ENGLISH SCENERY.

The obsolete prolixity of shade.

Descending now (but cautious, lest too fast)
A sudden steep upon a rustic bridge,
We pass a gulf, in which the willows dip
Their pendent boughs, stooping as if to drink.
Hence, ankle-deep in moss and flowery thyme,
We mount again, and feel at every step
Our foot half sunk in hillocks green and soft,
Raised by the mole, the miner of the soil.
He, not unlike the great ones of mankind,
Disfigures earth: and, plotting in the dark,
Toils much to earn a monumental pile,
That may record the mischiefs he has done.

The summit gained, behold the proud alcove
That crowns it! yet not all its pride secures
The grand retreat from injuries impressed
By rural carvers, who with knives deface
The pannels, leaving an obscure, rude name,
In characters uncouth, and spelt amiss.
So strong the zeal to immortalize himself

Beats in the breast of man, that e'en a few,

Few transient years, won from the abyss abhorred Of blank oblivion, seem a glorious prize,

And even to a clown.

Now roves the eye;

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ENGLISH SCENERY.

And, posted on this speculative height,
Exults in its command. The sheepfold here
Pours out its fleecy tenants o'er the glebe.
At first, progressive as a stream, they seek
The middle field; but, scattered by degrees,
Each to his choice, soon whiten all the land.

There, from the sunburnt hay-field homeward

creeps

The loaded wain; while, lightened of its charge,

The wain that meets it passes swiftly by;

The boorish driver leaning o'er his team
Vociferous, and impatient of delay.

Nor less attractive is the woodland scene,
Diversified with trees of every growth,

Alike, yet various. Here the gray smooth trunks
Of ash, or lime, or beech, distinctly shine,
Within the twilight of their distant shades;
There, lost behind a rising ground, the woods
Seem sunk, and shortened to its topmost boughs.
No tree in all the grove but has its charms,
Though each its hue peculiar; paler some,
And of a wannish gray; the willow such,
And poplar, that with silver lines his leaf,
And ash far stretching his umbrageous arm;

THE HILLSIDE FLOWER.

Of deeper green the elm; and deeper still,
Lord of the woods, the long-surviving oak.
Some-glossy leaved, and shining in the sun,
The maple, and the beech of oily nuts
Prolific, and the lime at dewy eve

Diffusing odors: nor unnoted pass

The sycamore, capricious in attire,

Now green, now tawny, and, ere autumn yet
Have changed the woods, in scarlet honors bright.
O'er these, but far beyond (a spacious map
Of hill and valley interposed between),
The Ouse, dividing the well-watered land,
Now glitters in the sun, and now retires,
As bashful, yet impatient to be seen.

Cowper.

THE HILLSIDE FLOWER.

FLOWER upon the green hillside,

Thou, to shun the threatening blast,
In the grass thy head dost hide,
By the tempest overpast.

Then, to greet the azure skies,
And to feel the soothing sun,

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34

THE HILLSIDE FLOWER.

Brighter-sweeter-dost thou rise!

Tell me, flower, how this is done!

"I will tell thee, as a friend,
Artless-timid-whispering low;

At the blast, 'tis good to bend !
He who made me, taught me so.

"While his teaching I obey,

I but fall to rise, and stand,

Brighter for the stormy day,
Leaning on his viewless hand.

"When to him I've lowly bowed,
He with freshness fills my cup
From the angry, scowling cloud;
Gently then He lifts me up.

"So I sink, and so I rise-
In the dark or sunny hour,

Minding Him who rules the skies:

:

He's my God; and I'm his flower!"

GOULD.

THE SKYLARK.

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THE SKYLARK.

BIRD of the wilderness,

Blithesome and cumberless,

Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea!
Emblem of happiness,

Blest is thy dwelling-place

Oh to abide in the desert with thee!

Wild is thy lay, and loud,

Far in the downy cloud,

Love gives it energy, love gave it birth.

Where, on thy dewy wing,

Where art thou journeying?

Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth.

O'er fell and fountain sheen,

O'er moor and mountain green,

O'er the red streamer that heralds the day,

Over the cloudlet dim,

Over the rainbow's rim,

Musical cherub, soar, singing away!

Then, when the gloaming comes,

Low in the heather blooms,