And the moon was a-shining down into the place (Under the gloomy elm-tree), And his mother could see that his lips and his face Were as white as clean ashes could be ; And her tongue was a-tied, and her still heart did swell Till her senses came back with the first tear that fell, Never more can she feel his warm face in her breast (Under the leafy elm-tree), For his eyes are a-shut, and his hands are at rest, And he's now from his pain a-set free; For his soul we do know is to heaven a-fled, W. Barnes XXII THE USEFUL PLOUGH A country life is sweet! In moderate cold and heat, In To walk in the air, how pleasant and fair, every field of wheat, The fairest of flowers adorning the bowers, And every meadow's brow; So that I say, no courtier may Compare with them who clothe in grey, And follow the useful plough. They rise with the morning lark, Then folding their sheep, they hasten to sleep; While every pleasant park Next morning is ringing with birds that are singing, On each green, tender bough. With what content and merriment, Their days are spent, whose minds are bent To follow the useful plough! Old Song XXIII A WREN'S NEST Among the dwellings framed by birds No door the tenement requires, And seldom needs a laboured roof; Impervious, and storm-proof. So warm, so beautiful withal, In perfect fitness for its aim, And when for their abodes they seek An opportune recess, The hermit has no finer eye For shadowy quietness. These find, 'mid ivied abbey walls, There to the brooding bird her mate Or in sequestered lanes they build, Where, till the flitting bird's return, eggs within the nest repose, Her Like relics in an urn. But still, where general choice is good, This, one of those small builders proved 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 flame that lit the battle's wreck The flames roll'd on. He would not go That father faint in death below, He called aloud: 'Say, father, say He knew not that the chieftain lay |