Yet might'st thou seem, proud privilege! to sing Leave to the nightingale her shady wood, Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood TO THE BRAMBLE-FLOWER. - Elliot. THY fruit full well the schoolboy knows, So put forth thy small, white rose; Though woodbines flaunt, and roses glow, O'er all the fragrant bowers, Thou need'st not be ashamed to show Thy satin-threaded flowers; For dull the eye, the heart is dull, That cannot feel how fair, Amid all beauty beautiful, Thy tender blossoms are! How delicate thy gauzy frill! How rich thy branchy stem! How soft thy voice, when woods are still, A sweet air lifts the little bough, 176 LINES WRITTEN IN A HIGHLAND GLEN. The violet by the mossed gray stone But thou, wild bramble! back dost bring, The fresh, green days of life's fair spring, Scorned bramble of the brake! once more To gad with thee the woodlands o'er, LINES WRITTEN IN A HIGHLAND GLEN. — Wilson. To whom belongs this valley fair, Silent as infant at the breast The heavens appear to love this vale; By that blue arch, this beauteous earth, O, that this lovely vale were mine ! There would unto my soul be given, And thoughts would come of mystic mood, Eternity of time! And did I ask to whom belonged She spreads her glories o'er the earth, Yea, long as Nature's humblest child Earth's fairest scenes are all his own; THE EVENING RAINBOW.-Southey. MILD arch of promise! on the evening sky 178 THE SKYLARK. Such is the smile that piety bestows On the good man's pale cheek, when he in peace, Departing gently from a world of woes, Anticipates the realm where sorrows cease. BOOK OF THE WORLD.- Drummond. Of this fair volume which we "World" do name, We clear might read the art and wisdom rare, His providence,-extending everywhere,- THE SKYLARK. — Hogg. BIRD of the wilderness, Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea! Blest is thy dwelling-place, - O, to abide in the desert with thee! Wild is thy lay, and loud, Where art thou journeying? Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth. O'er fell and fountain sheen, O'er moor and mountain green, O'er the red streamer that heralds the day, Over the cloudlet dim, Over the rainbow's rim, Musical cherub, soar, singing away! Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be Blest is thy dwelling-place, -- O, to abide in the desert with thee! But to the even-song; * Born in 1591. N |