protect her well, fays! from all malignant spell; charms and seasons to defy, blighting wind and evil eye. And the bonny babe! on her all your choicest gifts confer. Just as much of wit and sense, as may be hers without pretence; just as much of grace and beauty, as shall not interfere with duty; just as much of sprightliness, as shall companion gentleness; just as much light-hearted cheer, as may be melted to a tear, by a word, a tone, a look-pity's touch, or love's rebuke. As much of frankness, bland and free, as may consort with modesty; as much of feeling, as will bear of after-life the wear and tear; as much of life-but, Fairies! there ye vanish into thinnest air! and with you parts the playful vein, that lov'd a light and trivial strain. Befits me better, babe! for thee to ask Almighty agency,—Almighty love-Almighty power, to nurture up the human flower; to cherish it with heavenly dew, sustain with earthly blessings too; and, when the ripe full Time shall be, engraft it on Eternity. 27.-TWINKLE, TWINKLE, LITTLE STAR.-Watts. 'Twinkle, twinkle, little star! how I wonder what you are, up above the world so high, like a diamond in the sky. 2 When the blazing sun is gone, when he nothing shines upon, then you show your little light,— twinkle, twinkle all the night. 3 Then the traveller in the dark thanks you for your tiny spark; he could not see which way to go, if you did not twinkle so. 4In the dark blue sky you keep, while you through my curtains peep, and you never shut your eye till the sun is in the sky. 28.-ROBIN REDBREAST IN WINTER.-W. Allingham. Good-bye, good-bye to Summer! for Summer's nearly done; the garden's smiling faintly, cool breezes chill the sun; our thrushes now are silent, our swallows flown away, but Robin's here in coat of brown, and scarlet breast-knot gay. Robin, Robin Redbreast, O Robin dear! Robin sings so sweetly in the falling of the year. "Bright-yellow, red, and orange, the leaves come down in hosts; the trees are Indian princes, but soon they'll turn to ghosts; the leathery pears and apples hang russet on the bough; it's Autumn, Autumn, Autumn late, 'twill soon be Winter now. Robin, Robin Redbreast, O Robin dear! and what will this poor Robin do? for pinching days are near. 3 The fireside for the cricket, the wheatstack for the mouse, when trembling night-winds whistle, and moan all round the house. The frosty ways like iron, the branches plumed with snow, alas! in winter dead and dark where can poor Robin go? Robin, Robin Redbreast, O Robin dear!—a crumb of bread for Robin, his little heart to cheer. 29.-THE FIELD OF THE WORLD.-James Montgomery. Sow in the morn thy seed-at eve hold not thine hand; The tender blade, the stalk, the ear-and the full corn at length. 30.-THE BUSY BEE.-Watts. How doth the little busy bee improve each shining hour, And gather honey all the day from every opening flower. How skilfully she builds her cell! how neat she spreads the wax! And labours hard to store it well with the sweet food she makes. In works of labour or of skill I would be busy too; For Satan finds some mischief still for idle hands to do. In books, or work, or healthful play, let my first years be past; That I may give, for every day, some good account at last. 81.-A MOTHER'S LOVE.-Miss Taylor. Hast thou sounded the depths of yonder sea, Hast thou talked with the bless'd of leading on Hast thou gone with the traveller, Thought, afar. And ever, since Earth began, that look To win them back from the lore they prize There are teachings in earth, in sky, and air— 32. THE FOUNTAIN.-Lowell. Into the sunshine, full of the light, The Fountain is flashing from morn till night! Darkness or sunshine thy element. Fresh, changeful, constant, upward like thee! 83.-THE MOTHER'S CALL.-A. Cunningham. Come, sweet ones, come to the fields with me; I hear the hum of the honey bee, I hear the call of the gray cuckoo, I hear the note of the shrill curlew; I hear the cry of the hunting hawk, the sound of the dove in our 'customed walk, the song of the lark, the tongue of the rill, the shepherds' shout on the pasture hill. My sweet ones, all come forth and play; the air is balm, and I smell new hay; the smoke streams up, and the air is rife with joy, and all is light and life; and the beasts are glad, while man in song breaks out; for Rain has lorded long, and Earth has drunk more than her need, to fill her flowers and nurse her seed. Now, now ye come, my little ones all, as the young doves come at their mother's call: one run to yon foxglove tall and see at his breakfast of balm the golden bee; another go hunt, from bud to bloom, the worm that flies with a painted plume; or see the doe solicitous lead her twin fawns forth to the odorous mead; or mark the nestlings newly flown, with their tender wings and their crests of down. But stay, my children, cre ye run:-Who made the sky and yon glorious sun? Who framed the earth, and strewed it sweet with flowers, beneath your little feet? 'Twas ONE in heaven. Kneel down and lay your foreheads white to the grass, and pray; and render HIM praise, and strive to be pure, good, and modest-then come with me. 34. THE EVENING HOUR.-Anon. 4 1 Sweet evening hour! Sweet evening hour! that calms the air and shuts the flower; that brings the wild bee to its nest, the infant to its mother's breast. 2Sweet hour! that bids the labourer cease; that gives the weary team release, and leads them home, and crowns them there with rest and shelter, food and care. 30 season of soft sounds and hues, of twilight walks among the dews, of feelings calm and converse sweet, and thoughts too shadowy to repeat! Yes, lovely hour! thou art the time when feelings flow and wishes climb; when timid souls begin to dare, and God receives and answers prayer. 5 Then, trembling, through the dewy skies look out the stars; like thoughtful eyes of angels, calm reclining there, and gazing on the world of care. Sweet hour! for heavenly musing made—when Isaac walked, and Daniel prayed-when Abram's offering God did own-when Jesus loved to be alone. 6 35. THE BEACON.-Anon. The scene was more beautiful far to my eye, Than if day in its pride had arrayed it; The land-breeze blew mild, and the azure-arched sky The murmur arose, as I silently gazed On the shadowy waves' playful motion; From the dim distant isle till the beacon-fire blazed, No longer the joy of the sailor-boy's breast I sigh'd as I look'd from the hills' gentle slope; And I thought that the beacon looked lovely as Hope,-- The time is long past, and the scene is afar; That blazed on the breast of the billow. In life's closing hour, when the trembling soul flies, O then may the seraph of Mercy arise, 36. THE LITTLE WHITE LILY.-MacDonald. Little white Lily sat by a stone, Little white Lily said, "Good again, Heat cannot burn me, my veins are so full." Little white Lily smells very sweet: |