These find, 'mid ivied abbey walls, There to the brooding bird her mate Or in sequestered lanes they build, But still, where general choice is good, This, one of those small builders proved The leafy antlers sprout; For she who planned the mossy lodge, High on the trunk's projecting brow, The budding flowers, peeped forth the nest, D The treasure proudly did I show To some whose minds without disdain Can turn to little things; but once Looked up for it in vain : 'Tis gone-a ruthless spoiler's prey, Just three days after, passing by The primrose for a veil had spread Concealed from friends who might disturb Thy quiet with no ill intent, Secure from evil eyes and hands On barbarous plunder bent, Rest, mother-bird! and when thy young Take flight, and thou art free to roam, When withered is the guardian flower, And empty thy late home, Think how ye prospered, thou and thine, Amid the unviolated grove, Housed near the growing primrose tuft In foresight, or in love. W. Wordsworth XXIV A FINE DAY Clear had the day been from the dawn, Thin clouds like scarfs of cobweb lawn The wind had no more strength than this, To make one leaf the next to kiss That closely by it grew. M. Drayton XXV CASABIANCA A True Story The boy stood on the burning deck The flames roll'd on. He would not go He called aloud: 'Say, father, say He knew not that the chieftain lay 'Speak, father!' once again he cried, And but the booming shots replied, Upon his brow he felt their breath, And look'd from that lone post of death In still, yet brave despair; And shouted but once more aloud, 'My father! must I stay?' While o'er him fast through sail and shroud, The wreathing fires made way. They wrapt the ship in splendour wild, And streamed above the gallant child Like banners in the sky. Then came a burst of thunder-sound- With mast, and helm, and pennon fair, F. Hemans XXVI SIGNS OF RAIN The hollow winds begin to blow, The clouds look black, the glass is low, The soot falls down, the spaniels sleep, The spiders from their cobwebs peep: Last night the sun went pale to bed, The moon in halos hid her head; The boding shepherd heaves a sigh, For, see, a rainbow spans the sky: The walls are damp, the ditches smell, Closed is the pink-eyed pimpernel. Hark how the chairs and tables crack! Old Betty's joints are on the rack; Loud quack the ducks, the peacocks cry, The distant hills are seeming nigh. How restless are the snorting swine; The busy flies disturb the kine; Low o'er the grass the swallow wings, The cricket too, how sharp he sings; Puss on the hearth, with velvet paws, Sits wiping o'er her whiskered jaws. Through the clear stream the fishes rise, And nimbly catch the incautious flies. The glow-worms, numerous and bright, Illumed the dewy dell last night. At dusk the squalid toad was seen, Hopping and crawling o'er the green; The whirling wind the dust obeys, And in the rapid eddy plays; |