90

LESSONS OF SPRING.

See the soft green willow springing
Where the waters gently pass,
Every way her free arms flinging
O'er the moist and reedy grass.
Long ere winter blasts are fled,
See her tipped with vernal red,
And her kindly flower displayed
Ere her leaf can cast a shade.

Though the rudest hand assail her,
Patiently she droops awhile,

But when showers and breezes hail her,
Wears again her willing smile.
Thus I learn Contentment's power

From the slighted willow bower,
Ready to give thanks and live
On the least that Heaven may give.

If, the quiet brooklet leaving,
Up the stony vale I wind,

Haply half in fancy grieving

For the shades I leave behind,

By the dusty wayside drear,
Nightingales with joyous cheer

Sing, my sadness to reprove,

Gladlier than in cultured grove.

Where the thickest boughs are twining

Of the greenest, darkest tree,

There they plunge, the light declining-
All may hear, but none may see.
Fearless of the passing hoof,

Hardly will they fleet aloof;

So they live in modest ways,

Trust entire, and ceaseless praise.

KEBLE.

FLOW GENTLY, SWEET AFTON.

FLOW gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,
Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

Thou stock-dove, whose echo resounds thro' the glen,
Ye wild whistling blackbirds, in yon thorny den,
Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear,
I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair.

92

FLOW GENTLY, SWEET AFTON.

How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighboring hills,

Far marked with the courses of clear winding rills; There daily I wander as noon rises high,

My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye.

How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below;
Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow;
There oft as mild evening weeps over the lea,
The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me.

Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides,
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides;
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave,

As gathering sweet flowerets she stems thy clear

wave.

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

BURNS.

THE EARLY DAWN.

On seeing a picture of Morning on the Mountains.

How beautiful is morning! I have been,

Painter, like thee, a wanderer, when the hills Slept in their own great shadows, and have seen The dawn kiss out the stars, have heard the rills Warbling unseen, and sending forth the thrills. Of soothing melody. Methinks thou art

My spirit's own interpreter, we gaze

In kindred feelings, gaze, ay, heart to heart,
As friend with friend.

GEORGE HUME.

THE LILIES OF THE FIELD.

Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow.

ST. MATTHEW 6: 28.

SWEET nurslings of the vernal skies,
Bathed in soft airs, and fed with dew,
What more than magic in you lies,

To fill the heart's fond view?
In childhood's sports, companions gay,

In sorrow, on Life's downward way,

94

THE LILIES OF THE FIELD.

How soothing! in our last decay
Memorials prompt and true.

Relics ye are of Eden's bowers,
As pure, as fragrant, and as fair,
As when ye crowned the sunshine hours
Of happy wanderers there.

Fallen all beside,-the world of life,
How is it stained with fear and strife!
In Reason's world what storms are rife,
What passions range and glare!

But cheerful and unchanged the while
Your first and perfect form ye show,
The same that won Eve's matron smile
In the world's opening glow.

The stars of heaven a course are taught
Too high above our human thought;
Ye may be found if ye are sought,
And as we gaze, we know.

Ye dwell beside our paths and homes,
Our paths of sin, our homes of sorrow,
And guilty man, where'er he roams,

Your innocent mirth may borrow.