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SUMMER PLEASURES.

In the fields fresh flowers are springing,

In the boughs new chorals singing,

Richly in sweet harmony

There the birds new music ply.

This is all thine own, sweet May!

As thy softer breezes play,
Snow and frost work melt away.

Old and young, come forth! for ye
Winter-bound again are free;
Up! ye shall not grieve again.
Look upon that verdant plain,
Its gloomy robe no more it wears ;
How beauteously its face appears;
He who 'mid the flowers enjoys
The sweetness of his lady's eyes,

Let him cast his cares away,

And give the meed of thanks to May.

From the heart's most deep recess,

Hovering smiles, intent to bless,

Gather on my lady's lips;

Smiles, that other smiles eclipse;

Smiles, more potent, care-dispelling,

Than the bank with flowers sweet smelling,

SONG.

Than the birds' melodious measures,
Than our choicest woodland treasures,
Than the flower-besprinkled plains,
Than the nightingale's sweet strains;
Fairer, sweeter, beauty reigns.

SONG.

TELL me, where's the violet fled,
Late so gayly blowing;
Springing 'neath fair Flora's tread,

Choicest sweets bestowing?—

Swain, the vernal scene is o'er,

And the violet blooms no more!

Say, where hides the blushing rose,

Pride of fragrant morning;
Garland meet for beauty's brows;
Hill and dale adorning?-
Gentle maid, the summer's fled,
And the hapless rose is dead!

Bear me, then, to yonder rill,
Late so freely flowing,

ANON.

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SONG.

Watering many a daffodil
On its margin glowing,—
Sun and wind exhaust its store;
Yonder rivulet glides no more!

Lead me to the bowery shade,
Late with roses flaunting;
Loved resort of youth and maid,
Amorous ditties chanting.—

Hail the storm with fury shower;
Leafless mourns the rifled bower!

Say where bides the village maid,
Late yon cot adorning?
Oft I've met her in the glade,
Fair and fresh as morning.—
Swain, how short is beauty's bloom!
Seek her in her grassy tomb!

Whither roves the tuneful swain,
Who, of rural pleasures,
Rose and violet, rill and plain,
Sung in deftest measures?—
Maiden, swift life's vision flies,
Death has closed the poet's eyes!

JACOBI.

ENVIABLE POVERTY.

125

ENVIABLE POVERTY.

I GLANCE into the harvest field,

Where, 'neath the shade of richest trees,
The reaper and the reaper's wife
Enjoy their noonday ease.

And in a shadow of the hedge
I hear full many a merry sound,
Where the stout, brimming water-jug
From mouth to mouth goes round.

About the parents in the grass,

Sit boys and girls of various size, And, like the buds about the rose, Make glad my gazing eyes.

See! God himself from heaven spreads
Their table with the freshest green,

And lovely maids, his angel band,
Bear heaped dishes in.

A laughing infant's sugar lip,

Waked by the mother's kiss doth deal

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THE WALK.

To the poor parents a dessert

Still sweeter than their meal.

From breast to breast, from arm to arm,
Goes wandering round the rosy boy,
A little circling flame of love,

A living, general joy.

And strengthened thus for farther toil,
Their toil is but joy fresh begun ;
That wife,-0, what a happy wife!
And O, how rich is that poor man!

THE WALK.

I WENT a walk on Sunday,
But so lonely everywhere!-

O'er every path and upland
Went loving pair and pair.

I strolled through greenest corn-fields,
All dashed with gold so deep;
How often did I feel as though

My very heart would weep!

DALEI.