THE SPARROW. GLAD to see you, little bird, 'Twas your pretty chirp I heard: What, did you intend to say, "Give me something this cold day?" That I will, and plenty, too; Frost and snow have made you bold; Thomas says you steal his wheat, John complains his plums you eat— Choose the ripest for your share, Never asking whose they are. Shocking tales I hear of you; Yet you seem an honest bird; Don't be vex'd at what I've heard: Now, no grapes or plums you eat; Now, you cannot steal the wheat. So I will not try to know TO THE SNOWDROP. PRETTY firstling of the year! Till the strength of suns and showers Quell the now relentless snow! Art still here, alive and blithe? Though the stormy Night hath fled, And the frost hath passed his scythe O'er thy small, unshelter'd head! Ah!—some lie amidst the dead, (Many a giant, stubborn tree,— Many a plant, its spirit shed,) That were better nursed than thee! What hath saved thee? Thou wast not 'Gainst the arrowy winter furred,— Armed in scale,—but all forgot When the frozen winds were stirred. Nature, who doth clothe the bird, Should have hid thee in the earth. Till the cuckoo's song was heara, Nature,-deep and mystic word! (Like a thought at random thrown,) Sent it thus for some grave reason! If 'twere but to pierce the mind On the ground or in the skies! Barry Cornwall. THE LITTLE BOY'S GOOD NIGHT. THE sun is hidden from our sight, The birds are sleeping sound; 'Tis time to say to all, "Good night!" And give a kiss all round. Good night, my father, mother dear, Now kiss your little son; Good night! my friends, both far and near, Good night! ye merry, merry birds, You would have said, "Good night!" To all my pretty flowers, good night! The moon is lighting up the skies, The stars are sparkling there; "Tis time to shut our weary eyes, And say our evening prayer.-Eliza Lee Follen. T2 Full of a nature Nothing can tame, Ever the same; Ceaseless aspiring, Ceaseless content, Glorious fountain! Let my heart be Fresh, changeful, constant, Upward, like thee! ETERNITY. James Russell Lowell. How long, sometimes, a day appears, And weeks, how long are they? Months move along as if the Would never pass away. years But months and years are passing by, And soon must all be gone; For day by day, as minutes fly, Eternity comes on. Days, months, and years must have an end; Eternity has none; 'Twill always have as long to spend As when it first begun. Great God! thy creatures cannot tell How such a thing can be; But we would pray that we may dwell Mrs. Gilbert. |