LESSONS FROM THE GORSE.

"To win the secret of a weed's plain heart."

MOUNTAIN gorses, ever-golden,
Cankered not the whole year long!
Do ye teach us to be strong,
Howsoever pricked and holden

Like your thorny blooms, and so
Trodden on by rain and snow,

LOWELL.

Up the hill-side of this life, as bleak as where ye grow?

Mountain blossoms, shining blossoms,

Do ye teach us to be glad

When no summer can be had,

Blooming in our inward bosoms?

Ye, whom God preserveth still,
Set as lights upon a hill,

Tokens to the wintry earth that Beauty liveth still!

Mountain gorses, do ye teach us

From that academic chair
Canopied with azure air,

That the wisest word man reaches
Is the humblest he can speak?

Ye, who live on mountain peak,

Yet live low along the ground, beside the grasses meek!

Mountain gorses, since Linnæus

Knelt beside you on the sod,

For your beauty thanking God,—

For your teaching, ye should see us

Bowing in prostration new!

Whence arisen,-if one or two

Drops be on our cheeks-O world, they are not tears

but dew.

WISDOM UNAPPLIED.

IF I were thou, O butterfly,

And poised my purple wing to spy
The sweetest flowers that live and die,

I would not waste my strength on those,
As thou, for summer has a close,
And pansies bloom not in the snows.

If I were thou, O working bee,
And all that honey-gold I see,
Could delve from roses easily,

I would not hive it at man's door,

As thou, that heirdom of my store Should make him rich and leave me poor.

If I were thou, O eagle proud,

And screamed the thunder back aloud, And faced the lightning from the cloud,

I would not build my eyrie throne,
As thou,-upon a crumbling stone
Which the next storm may trample down.

If I were thou, O gallant steed,
With pawing hoof and dancing head,
And eye outrunning thine own speed,

I would not meeken to the rein,
As thou,-nor smooth my nostril plain
From the glad desert's snort and strain.

If I were thou, red-breasted bird,
With song at shut-up window heard,
Like Love's sweet yes too long deferred,

I would not overstay delight,
As thou, but take a swallow-flight
Till the new spring returned to sight.

While yet I spake, a touch was laid
Upon my brow, whose pride did fade
As thus, methought, an angel said,—

"If I were thou who sing'st this song,
Most wise for others, and most strong
In seeing right while doing wrong,

"I would not waste my cares, and choose, As thou,-to seek what thou must lose, Such gains as perish in the use.

"I would not work where none can win, As thou,-halfway 'twixt grief and sin, But look above and judge within.

"I would not let my pulse beat high, As thou, towards fame's regality, Nor yet in love's great jeopardy.

"I would not champ the hard cold bit, As thou,-of what the world thinks fit, But take God's freedom, using it.

"I would not play earth's winter out, As thou,-but gird my soul about, And live for life past death and doubt.

"Then sing, O singer!--but allow, Beast, fly and bird, called foolish now Are wise (for all they scorn) as thou."

TO MARY RUSSELL MITFORD

IN HER GARDEN.

WHAT time I lay these rhymes anear thy feet,
Benignant friend, I will not proudly say
As better poets use, "These flowers I lay,"
Because I would not wrong thy roses sweet,
Blaspheming so their name. And yet, repeat
Thou, overleaning them this springtime day,
With heart as open to love as theirs to May,
"Low-rooted verse may reach some heavenly heat,
Even like my blossoms, if as nature-true
Though not as precious." Thou art unperplext,
Dear friend, in whose dear writings drops the dew
And blow the natural airs,-thou, who art next
To nature's self in cheering the world's view,-
To preach a sermon on so known a text!

ON A PORTRAIT OF WORDSWORTH BY B. R. HAYDON.

WORDSWORTH upon Helvellyn! Let the cloud
Ebb audibly along the mountain-wind,
Then break against the rock, and show behind
The lowland valleys floating up to crowd

The sense with beauty. He with forehead bowed
And humble-lidded eyes, as one inclined
Before the sovran thought of his own mind,
And very meek with inspirations proud,
Takes here his rightful place as poet-priest
By the high altar, singing prayer and prayer
To the higher Heavens. A noble vision free

Our Haydon's hand has flung out from the mist :
No portrait this, with Academic air!
This is the poet and his poetry.

TO BETTINE,

THE CHILD FRIEND OF GOETHE.

"I have the second sight, Goethe!"-Letters of a Child.

BETTINE, friend of Goethe,
Hadst thou the second sight-
Upturning worship and delight
With such a loving duty

To his grand face, as women will,
The childhood 'neath thine eyelids still?

-Before his shrine to doom thee,
Using the same child's smile

That heaven and earth, beheld erewhile
For the first time, won from thee
Ere star and flower grew dim and dead
Save at his feet and o'er his head?

-Digging thine heart and throwing
Away its childhood's gold,

That so its woman-depth might hold
His spirit's overflowing?

(For surging souls, no worlds can bound,
Their channel in the heart have found.)

O child, to change appointed,

Thou hadst not second sight!

What eyes the future view aright
Unless by tears anointed?

Yea, only tears themselves can show

The burning ones that have to flow.