HILD of the Country! free as air
Art thou, and as the sunshine fair; Born like the lily, where the dew Lies odorous when the day is new; Fed 'mid the May-flowers like the bee, Nursed to sweet music on the knee, Lull'd in the breast to that sweet tune Which winds make 'mong the woods of June: I sing of thee:-'tis sweet to sing
Of such a fair and gladsome thing.
Child of the Town! for thee I sigh;
A gilded roof's thy golden sky,
A carpet is thy daisied sod,
A narrow street thy boundless wood,
Thy rushing deer's the clattering tramp
Of watchmen, thy best light's a lamp,-
Through smoke, and not through trellised vines
And blooming trees, thy sunbeam shines:
I sing of thee in sadness; where
Else is wreck wrought in aught so fair?
Child of the Country! thy small feet
Tread on strawberries red and sweet:
With thee I wander forth to see
The flowers which most delight the bee;
The bush o'er which the throstle sung
In April while she nursed her young;
The dew beneath the sloe-thorn, where
She bred her twins the timorous hare;
The knoll wrought o'er with wild blue-bells,
Where brown bees build their balmy cells,
The greenwood stream, the shady pool,
Where trouts leap when the day is cool.
Child of the Town! for thee, alas!
Glad Nature spreads no flowers nor grass;
Birds build no nests, nor in the sun
Glad streams come singing as they run:
A Maypole is thy blossom'd tree;
A beetle is thy murmuring bee;
Thy bird is caged, thy dove is where
The poulterer dwells, beside the hare;
Thy fruit is pluck'd, and by the pound
Hawk'd, clamorous, o'er the city round;
No roses, twin-born on the stalk,
Perfume thee in thy evening walk;
No voice of birds,-but to thee comes
The mingled din of cars and drums,
And startling cries, such as are rife
When wine and wassail waken strife.
Child of the Country! on the lawn
I see thee like the bounding fawn,
Blithe as the bird which tries its wing
The first time on the wings of Spring;
Bright as the sun when from the cloud
He comes as cocks are crowing loud;
Now running, shouting, 'mid sunbeams,
Now groping trouts in lucid streams,
Now spinning like a mill-wheel round,
Now hunting Echo's empty sound,
Now climbing up some old tall tree-
For climbing's sake-'Tis sweet to thee
To sit where birds can sit alone,
Or share with thee thy venturous throne.
Child of the Town and bustling street,
What woes and snares await thy feet!
Thy paths are paved for five long miles,
Thy groves and hills are peaks and tiles;
Thy fragrant air is yon thick smoke,
Which shrouds thee like a mourning cloak;
And thou art cabin'd and confined,
At once from sun, and dew, and wind,
Or set thy tottering feet but on
Thy lengthen'd walks of slippery stone.
The coachman there careering reels,
With goaded steeds and maddening wheels.
And Commerce pours each prosing son
In pelf's pursuit, and halloos "Run!"
While flush'd with wine, and stung at play,
Men rush from darkness into day.
The stream's too strong for thy small bark
There nought can sail, save what is stark.
Fly from the town, sweet child! for health
Is happiness, and strength, and wealth.
There is a lesson in each flower;
A story in each stream and bower;
On every herb o'er which you tread
Are written words which, rightly read,
Will lead you, from earth's fragrant sod,
To hope and holiness and God.
Allan Cunningham.
HE months we used to read of
Have come to us again,
With sunniness and sunniness,
And rare delights of rain;
The lark is up, and says aloud,
East and west I see no cloud.
The lanes are full of roses,
The fields are grassy deep;
The leafiness and floweriness
Make one abundant heap;
The balmy, blossom-heathy airs
Smell of future plums and pears.
The sunshine at our waking
Is still found smiling by,
With beamingness and earnestness,
Like some beloved eye;
And all the day it seems to take
Delight in being wide awake.
The lasses in the gardens
Show forth their heads of hair,
With rosiness and lightsomeness,
A-chasing here and there;
And then they'll hear the birds and stand,
And shade their eyes with lifted hand.
And then again they're oft there,
As if their lovers came,
With giddiness and gladsomeness,
Like doves but newly tame.
Ah, light your cheeks at Nature, do,
And draw the whole world after you.
E that loves a rosy cheek,
H Or a coral lip admires,
Or from star-like eyes doth seek
Fuel to maintain her fires;
As old Time makes these decay,
So her flames must waste away.
But a smooth and steadfast mind,
Gentle thoughts and calm desires,
Hearts, with equal love combined,
Kindle never-dying fires.
Where these are not, I despise
Lovely cheeks, or lips, or eyes.
ELLEN DOUGLAS AND FITZ-JAMES.
HE heart-sick lay was hardly said,
The list'ner had not turn'd her head,
It trickled still, the starting tear,
When light a footstep struck her ear,
And Snowdon's graceful knight was near.
She turn'd the hastier, lest again
The prisoner should renew his strain.
|