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You spotted snakes with double tongue,

Thorny hedgeliogs, be not seen ;
Newts and blindworms do no wrong,

Come not near our Fairy Queen!

Weaving spiders, come not near,
Hence, you long-legg'd spinners, hence

Beetles black, approach not near,
Worm nor snail do no offence

Philomel* with melody
Sing in your sweet lullaby;
Lulla lulla lullaby :

Never harm
Nor spell nor charm
Come our lovely lady nigh,
So good night with lullaby.


COME, follow, follow me,
Ye fairy elves that be;
Light tripping o'er the green,
Come, follow Mab your queen!
Hand in hand we'll dance around,
For this place is fairy ground.
When mortals are at rest,
And snoring in their nest,
Unheard and unespied
Through key-holes we do glide;
Over tables, stools, and shelves,
We trip it with our fairy elves.

* Philomel, the Nightingale.

Then o'er a mushroom's head
Our table-cloth we spread;
A grain of rye or wheat,
The diet that we eat;
Pearly drops of dew we drink
In acorn-cups filled to the brink.
The grasshopper, gnat, and fly,
Serve for our minstrelsy.
Grace said, we dance awhile,
And so the time beguile :
And if the moon doth hide her head,
The glow-worm lights us home to bed.
O’er tops of dewy grass
So nimbly do we pass,
The young and tender stalk
Ne'er bends where we do walk;
Yet in the morning may be seen
Where we the night before have been.

SPRING. SPRING, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant ling; Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring; Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing, Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo ! The palm and the May make country houses gay, Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day, And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay, Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo! The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet, Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit, In every street these tunes our ears do greet, Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo! Spring, the sweet Spring.

T. Nash.

SUMMER. "Tis June—the merry, smiling June

'Tis blushing summer now;
The rose is red, the bloom is dead,

The fruit is on the bough.
The bird-cage hangs upon the wall,

Amid the clustering vine;'
The rustic seat is in the porch,

Where honeysuckles twine.
The rosy, ragged urchins play

Beneath the glowing sky;
They scoop the sand, or gaily chase

The bee that buzzes by.
The household spaniel flings his length

Beneath the sheltering wall;
The panting sheep-dog seeks the spot

Where leafy shadows fall.
The petted kitten frisks among

The bean-flowers’ fragrant maze ;
Or, basking, throws her dappled form

To catch the warmest rays.
The opened casements, flinging wide,

Geraniums give to view;
With choicest posies ranged between,

Still wet with morning dew.
The mower whistles o'er his toil,

The emerald grass must yield;
The scythe is out, the swarth is down,

There's incense in the field.
Oh! how I love to calmly muse

In such an hour as this !
To nurse the joy creation gives,
In purity and bliss.

Eliza Cook.

The autumn skies are flush'd with gold.
And fair and bright the rivers run ;
These are but streams of winter cold,
And painted mists that quench the sun.
In secret boughs no sweet birds sing,
In secret boughs no bird can shroud ;
These are leaves that take to wing,
And wintry winds that pipe so loud.
'Tis not trees' shade, but cloudy glooms,
That on the cheerless valleys fall;
The flowers are in their grassy tombs,
And tears of dew are on them all.


WINTER. WHEN icicles hang by the wall,

And Dick the shepherd blows his nail,
And Tom bears logs into the hall,

And milk comes frozen home in pail :
When blood is nipp’d, and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
Tu-whit to-whoo ;-a merry note!
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
When all aloud the wind doth blow,

And coughing drowns the parson's saw,
And birds sit brooding in the snow,

And Marian's nose looks red and raw ;
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
Tu-whit, to-whoo ;-a merry note !
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

Shakespeare. TO RAIN IN SUMMER. O GENTLE, gentle summer rain!

Let not the silver lily pine,
The drooping lily pine in vain

To feel that dewy touch of thine,
To drink thy freshness once again,
O gentle, gentle, summer rain !
In heat the landscape quivering lies;

The cattle pant beneath the tree;
Through parching air and purple skies

The earth looks up, in vain, for thee;
For thee-for thee, it looks in vain,
O gentle, gentle summer rain !
Come thou, and brim the meadow streams,

And soften all the hills with mist,
O falling dew! from burning dreams

By thee shall herb and flower be kissed,
And Earth shall bless thee yet again,
O gentle, gentle summer rain!

W. C. Bennett.

RAIN IN SUMMER. How beautiful is the rain! After the dust and the heat, In the broad and fiery street, In the narrow lane, How beautiful is the rain ! How it clatters along the roofs, Like the tramp of loofs ! . How it gushes and struggles out From the throat of the overflowing spout ! Across the window-pane It pours and pours; And swift and wide, With a muddy tide, Like a river down the gutter roars The rain, the welcome rain !

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