164.-MARION LEE. Not a care hath Marion Lee, Look, she sitteth laughing there, Saw ye e'er a thing so fair? Mary Howitt. 165. THE DOG AND THE WATER-LILY. The noon was shady, and soft airs Swept Ouse's [1] silent tide, When, 'scaped from literary cares, I wandered by its side. [1] Ouse—a river in Buckinghamshire. My dog, now lost in flags and reeds, Pursued the swallow o'er the meads It was the time when Ouse display'd With cane extended far, I sought But still the prize, though nearly caught, Beau mark'd my unsuccessful pains But with a cherup clear and strong, I thence withdrew, and follow'd long My ramble ended, I return'd, The floating wreath again discern'd, I saw him with that lily, cropped, My quick approach, and soon he dropp'd Charm'd with the sight-"The world," I cried, "Shall hear of this thy deed: My dog shall mortify the pride Of man's superior breed. "But chief myself I will enjoin, Awake at duty's call, To show a love as prompt as thine Cowper. 166.-SUNSHINE AFTER A SHOWER. Ever after summer shower, When the bright sun's returning power [1] Dank—damp, moist. [2] Trail-track, From bowering beech the mower blithe T. Warton. 167. THE BIRDS OF PASSAGE. Birds, joyous birds, of the wandering wing! Whence is it ye come with the flowers of spring? "We come from the shores of the green old Nile, From the land where the roses of Sharon smile, From the palms that wave through the Indian sky, From the myrrh-trees of glowing Araby. "We have swept o'er cities in song renown'd, Silent they lie with the desert round! We have cross'd proud rivers, whose tide hath roll'd All dark with the warrior-blood of old; And what have ye found in the monarch's dome, Since last ye travers'd the blue sea's foam ? -"We have found a change;—we have found a pall, And a gloom o'ershadowing the banquet hall; And a mark on the floor as of life-drops spilt ;Nought looks the same, save the nest we built." Oh! joyous birds, it hath ever been so ; A change we have found there, and many a change, Faces and footsteps, and all things strange; Gone are the heads of the silvery hair, And the young that were, have a brow of care; And the place is hush'd where the children play'd, Nought looks the same save the nest we made." Sad is your tale of the beautiful earth, Birds that o'ersweep it in power and mirth; Mrs. Hemans. 168. THE SPARROWS SELF-DOMESTICATED IN TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE. None ever shared the social feast, Or as an inmate or a guest, Beneath the celebrated dome, Where once Sir Isaac [1] had his home, [1] Sir Isaac Newton. |