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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.

TH

SUMMER.
'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.

Leigh Hunt.

WOMAN'S TRUE BEAUTY.

H Н

E that loves a rosy cheek,

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.

Carew.

T

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.

O welcome, brave Fitz-James !” she said,
“How may an almost orphan maid
Pay the deep debt ?” “O say not so !
To me no gratitude you owe.
Not mine, alas! the boon to give,
And bid thy noble father live ;
I can but be thy guide, sweet maid,
With Scotland's King thy suit to aid.
No tyrant he, though ire and pride
May lay his better mood aside.
Come, Ellen, come ! 'tis more than time,
He holds his court at morning prime.”
With beating heart, and bosom wrung,
As to a brother's arm she clung,
Gently he dried the falling tear,
And gently whispered hope and cheer;
Her faltering steps half led, half staid,
Through gallery fair, and high arcade,
Till, at its touch, its wings of pride
A portal arch unfolded wide.
Within 'twas brilliant all and light,
A thronging scene of figures bright ;
It glow'd on Ellen's dazzled sight,
As when the setting sun has given
Ten thousand hues to summer even,
And from their tissue fancy frames
Aerial knights and fairy dames.
Still by Fitz-James her footing staid,
A few faint steps she forward made,
Then slow her drooping head she raised
And fearful round the presence azed ;
For him she sought who owned this state,
The dreaded prince whose will was fate.
She gazed on many a princely port,
Might well have ruled a royal court;
On many a splendid garb she gazed,
Then turn'd bewilder'd and amazed,
For all stood bare, and, in the room
Fitz-James alone wore cap and plume.

To him each lady's look was lent,
On him each courtier's eye was bent;
Midst furs, and silks, and jewels' sheen,
He stood in simple Lincoln green,
The centre of the glittering ring-
And Snowdon's knight is Scotland's king.
As wreath of snow, on mountain breast,
Slides from the rock that gave it rest,
Poor Ellen glided from her stay,
And at the monarch's feet she lay ;
No word her choking breath commands,--
She showed the ring, she clasped her hands.
Oh! not a moment could he brook,
The generous prince, that suppliant look ;
Gently he raised her; and, the while,
Check'd with a glance the circle's smile ;
Graceful, but grave, her brow he kiss’d,
And bade her terrors be dismiss'd:-
“Yes, fair ; the wandering poor Fitz-James
The fealty of Scotland claims.
To him thy woes, thy wishes bring ;
He will redeem his signet ring.
Ask nought for Douglas; yester even,
His prince and he have much forgiven.
Wrong hath he had from slanderous tongue,
I, from his rebel kinsman, wrong.
We would not, from the vulgar crowd,
Yield what they craved with clamour loud ;
Calmly we heard and judged his cause,
Our council aided, and our laws.
I stanch'd thy father's death-feud stern,
With stout De Vaux and Grey Glencairn ;
And Bothwell's Lord henceforth we own
The friend and bulwark of our throne.
But, lovely infidel, how now ?
What clouds thy misbelieving brow ?
Lord James of Douglas, lend thine aid
Thou must confirm this doubting maid.”

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