Many a thorn and breezy bush ; When the redbreast and the thrush Gaily raised their early lay, Thankful for returning day. Every thicket, bush, and tree Soft and low the song began: Oft he tried the lesson o'er, Now it reached the loudest swell; Lower, lower, now it fell, Lower, lower, lower, still, Scarce it sounded o'er the rill. Other regions to delight. -Joseph Rodman Drake. THE BEAVER. in the north if thou sail with me, UP in A wonderful creature I'll show to thee; As gentle and mild as a lamb at play, Skipping about in the month of May; Yet wise as any old learned sage Who sits turning over a musty page! Come down to the lonely river's bank, Of this northern river so strong and wide; Look! the woven bough of many a tree, The waters cannot o'erpass this bound, And yonder the peaceable creatures dwell, They know no sorrow, have done no sin; Seeing how they were kind and good, And a mood of pity hath o'er him crept, As he thought of his own dear babes and wept. - Mary Howitt. GREEK MOTHER'S LULLABY. LEEP, my child; no care can cumber S not cal Thy young heart, nor break thy slumber, Love doth all thy moments number; Let thy sleep Be sweet and deep! While thy mother's arms caress thee, Gentle zephyrs woo and kiss us, Zephyr's wings Are downy things. While thy mother's lips caress thee, May great Zeus protect and bless thee! Sleep, and see Olympus shining, Shall light thy dreams. While thy mother's hopes caress thee, May great Zeus protect and bless thee! Rest, and in thy dreaming follow, Through the flow'ry glade and hollow, In the chase, with swift Apollo; Ne'er so fleet Are mortal feet. While thy mother's smiles caress thee, Dream, and see bright Eros springing Hide cruel stings! While thy mother's tears caress thee, May great Zeus defend and bless thee! Soft as summer breezes calling, Slumber woos to dear enthralling. Sweet and deep My darling's sleep; Love and joy and hope caress thee! Zeus will guard thee, Zeus will bless thee! "A Doric Reed" — Zitella Cocke. HOMEWARD. HE day dies slowly in the western sky; TH The sunset splendor fades, and wan and cold The far peaks wait the sunrise; cheerily The goatherd calls his wanderers to their fold. My weary soul, that fain would cease to roam, Take comfort; evening bringeth all things home. Homeward the swift-winged seagull takes its flight; |