I

COME, I come! ye have called me long;

I come o'er the mountains with light and song;

Ye may trace my step o'er the wakening earth,

By the winds which tell of the violet's birth,

By the primrose stars on the shadowy grass,
By the green leaves opening as I pass.

I have breathed on the south, and the chestnut flowers By thousands have burst from the forest bowers;

And the ancient graves and the fallen fanes

Are veiled with wreaths on Italian plains;
But it is not for me, or my hour of bloom
To speak of the ruin or the tomb.

I have looked o'er the hills of the stormy north,
And the larch has hung all his tassels forth;
And the fisher is out on the sunny sea,

And the reindeer bounds o'er the pastures free;
And the pine has a fringe of softer green,

And the moss looks bright where my foot hath been.

I have sent through the wood-paths a glowing sigh,
And called out each voice of the deep blue sky;
From the night bird's lay through the starry time
In the groves of the soft Hesperian clime,
To the swan's wild note by the Iceland lakes,
Where the dark fir branch into verdure breaks.

From the streams and founts I have loosed the chain;
They are sweeping on to the silvery main;
They are flashing down from the mountain brows,
They are flinging spray o'er the forest boughs;
They are bursting fresh from their sparry caves,
And the earth resounds with the joy of waves.

Come forth, O ye children of gladness, come!
Where the violets lie may be now your home.
Ye of the rose lip and dew-bright eye,

And the bounding footstep, to meet me fly!
With the lyre, and the wreath, and the joyous lay,
Come forth to the sunshine-I may not stay.

Away from the dwellings of care-worn men,
The waters are sparkling in grove and glen;
Away from the chamber and sullen hearth,
The young leaves are dancing in breezy mirth.
Their bright stems thrill to the wild wood strains,
And youth is abroad in my green domains.

Mrs. Hemans.

THE LAND O' THE LEAL.

'M wearing awa, Jean,

Like snaw when it's thaw, Jean
I'm wearing awa, Jean,

To the land o' the leal.
There's nae sorrow there, Jean;
There's nae cauld there, Jean;
The day's aye fair, Jean,

In the land o' the leal.

Ye were aye leal and true, Jean;
Your task's ended now, Jean,
And I'll welcome you

To the land o' the leal.
Our bonnie bairn's there, Jean;
She was baith guid and fair, Jean,
And we grudged her right sair
To the land o' the leal.

Then dry that tearfu' ee, Jean;
My soul longs to be free, Jean,
And angels wait on me

To the land o' the leal.
Now fare ye well, my ain Jean,
This world's care is vain, Jean;
We'll meet, and aye be fain

In the land o' the leal.

Lady Nairne.

P

LITTLE BELL.

IPED the blackbird on the beechwood spray, "Pretty maid, slow wandering the way,

What's your name?" quoth he.

"What's your name? Oh, stop and straight unfold, Pretty maid, with showery curls of gold."

"Little 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

Little Bell," said he.

I know,

And the blackbird 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.

And the while the bonny bird did pour
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 fern,

Squirrel, squirrel, to your task return—
Bring me nuts," quoth she.

Up away the frisky squirrel hies—

Golden woodlights glancing in his eyes.
And adown the tree

Great ripe nuts, kissed brown by July sun,
In the little lap dropped one by one-
Hark, how blackbird pipes, and see the fun!
Happy Bell!" pipes he.

66

Little Bell looked up and down the glade-
Squirrel, squirrel, if you're not afraid,
Come and share with me!"

Down came squirrel, eager for his fare,
Down came bonny blackbird, I declare!
Little Bell gave each his honest share-
Ah, the merry three!