'The arbour does its own condition tell;

You see the stones, the fountain, and the stream;
But as to the great lodge! you might as well
Hunt half the day for a forgotten dream.

'There's neither dog nor heifer, horse nor sheep,
Will wet his lips within that cup of stone;
And oftentimes when all are fast asleep,
This water doth send forth a dolorous groan.

'Some say that here a murder has been done,
And blood cries out for blood; but for my part
I've guessed, when I've been sitting in the sun,
That it was all for that unhappy Hart.

'What thoughts must through the creature's brain have past!

Even from the topmost stone upon the steep

Are but three bounds—and look, Sir, at this last O master! it has been a cruel leap.

'For thirteen hours he ran a desperate race;

And in my simple mind we cannot tell

What cause the Hart might have to love this place, And come and make his death-bed near the well.

'Here on the grass, perhaps, asleep he sank,
Lulled by the fountain in the summer tide;
This water was perhaps the first he drank,
When he had wandered from his mother's side.

'In April here beneath the flowering thorn,
He heard the birds their morning carols sing;
And he, perhaps, for aught we know, was born
Not half a furlong from that self-same spring.

'Now here is neither grass nor pleasant shade; The sun on drearier hollow never shone ;

So will it be, as I have often said,

Till trees, and stones, and fountain all are gone.'

'Gray-headed Shepherd, thou hast spoken well;
Small difference lies between thy creed and mine:
This beast not unobserved by Nature fell;
His death was mourned by sympathy Divine.

'The Being that is in the clouds and air,
That is in the green leaves among the groves,
Maintains a deep and reverential care
For the unoffending creatures whom he loves.

'The pleasure house is dust, behind, before,
This is no common waste, no common gloom;
But Nature, in due course of time, once more
Shall here put on her beauty and her bloom.

'She leaves these objects to a slow decay,
That what we are, and have been, may be known;
But at the coming of a milder day,

These monuments shall all be overgrown.

'One lesson, Shepherd, let us two divide,

Taught both by what she shows and what conceals,
Never to blend our pleasure or our pride

With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.'

W. Wordsworth

And loiters the boy in the briery lane;

But yonder aslant comes the silvery rain,

Like a long line of spears brightly burnish'd and tall.

Adown the white highway like cavalry fleet,
It dashes the dust with its numberless feet.
Like a murmurless school, in their leafy retreat,
The wild birds sit listening the drops round them

beat;

And the boy crouches close to the blackberry wall.

The swallows alone take the storm on their wing, And, taunting the tree-sheltered labourers, sing, Like pebbles the rain breaks the face of the spring, While a bubble darts up from each widening ring; And the boy in dismay hears the loud shower fall.

But soon are the harvesters tossing their sheaves; The robin darts out from his bower of leaves; The wren peereth forth from the moss-covered eaves; And the rain-spatter'd urchin now gladly perceives That the beautiful bow bendeth over them all.

T. B. Read

LXI

THE MOUSE'S PETITION

H, hear a pensive prisoner's prayer,

OH

For liberty that sighs;

And never let thine heart be shut
Against the wretch's cries!

For here forlorn and sad I sit,
Within the wiry grate;

And tremble at the approaching morn,
Which brings impending fate.

If e'er thy breast with freedom glowed,
And spurned a tyrant's chain,
Let not thy strong oppressive force
A free-born mouse detain !

Oh, do not stain with guiltless blood
Thy hospitable hearth!

Nor triumph that thy wiles betrayed
A prize so little worth.

The scattered gleanings of a feast
My frugal meals supply;
But if thy unrelenting heart
That slender boon deny,-

The cheerful light, the vital air,
Are blessings widely given;
Let Nature's commoners enjoy
The common gifts of heaven.

Beware, lest, in the worm you crush,
A brother's soul you find ;

And tremble lest thy luckless hand
Dislodge a kindred mind.

Or if this transient gleam of day
Be all the life we share,
Let pity plead within thy breast,
That little all to spare.

So may thy hospitable board

With health and peace be crowned; And every charm of heartfelt ease Beneath thy roof be found.

So when destruction works unseen,
Which man, like mice, may share,
May some kind angel clear thy path,
And break the hidden snare.

A. L. Barbauld

H

LXII

THE GRASSHOPPER

APPY insect! what can be

In happiness compared to thee?

Fed with nourishment divine,
The dewy morning's gentle wine!
Nature waits upon thee still,
And thy verdant cup does fill ;
'Tis fill'd wherever thou dost tread,
Nature's self 's thy Ganymede.