliii'ht of fowl, and habitude Of the tenants of the wood ; HoAv the tortoise bears his shell, How the woodchuck digs his cell, And the ground-mole sinks his well ; How the robin feeds her young, How tlie oriole's nest is hung ; Where the whitest lilies blow. Where the freshest berries grow, Wliere the ground-nut ti'ails its vine. Where the wood-grape's clusters shine ; 150 THE BAREFOOT BOY. Of the black wasp's cunning way. Mason of his walls of clay, And the architectural plans Of gray hornet artisans ! For, eschewing books and tasks. Nature answers all he asks ; Hand in hand with her he walks. Face to face with her he talks. Part and parcel of her joy. Blessings on the barefoot boy ! for boyhood's titae of June, Crowding years in one brief moon, When all things I heard or saw, Me, their master, waited for ! 1 was rich in flowers and trees. Humming-birds and honey-bees ; For my sport the squirrel played. Plied the snouted mole his spade ; For my taste the blackberry cone Purpled over hedge and stone ; Laughed the brook for my delight, Through the day and through the riight Whispering at the garden wall. Talked with me from fall to fall ; Mine the sand-rimmed })ickerel pond. Mine the walnut slopes beyond. Mine, on bending orchard trees. Apples of Hesperides ! Still, as my horizon grew. Larger grew my riches too , THE BAREFOOT BOY. 1,3 j All the world I saw or knew Seemed a coin})lex Chinese toy, Fashioned for a barefoot boy I O, for festal dainties spread, Like my bowl of milk and bread. Pewter spoon and bowl of wood, On the door-stone, gray and rnde ! O'er me, hke a regal tent. Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset Ijent : Purple-curtained, fringed with gold, Looped in many a wind-swung fold ; While, for music, came the play Of the [)ied frogs' orchestra ; And, to light the noisy choir. Lit the fly his lamp of fire. I was monarch ; ponij) and joy Waited on the barefoot boy I Cheerily, then, my little man ! Live and laugh as boyhood can ; Though the llinty slopes be hard. Stubble-speared the new-mown sward, Every morn shall lead thee throuo-h Fresh baptisms of the dew ; Every evem'ng from tJiy feet Shall the cool wind kiss the heat ; All too soon tliese feet must hide In the prisdn-cclls of jiridc, Lose the freedom of the sod, Like a colt's fur work be shod, 152 THE RAILWAY RIDE. Made to tread the mills of toil, Up and down in ceaseless moil : Happy if their track be found Never on forbidden ground ; Happy if they sink not in Quick and treacherous sands of sin. Ah I that thou couldst know thy joy, Ere it passes, barefoot boy ! John Gheexleaf Whittier. THE RAILWAY RIDE. In their yachts on ocean gliding. On their steeds Arabian riding. Whirled o'er snows on tinkling sledges. Men forget their woe and pain ; What the pleasure then should fill them — What the ecstasy should thrill them — Borne with ponderous speed, and thunderous. O'er the narrow iron plain. Restless as a dream of vengeance, Mark you there the iron engines Blowing steam from snorting nostrils. Moving each upon its track ; Sighing, panting, anxious, eager, Not with purpose mean or meagre. But intense intent for motion. For the liberty they lack. riii: i;.\ii.\\AV i;ii)i;. X(i\\ one sci'caiiis ill 1 riiini|>li. U>r tlic Eiiy,iut'-(lri\('r. urinicd jind swai-tliv, Lays liis liaiul upon llic lever, xKlld tlic sti'cd is loose once nioi"e ; Off it moves, and fast and faster, With no lU'e'iuii- from the master. Till the awed earth shakes in terror At the riunl'liii!'' and the roar. 1 .V"; '^-^^^, ('n»ssin<«- loiiiJ- and llireaddike lirid^es, S|taiiiiiiiL;,' streams, and elea\in^' ridi^'i's, Sweenine- over liroad ;j;reen ineaijows, 'I'lial in starless darkness lay — I low the engine roeks and clatters, Sliowers of lire aroniid it scatters. 154 THE RAILWAY RIDE. While its blazing eye outpeering Looks for perils in the way. To yon tunnel-drift careering, In its brown mouth disappearing, Past from sight and passed from hearing, Silence follows like a spell ; Then a sudden sound-burst surges, As the train from earth emerges With a scream of exultation. With a wild and joyous jeU. With the chariot swift of Ares Which a god to battle carries ? What the steeds the rash boy handled Harnessed to the sun-god's wain ? Those are mythic ; this is real ; Born not of the past ideal, But of craft and strength and purjDOse, Love of speed and thirst of gain. O ! what wildness ! O ! what o-ladness ! O ! what joy akin to madness ! O ! what reckless feeling raises Us to-day beyond the stars ! What to us all human ant-hills, Fame fools sigh for, land that man tills, In the swinging and the clattering And the rattling of the cars ? Thomas Dux\ English. YE MEANER BEAUTIES. Ye meaner beauties of the night, That poorly satisfy our eyes, More by your numbers than your lio;ht: Ye common people of the skies ! What are you when the moon shall rise '' Ye violets that first appear, By your pure purple mantles known. Like the proud virgins of the year, As if the Spring were all your own ! What are you when the rose is blown ? Ye curious chanters of the wood, That warble forth Dame Nature's lays. Thinking your passions understood By your weak accents ! — what's your praise When Philomel her voice shall raise ? So when my mistress shall be seen in sweetness of her looks and mind, By virtue first, Mion clioice, a queen : Tell me, if slie was not designed Tir echpse and gloiy of her kinrl ? SiK IIlNKY WoTTON. 155 THE REVERIE OF TOOR SUSAN. At the comer of Wood Street, when dayh'glit appears, Hauo's a tlirush that sino;s h)ud — it has suno; for three years ; Poor Susan lias passed by the spot, and has lieard In the silence of mornino; the sono; of the bird. 'T is a note of enchantment ! what ails her ? She sees A mountain ascending, a vision of trees ; Bright volumes of vapor through Lothbury glide. And a river flows on through the vale of Cheapside. Green pastures she views, in the midst of the dale Down which she so often has tripped with her pail ; And a single small cottage, a nest like a dove's, The one only dwelling on earth that she loves. She looks — and her heart is in heaven ! But they fade : The mist and the river, the hill and the shade. The stream will not flow, and the hill will not rise. And the colors have all passed away from her eyes. William Wordsworth. ir,G IIN'DEX OF FIRST Li:^ES. — * — A. A FEARLESS SHAPE OF ERAVK DEVICE Read. Ah ! MY HEART IS WEARV WAITIXG McCaHhjJ . An orphan boy, avith weary feet Rucckert . As I EAY A-TinXKING, A-TIIINKING, A-THINKING Bai/iam. As SHIPS liECALMED AT EVE, THAT EAY Cloucjll . At THE CORNER OF WoOD StIUOKT 'WIIEN DAYLIGHT APl'EARS.. .WordsWOrth. Awake thee, my lady-love Darky . B. Bark, that bears me through foam and scjuall Anonymous . Blessings on thee, littli: man Whittier. Blow, blow, thou winter wind ! Shakespeare. Burly, dozing, humblebee ! Emerson. By scattered rocks and turbid waters shifting llarte. C. Call for the robin-redbreast and thi'; wren Webster . Come, beauteous da y ! Hurlbut . Come with the birds in the spring Kimball. D. Day-stars! that ope your eyes with morn to twinKh^. . ..Horace Smith. DoivS THE ROAD WIND Ul'-IIILL ALL THE WAV ? C. G. Rossclti. 1'. TaI U DAFFODILS, WE WEEP TO SEE JTcrrick. Fair pledges of a fruitful tree Ilvrrick. G. God does not send us strangio flowers every year Whitney . Go, LOVELY ROSK ! Widlcr . Green little vaults in the kunny skies Hunt. 157 PAGE 112 70 78 109 107 156 97 127 148 87 G.3 57 76 29 147 35 129 61 GO 14:3 112 158 INDEX OF FIRST LINES. H. IIaIUv! All, THE NIGHTINGALE Arnold. Heu eyes the glow-worme lend thee Hcrvich. How THICK THE WILD FLOWEKS I3LOW ABOUT OUR FEET Trench. I. I AM THIS fountain's GOD. Beloav Fletcher. I ARISE FROM DREAMS OF THEE ShcllciJ . I COME FROM HAUNTS OF COOT AND HERN Tcnill/XOn . If all were rain and never sun C. G. Rossdti. If thou WILT ease thine HEART Becklocs . I have SEEN A nightingale De Villegas . I IN THESE FLOWERY MEADS WOULD BE ; Wcilton . In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes Emerson. In summer, when the days were long Anonymous . In their y'achts on ocean gliding Enj/Iish. 1 passed before her garden gate Bradley . It was the schooner Hesperus Lonfifellow. I WANDERED BIT THE BROOICSIDE MihiCS . K. KuLNASATZ, MY REINDEER Anonymous . L. Look not thou on Beauty's charming Scott. Love in my' boso:\i, like a bee Loihje. M. May' ! queen of blossoms Thurlow . My life is like the summer rose Wilde. My soul to-day luud. o. O'er Tin; iii;av old (!erman city (rrcenouyh. faint, Ki'.Mciois spring-time violet Slury . (Jr a' the AllilS 'illE WIND CAN BLAW .Biims. O nightingale, THAT ON YON BLOOMY' SPRAY M illon . O PATIENT SHORE, THAT CANST NOT GO TO MEET //. IT. . READER ! HAST THOU EVER STOOD TO SEE SoiUhey . ROSE ! WHO DAREf? T6 NAME THEE Mrs. /Imiruillll . PAGE 10 31 73 68 72 94 130 100 62 116 40 44 152 6 133 50 122 11 47 39 77 101 18 46 66 117 58 23 89 INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 150 PAGE O, SING UNTO 31 Y ROUNnKI.A Y ChdttcrtOll .... 1 ()") O THE WKE GRKEX NliUK, THE SLY GREEN NKLK ButleiJ . . . . 140 P. Piped the blackiuku on the beechwood si'i:ay : Westwood 52 Q. Queen and hintress, chaste and fair Jonson .... Ill K. TJattli: the window, winds Stoddard. ... 14 River ! my river, in the young sunshine ! Mocrike 91 S. Seek me the cave of silver O'Brien .... 74 See, see ! She wakes — Sabina wakes ! Conrjrcve .... 1 .'5 Stony-browed Dwina, thy face is as flint ! Orloff' 118 Sweet after showers, ambrosial air Tennyson .... 07 Sweet day- ! so cool, so calm, so bright Ifcrbcrl. ... 48 T. The cros.sbeam of the Old South bell Willis. ... 15 The gowan glitters on the sward liitillie 17 The grass that is under me now Stoddard. ... The groves were God's first temples. Ere man learned Bryant 1 The merry, merry lark was up and singing C. Kingsley 1.'52 The snow lies fresh on Chester Hill G. II. Barnes .... 1.37 The summer floats on even wing Busluidl 09 The wanton troopers, riding by Marod . . . 25 The world goes up, and the world goes down Kini/siiy ... 49 TiiEV walked beside the summer sea II inter. . . . S:^ Throl-gh the NKiiiT, TiiitouiMi THE NIGHT Stwidard . ... 98 Tm.ei:, Tiger, burning brkmit niahe.. . . 90 Trickles fast tiii; Apiml shower Author of" Tiie Ajhnjlow " I'-'i". U. Up! quit tiiv bower! late wears the hour Badlie.... I'il Up Tin. Mi:v mountain Alliwjham . . . . 41 w. Waking in .May, the peach-tree Tiioniiii '/• T'. Dodrje. . . . 8G What thought is folded in thy leaves !. Mdnrh . . . , 55 Wll\T WOIM,I> VOII PEI- ir I T'-OK NOI' II' Mnr/l«„nld .Tl 160 INDEX OF FIRST LINES. When daisies pied, and violets blue Shakespeare ■ . When nature tries her finest touch Kehle. . When spaerows build, and the leaves break forth Ingdow. . Where is the grave of Sir Arthur O'Kellyn 1 Coleridye. . Why do ye weep, sweet babes ? Can tears Hern'ck . . Winter's wild biethnight ! In the fretful east Holland. . Within our summer hermitage Stedman . . PAGE 12 123 84 121 59 33 143 Y. Ye living lamps, by whose dear light Marvell. ... 140 Ye meaner beauties of the night Wotton .... 155 •A^-'wV.,C_-' T h/ c <. VV\.t- V ^i ■.'^0 W»rC'^ Jv- ^'^•■ L-c tv-O C-