And the steed it shall be shod
All in silver, housed in azure,

And the mane shall swim the wind;
And the hoofs along the sod
Shall flash onward and keep measure,
Till the shepherds look behind.

"He will kiss me on the mouth Then, and lead me as a lover,

Through the crowds that praise his deeds;
And, when soul-tired by one troth,
Unto him I will discover

That swan's nest among the reeds."

Little Ellie, with her smile
Not yet ended, rose up gaily,-
Tied the bonnet, donn'd the shoe,
And went homeward round a mile,
Just to see, as she did daily,

What more eggs were with the two.

Pushing through the elm-tree copse,
Winding by the stream, light-hearted,
Where the osier pathway leads-
Past the boughs she stoops and stops:
Lo! the wild swan had deserted,
And a rat had gnaw'd the reeds.

Ellie went home sad and slow.
If she found the lover ever,

With his red-roan steed of steeds, Sooth I know not; but I know She could never show him-never, That swan's nest among the reeds.

E. B. Browning.

THE WREN'S NEST.

AMONG the dwellings framed by birds
In field or forest with nice care,
Is none that with the little wren's
In snugness may compare.

No door the tenement requires,
And seldom needs a labor'd roof;
Yet is it to the fiercest sun
Impervious and storm-proof.

F

So warm, so beautiful withal,
In perfect fitness for its aim,
That to the kind* by special grace
Their instinct surely came.

And when from their abode they seek

An opportune recess,
The hermit has no finer eye

For shadowy quietness.

These find, 'mid ivied abbey walls,
A canopy in some still nook;
Others are penthoused by a brae‡
That overhangs a brook.

There to the brooding bird, her mate
Warbles by fits his low clear song;
And by the busy streamlet, both
Are sung to all day long.

Or in sequester'd lanes they build,
Where, till the flitting bird's return,
Her eggs within the nest repose
Like relics in an urn.

But still, where general choice is good,
There is a better and a best :
And, among fairest objects, some
Are fairer than the rest.

This one of those small builders proved
In a green covert, where, from out

The forehead of a pollard oak, §

The leafy antlers sprout;

For she who plann'd the mossy lodge,
Mistrusting her evasive skill,

Had to a primrose look'd for aid
Her wishes to fulfil.

High on the trunk's projecting brow
And fix'd an infant's span above

The budding flowers, peep'd forth the nest,
The prettiest of the grove!

*The kind, the species.

Brae, the slope of a hill.

+ Penthoused, protected by.

Pollard, a tree with its head and branches lopped off. Evasive skill, skill to escape discovery.

STANDARD

The treasure proudly did I show

To some whose minds without disdain Can turn to little things; but once Look'd up for it in vain;

'Tis gone!—a ruthless spoiler's prey,
Who heeds not beauty, love, or song;
'Tis gone! (so seem'd it) and we grieved
Indignant at the wrong.

Just three days after, passing by,
In clearer light the moss-built cell
I saw, espied its shaded mouth,
And felt that all was well.

The primrose for a veil had spread
The largest of her upright leaves :
And thus, for purposes benign,
A simple flower deceives.

Conceal'd 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 wither'd is the guardian flower,
And empty thy late home,

Think how ye prosper'd, thou and thine,
Amid the unviolated grove,

Housed near the growing primrose tuft,
In foresight, or in love.

Wordsworth.

THE KID.

A TEAR bedews my Delia's eye
To think yon playful kid must die;
From crystal spring and flowery mead
Must, in his prime of life, recede.*

Erewhile, in sportive circles, round
She saw him wheel, and frisk, and bound;

*Recede, depart, die.

From rock to rock pursue his way,
And on the fearful margin play.

Pleased on his various freaks to dwell,
She saw him climb my rustic cell;
Thence eye my lawns with verdure bright,
And seem all ravish'd at the sight.

"Sweet Poll!" his doating mistress cries,
"Sweet Poll!" the mimic* bird replies,
And calls aloud for sack.†

She next instructs him in the kiss;
"Tis now a little one, like Miss;
And now a hearty smack.