The Flood was tyrannous and strong; Hoping the danger would be past: But, seeing no relief, at last He ventured to reply. 66 "Ah!" said the Briar, " blame me not; Why should we dwell in strife? We who in this, our natal spot, Once lived a happy life! You stirred me on my rocky bed What pleasure through my veins you spread! The Summer long, from day to day, My leaves you freshened and bedewed; Nor was it common gratitude That did your cares repay. "When Spring came on with bud and bell, Among these rocks did I Before you hang my wreaths, to tell And, in the sultry Summer hours, I sheltered you with leaves and flowers; "But now proud thoughts are in your breast What grief is mine you see. Ah! would you think, even yet how blest Together we might be! Though of both leaf and flower bereft, Some ornaments to me are left Rich store of scarlet hips is mine, With which I, in my humble way, Would deck you many a Winter's day, What more he said I cannot tell. The Torrent thundered down the dell I listened, nor ought else could hear; THE OAK AND THE BROOM. A PASTORAL. HIS simple truths did Andrew glean A careful student he had been One Winter's night, when through the trees I saw a crag, a lofty stone As ever tempest beat! Out of its head an Oak had grown, A Broom out of its feet. The time was March, a cheerful noon The thaw-wind, with the breath of June, His neighbour thus addressed: 'Eight weary weeks, through rock and clay, Along this mountain's edge, The frost hath wrought both night and day, Wedge driving after wedge. Look up! and think, above your head What trouble, surely, will be bred; Last night I heard a crash-'tis true, I see them yonder-what a load 'You are preparing, as before, ་ And yet, just three years back-no moreYou had a strange escape. Down from yon cliff a fragment broke; It came, you know, with fire and smoke, This ponderous block was caught by me, And o'er your head, as you may see, "Tis hanging to this day! The thing had better been asleep, Whatever thing it were, Or breeze, or bird, or dog, or sheep, That first did plant you there. For you and your green twigs decoy The little witless shepherd-boy To come and slumber in your bower; And, trust me, on some sultry noon, Both you and he, Heaven knows how soon! Will perish in one hour. 'From me this friendly warning take The Broom began to doze, And thus to keep herself awake Did gently interpose: 'My thanks for your discourse are due; That it is true, and more than true. I know, and I have known it long; 'Disasters, do the best we can, For me, why should I wish to roam? It is my pleasant heritage; My father, many a happy year, Here spread his careless blossoms, here Attained a good old age. Even such as his may be my lot. What cause have I to haunt My heart with terrors? Am I not In truth a favoured plant! On me such bounty Summer pours, The butterfly, all green and gold, When grass is chill with rain or dew, The love they to each other make, And the sweet joy, which they partake, "Her voice was blithe, her heart was light; The Broom might have pursued Her speech, until the stars of night Their journey had renewed: But in the branches of the Oak Two ravens now began to croak Their nuptial song, a gladsome air; And to her own green bower the breeze "One night, my children! from the North There came a furious blast; At break of day I ventured forth, And near the cliff I passed. The storm had fallen upon the Oak And whirled, and whirled him far away; The little careless Broom was left To live for many a day." THE REDBREAST AND THE BUTTERFLY ART thou the bird whom man loves best, The bird that comes about our doors And Russia far inland? The bird, whom by some name or other If the Butterfly knew but his friend, Under the branches of the tree: In and out, he darts about; Can this be the bird, to man so good, That, after their bewildering, Did cover with leaves the little children, So painfully in the wood? What ailed thee, Robin, that thou could'st pursue A beautiful creature, That is gentle by nature? Beneath the Summer sky From flower to flower let him fly; "Tis all that he wishes to do. The cheerer thou of our in-door sadness, He is the friend of our Summer gladness: A crimson as bright as thine own: O pious bird! whom man loves best, Love him, or leave him alone! Paradise Lost, Book XI., where Adam points out to Eve the ominous sign of the eagle chasing "two birds of gayest plume," and the gentle hart and hind pursued by their enemy. TO THE DAISY. WITH little here to do or see Of things that in the great world be. Thou unassuming common-place Oft do I sit by thee at ease, Loose types of things through all degrees, And many a fond and idle name A nun demure, of lowly port; Or sprightly maiden, of love's court, Of all temptations; A queen in crown of rubies drest; A little Cyclops, with one eye That thought comes next-and instantly The shape will vanish, and behold! I see thee glittering from afar ;- In heaven above thee! Yet like a star, with glittering crest, Self-poised in air thou seem'st to rest;-May peace come never to his nest, Who shall reprove thee! Sweet flower! for by that name at last, I call thee, and to that cleave fast, That breath'st with me in sun and air, My heart with gladness, and a share |