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But when the sun rose redly up
To shine for halt a year, Round and round through the skies lo sail,
Nor once to disappear,
Ah! man of learning, you are wrong ;
Then on I went, with curious eyes,
And saw where, like to man, The Beaver built his palaces;
And where the Ermine ran.
And came where sailed the lonely Swans
Wild on their native flood; And the shy Elk grazed up the mossy hills,
And the Wolf was in the wood.
And the frosty plains like diamonds shone,
And the iced rocks also,
Till the soft south wind did blow.
And then upsprang the grass and flowers,
Sudden, and sweet, and bright; And the wild birds Glled the solilude
With a fervour of delight.
For the handsome King lisher, go not to the tree,
ing Where the tall, heavy Typha and Loosestrise are
growing; By the bright little streams that all joyfully run Awhile in the shadow, and then in the sun. He lives in a hole that is quite to his mind, With the green, mossy Hazel roots firmly entwined; Where the dark Alder-bough waves gracefully o'er, And the Sword-Nag and Arrow-head grow at his door. There busily, busily, all the day long, He seeks for small fishes the shallows among; For he builds his nest of the pearly fish-bone, Deep, deep in the bank far retired, and alone. Then the brown Water-Rat from his burrow looks
out, To see what his neighbour Kingfisher 's about; And the green Dragon-fly, flitting slowly away, Just pauses one moment to bid him good-day. O happy Kingfisher! what care should he know, By the clear, pleasant streams, as he skims to and fro, Now lost in the shadow, now bright in the sheen Of the hot summer sun, glancing scarlet and green!
But nothing was there that pleased me more
Than when, in autumn brown,
To the Grey Squirrel's town.
Of the old, old trees did dwell,
Of the sweet mast as it fell.
But soon the hungry wild Swine came,
And with thievish snout dug up Their buried treasure, and left them not
So much as an acorn-cup!
Then did they chaiter in angry mood,
And one and all decree,
Over hill and dale to flce.
Over hill and dale, over hill and dale,
For many a league they went; Like a troup of undaunted travellers
Governed by one consent.
THE MIGRATION OF THE GREY
But the Hawk and Eagle, and peering Owl,
Did dreadfully pursue ;
The more their perils grew.
A broad stream lay in view.
When in my youth I travelled
Throughout each north countrie,
And many a strange thing see.
Built of the drified snow;
Nor other light did know.
For months in the winter dark;
And the blue Fox's bark.
But then did each wondrous creature show
His cunning and bravery ; With a piece of the Pine-bark in his mouth,
Unto the stream came he,
And boldly his little bark he launched,
Without the least delay;
Never was there a lovelier sight
Than that Grey Squirrels' fleet;
What furtune it would meet.
And ever and anon,
And its little sieersman gone.
I saw them leap to shore;
Your wondrous works were formed as true;
THE TRUE STORY OF WEB-SPINNER.
Up in the north if thou sail with me,
WEB-SPINNER was a miser old,
Who came of low degree;
And he kept bad company ;
Of a black felon grim;
But none spoke well of him.
In a corner of the street, And it always had a dirty look,
When other homes were neat; L'p in his garret dark he lived,
And from the windows high
Upon the passers by.
Yet many have arerred,
Were often loudly heard ;
Alihough a few went in,
And stripped him to the skin;
Yet mercy ne'er was shown The miser cut his body up,
And picked him bone from bone.
The dismal story true;
I tell it so to you.
One Madgy de la Moth,
Had not gone there, in froth;
At nightfall in the street,
Dry scraps of broken meat.
With a modest tap, and low,
Like an arrow from a bow.
HOWITT'S POETICAL WORKS.
But ere he reached the garret door,
Poor Bluebottle was dead!
She thought for such a gentleman,
That he was wondrous kind;
Like a tiger of the wood,
And drank of her heart's blood !
Now after this fell deed was done,
A little season's space,
Was riding from the chuse:
The sun was sinking down,
Into the dusty town. Says he, “I'll ask a lodging
At the first house I come to;"
Came suddenly in view:
Down came the churl with glee.
i ask your courtesy; I'm wearied with a long day's chase
My friends are far behind." “ You may need them all,” said Web-Spinner,
“ It runneth in my mind." “ A Raron am I,” says Bluebottle ;
“ From a foreign land I come." “ I thought as much," said Web-Spinner,
" Fools never stay at home!" Says the Baron, “ Churl, what meaneth this?
I dely ye, villain base !" And he wished the while in his inmost heart
He was safely from the place.
Now all this while, a Magistrate,
Who lived the house hard by,
Through a window privily:
With a loud and thundering sound,
And level it with the ground;
Had looked for such a day,
And took himself away:
"T was said that under ground, He died a miserable death,
But his body ne'er was found. They pulled his house down stick and stone,
“For a caixiff vile as he," Said they, “ within our quiet town
Shall not a dweller be!"
Web-Spinner ran and locked the door,
And a loud langh, laughèd be;
And they wrestled furiously.
A swordsman of renown;
And kept the Baron down:
From a pocket at his side,
His hands and feet he tied ;
And said in savage jest,
So, Baron, take your rest!"
Arranging dish and platter,
As if nothing were the matter. At length he seized on Blueboule,
That strong and burly man,
To hoist him up began :
He went with heavy tread;
The actions of the Spider above described, were told me by a very intelligent man, who permitted the web to remain for a considerable time in his counting-house window, that he might have the means of closely observing iis occupier's way of life. It was, as described above, under the semblance of a dwell ing-house, seven stories high, and in each story was a small circular hole by which the spider ascended and descended at pleasure; serving. in fact, all the purposes of a staircase. Dis usual abode was in his seventh, or garret story, where he sat in a sollen sort of patience waiting for his prey. The small downy. winged moth was soon taken; she was weak, and made but little resistance; and was always eaten on the spot. His behaviour towards a heavy and noisy bluebottle fly was exacily as related. The fly seemed bold and insolent; and hurled himself, as if in de fiance, against the abode of his enemy. The spider descended in great haste, and stood before him, when an angry pariey seemed to take place. The bluebotlle appeared highly affronted, and plunged about like a wild horse; but his efforts were generally unsuccessful; the spider, watching an unguarded moment, darted behind him, and falling upon him with all his force, drew a fine thread from his side, with which he so completely entangled his prostrate victim, that it was impossible he could move leg or wing. The spider then set about making preparations for the feast, which, for reasons best known to himself, he chose to enjoy in his upper story. The staircase, which would admit his hody, was 100 strait for that of his victim; he accordingly set abont enlarging it, with a delicate pair of shears with which his head was furnished, and then with great adroitness he hoisted the almost exhausted Bluebottle to the top of his dwelling, where he fell upon him with every token of satisfaction,
BRIGHT Creature, lift thy voice and sing, Like the glad birds, for this is Spring! Look up — the skies above are bright, And darkly blue as deep midnight; And piled-up, silvery clouds lie there, Like radiant slumberers of the air : And hark! from every bush and tree Rings forth the wild-wood melody. The Blackbird and the Thrush sing out; And small birds warble round about, As if they were berest of reason, In the great gladness of the season; And though the hedge be leafless yet, Still many a little nest is set 'Mong the twisted boughs so cunningly, Where early eggs lie, two or three. And hark! those Rooks the trees among, Feeding their never-silent young ; A pleasant din it is, that calls The fancy to ancestral halls. But hush! from out that warm wood's side, I hear a voice that ringeth wide 0, joyful Spring's sweet minstrel, hail! It is indeed the Nightingale, Loud singing in the morning clear, As poets ever love to hear! Look now abroad.-All creatures see. How they are filled with life and glee: This little Bee among the flowers Hath laboured since the inorning hours, Making the pleasant air astir, And with its murmuring, pleasanter. See there! the wavering Butterfly, With starting motion Anttering by. From leaf to leaf, from spray 10 spray, A thing whose life is holiday ; The fruile Rabbits too, are out, And Leverets skipping all about; And Squirrels, peeping from their trees, A clart at every vagrant breeze; For life, in the glad days of Spring, Doth gladden each created thing. Now green is every bank, and full Or flowers and leaves for all to pull. The Ficary, in each sunny place, Doth shine out like a merry face; The errong green Mercury, and the dear Fresh Violets of the early year, Peering their broad green leaves all thmugh, In odomus Thousands, white and blue; And the brad Dandelion's blaze, Bright as the sun of summer's days; And in the woods beneath the green of budding trees are brightly seen, The nodding Blue-bell's graceful flowers, The Hyacinth of this land of our As sair as any flower that blows; And nere the pale Stellaria grows, Like Una with her gentle grace, Shining out in a shady place ;
And here, on open slopes we see The lightly-set Anemone ; Here too the spotted Arum green, A hooded mystery, is seen ; And in the turfy meadows shine, White Saxifrage and Cardamine; And acres of the Crocus make A lustre like a purple lake. And overhead how nobly towers The Chestnut, with its waxen flowers, And broad green leaves, which all expand, Like to a giant's open hand. Beside blooms the Hawthorn tree; And yonder the wild Cherry-tree, The fairy-lady of the wood; And there the Sycamore's bursting bud, The Spanish-chestnut, and the Lime, Those trees of flowery summer-time. Look up, the leaves are fresh and green, And every branching vein is seen Through their alınost transparent sheen! Spirit of Beauty, thou dost fling Such grace o'er each created thing, That even a little leaf may stir The heart to be a worshipper; And joy, which in the soul has birth From these bright creatures of the earth, Cood is it thou shouldst have thy way, Thou art as much of God as they ! Now let us to the garden go, And dig and delve, and plant and sow; The fresh dark mould is rich and sweet, And each flower-plot is trim and neat ; And Daffodil and Primrose see, And many-hued Anemone, As full of power as they can be; And here the JIyacinth sweetly pale, Recalling some old Grecian lale; And here the mild Narcissus too; And every flower of every hue, Which the glad scason sends, is here; The Almond, while its branch is sere, With myriad blossoms beautified, As pink as the sea-shell's inside ; And, under the warm collage-eaves, Among its clustered, budding leaves, Shines out the Pear-free's flowers of snow, As while as any flowers that grow: And budding is the southern Vine, And Apricot and Nectarine; And Plum-trees in the garden warm, And Damsons round the collage-farm, Like snow-showers shed
the trees, And like them shaken by the breeze. Dear ones! 't is now the time, that ye Sit down with zeal to botany; And names which were so hard and tough, Are easy now, and clear enough; For from the morn to evening's hours Your bright instructers are sweet powers.
* As in the Nottingham Mendi»ws.
And there in the wasies of the silent sky,
With the silent earth below,
The lonely Eagle go.
Then softly, softly will we tread
By inland streams, 10 see Where the Pelican of the silent North,
Siis there all silently.
Go out through pleasant field and lane,
But if thou love the Southern Seas,
And pleasant summer weather, Come, let us mount this gallant ship, And sail away together.
THE SOUTHERN SEAS.
THE NORTHERN SEAS.
Up! up! let vis a voyage take ;
Why sit we here at ease ? Find us a vessel right and snug,
Bound for the Northern Seas. I long to see the Northern-Lights,
With their rushing splendours fly; Like living things with flaming wings,
Wide o'er the wondrous sky. I long to see those ice-bergs vast,
With heads all crowned with snow; Whose green roots sleep in the awful deep,
Two hundred fathoms low.
or their terrific fall;
Like lonely voices call.
The sleepy Seals a-ground,
Sail with a dreary sound.
That the hairy Mammoth hide;
The mighty creature died.
Through the sull heaven's deep blue, We'll traverse the azure waves, the herds
of the dread Sea-horse to view. We'll pass the shores of solemn pine,
Where Wolves and Black Bears prowl; And away to the rocky isles of mist,
To rouse the northern fowl.
With a rushing, whistling din;
All but the fat Penguin.
Yes! let us mount this gallant ship;
Spread canvas to the wind -
Leave Care and Cold behind.
Our flying vessel's track;
Threaten,-we turn not back.
In his Almighty hand,
Tread many a far-off strand.
From day to day, the sky
More glowing, bright, and high.
In its azure depths to mark
Over the ocean dark.
So stately, large, and sheen,
In the crystal ether keen,
Strange fiery billows play,-
Cuis wondrously its way.
How warm the breezes float!
From off our basking boal.
What a marvellous sight is here!
Down in the deep so clear.
A glad and glorious band,
Or a coral fairy-land.
How the gorgeous shells do glide!