The ploughman is pleased when he gleans in his train,
Now searching the furrows, now mounting to cheer him ;
The gardener delights in his sweet simple strain,
And leans on his spade to survey and to hear him.
The slow-lingering schoolboys forget they'll be chid,
While gazing intent as he warbles before them,
In mantle of sky-blue, and bosom so red,
That each little loiterer seems to adore him.

When all the gay scenes of the summer are o'er,
And autumn slow enters, so silent and sallow,
And millions of warblers that charm'd us before,
Have fled in the train of the sun-seeking swallow;
The blue-bird forsaken, yet true to his home,
Still lingers and looks for a milder to-morrow,
Till, forced by the terrors of winter to roam,
He sings his adieu in a lone note of sorrow.

While spring's lovely season, serene, dewy, warm,
The green face of earth, and the pure blue of heaven,
Or love's native music, have influence to charm,
Or sympathy's glow to our feelings is given-
Still dear to each bosom the blue-bird shall be:
His voice, like the thrillings of hope, is a treasure ;
For through bleakest storms if a calm he but see,
He comes to remind us of sunshine and pleasure.

I confess I admire the gossiping ballad verse of Alexander Wilson much more than I do his purer and more ambitious strains. The description of the blue

bird is very graphic, and the picture of American nature is very accurate, but his Caledonian scenes of riotous enjoyment are far superior. A man who reads "Watty and Meg" cannot miss to hear the mirth of the changehouse, and the clamour of Meg's uncontrollable tongue, for a full week after. Wilson has scattered much curious and instructive lore over the pages of his "American Ornithology," a scarce, a beautiful, and an unfinished work, of which I lament my inability to obtain a copy; and I have cause to lament, for I understand its pages are studded with songs of a very sweet and peculiar kind.

JOHN OF BADENYON.

When first I came to be a man
Of twenty years or so,

I thought myself a handsome youth,
And fain the world would know:

In best attire I stept abroad,

With spirits brisk and gay,

And here and there, and everywhere,

Was like a morn in May;

No care had I, no fear of want,

But rambled up and down,

And for a beau I might have pass'd
In country or in town:

I still was pleased where'er I went,
Foto to And when I was alone

I tuned my pipe, and pleased myself
Wi' John of Badenyon.

זי

Now in the days of youthful prime
A mistress I must find;

For love, I heard, gave one an air,
And even improved the mind:

On Phillis fair, above the rest,
Kind fortune fix'd mine eyes;
Her piercing beauty touch'd my heart,
And she became my choice.

To Cupid now, with hearty prayer,

I offer'd many a vow,

And danced and sung,

As other lovers do;

and sigh'd and swore,

But when at last I breathed my flame,

I found her cold as stone

I left the jilt, and tuned my pipe
To John of Badenyon.

When love had thus my heart beguiled
With foolish hopes and vain,
To friendship's port I steer'd my course,
And laugh'd at lovers' pain.

A friend I got by lucky chance,
'Twas something like divine;
An honest friend's a precious gift,
And such a gift was mine.

And now, whatever might betide,
A happy man was I,

In

any strait I knew to whom

I freely might apply:

A strait soon came-my friend I tried-
He heard and spurn'd my moan;
I hied me home, and tuned my pipe
To John of Badenyon.

Methought I should be wiser next,
And would a patriot turn,
Began to doat on Johnie Wilkes,
And cry up parson Horne ;
Their manly spirit I admired,

And praised their noble zeal,
Who had with flaming tongue and pen
Maintained the public weal.
But ere a month or two had pass'd,

I found myself betray'd;
'Twas self and party after all,

For all the stir they made.
At last I saw the factious knaves
Insult the very throne;

I cursed them all, and tuned my pipe
To John of Badenyon.

What next to do I mused a while,

Still hoping to succeed,

I pitch'd on books for company,

And gravely tried to read;

I bought and borrow'd every where,
And studied night and day,

Nor miss'd what dean or doctor wrote,
That happen'd in my way:
Philosophy I now esteem'd
The ornament of youth,

And carefully, through many a page,
I hunted after truth:

A thousand various schemes I tried,
And yet was pleased with none;
I threw them by, and tuned my pipe
To John of Badenyon.

And now ye youngsters everywhere,
Who wish to make a show,
Take heed in time, nor fondly hope
For happiness below;

What you may fancy pleasure here

Is but an empty name,

And dames, and friends, and books also,
You'll find them all the same:

Then be advised, and warning take

From such a man as me,

I'm neither pope nor cardinal,

Nor one of high degree;

You'll meet displeasure everywhere

Then do as I have done,

E'en tune your pipe, and please yourselves

With John of Badenyon.