But could youth last, and love still breed,
Had joys no date, nor age no need,
Then those delights my mind might move
To live with thee, and be thy love.

SIR WALTER RALEIGH, 1552-1618.

Pisc. Well sung, good woman; I thank you. I'll give you another dish of fish one of these days, and then beg another song of you.

IZAAK WALTON, 1598-1683.

THE SOLITARY REAPER.

Behold her single in the field,

Yon solitary Highland lass!
Reaping and singing by herself;
Stop here, or gently pass!

Alone she cuts and binds the grain,

And sings a melancholy strain;
O listen! for the vale profound

Is overflowing with the sound.

No nightingale did ever chaunt
So sweetly to reposing bands
Of travelers in some shady haunt,
Among Arabian lands.

No sweeter voice was ever heard
In spring-time from the cuckoo-bird--
Breaking the silence of the seas,
Among the farthest Hebrides.

Will no one tell me what she sings?
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow
For old, unhappy, far-off things,
And battles long ago;

Or is it some more humble lay,
Familiar matter of to-day?
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,
That has been, and may be again?

Whate'er the theme, the maiden sang
As if her song could have no ending;
I saw her singing at her work,
And o'er the sickle bending;

I listened-motionless and still,
And as I mounted up the hill,
The music in my heart I bore,
Long after it was heard no more.

W. WORDSWORTH.

THE HUSBANDMAN.

Earth of man the bounteous mother,
Feeds him still with corn and wine;
He who best would aid a brother,
Shares with him these gifts divine.

Many a power within her bosom,

Noiseless, hidden, works beneath; Hence are seed, and leaf, and blossom, Golden ear and cluster'd wreath.

These to swell with strength and beauty
Is the royal task of man;
Man's a king; his throne is duty,
Since his work on earth began.

Bud and harvest, bloom and vintage-
These, like man, are fruits of earth;
Stamp'd in clay, a heavenly vintage,
All from dust receive their birth.

Barn and mill, and wine-vat's treasures,
Earthly goods for earthly lives;
These are Nature's ancient pleasures-
These her child from her derives.

What the dream, but vain rebelling,
If from earth we sought to flee?
'Tis our stored and ample dwelling-
"Tis from it the skies we see.

Wind and frost, and hour and season,
Land and water, sun and shade,
Work with these, as bids thy reason,
For they work thy toil to aid.

Sow thy seed, and reap in gladness!
Man himself is all a seed;
Hope and hardship, joy and sadness-
Slow the plant to ripeness lead.

JOHN STERLING, 1844.

X.

The Garden.

A

THE GARDEN.

FROM THE HERBAL."

MONG the manifold creatures of God that have in all ages diversely

entertained many excellent wits, and drawne them to the contemplation of the Divine Wisdome, none have provoked men's studies more, or satisfied their desires so much, as plants have done, and that upon just and worthy causes; for what greater delight is there than to behold the earth appareled with plants as with a robe of embroidered worke, set with orient pearles, and garnished with great diversity of rare and costly jewels. But the principal delighte is in the minde, singularly enriched with the knowledge of these visible things, setting forth to us the invisible wisdome and admirable workmanship of Almighty God! JOHN GERARDE, 1545-1607.

OF GARDENS.

The earth is the garden of nature, and each fruitful country a Paradise. The Turks, who pass their days in gardens here, will have gardens also hereafter, and delighting in flowers on earth, must have lilies and roses in heaven. The delightful world comes after death, and Par

adise succeeds the grave. The verdant state of things is the symbol of the resurrection; and to flourish in the state of glory, we must first be sown in corruption.

SIR THOMAS BROWNE, 1605-1682.

A GARDEN.

Where does the Wisdom and the Power Divine
In a more bright and sweet reflection shine?
Where do we finer strokes and colors see,

Of the Creator's real Poetry,

Than when we with attention look

Upon the third day's volume of the Book?
If we could open and intend our eye,
We all, like Moses, should espy

Even in a bush the radiant Deity.

But we despise these, His inferior ways
(Though no less full of miracle and praise),
Upon the flowers of Heaven we gaze;

The stars of earth no wonder in us raise.

ABRAHAM COWLEY, 1618-1667.

THE GARDEN OF ALCINOUS.

FROM HOMER.

Close to the gates a spacious garden lies,
From storms defended and inclement skies:
Four acres was th' allotted space of ground,
Fenced with a green inclosure all around,
Tall thriving trees confessed the fruitful mold;
The redd'ning apple ripens here to gold.
Here the blue fig with luscious juice o'erflows,
With deeper red the full pomegranate glows;
The branch here bends beneath the weighty pear,
And verdant olives flourish round the year.

The balmy spirit of the western gale
Eternal breathes on fruits untaught to fail :
Each dropping pear a following pear supplies,
On apples apples, figs on figs arise;

The same mild season gives the blooms to blow,
The buds to harden, and the fruits to grow.

Here ordered vines in equal ranks appear,
With all th' united labors of the year;