The storm had fallen upon the Oak,
And struck him with a mighty stroke,
And whirled, and whirled him far away;
And, in one hospitable cleft,
The little careless Broom was left
To live for many a day."

SONG FOR THE SPINNING WHEEL

Founded upon a Belief prevalent among the Pastoral Vales of

Westmoreland.

Disasters, do the best we can,
Will reach both great and small
Ind he is oft the wisest man,
Vho is not wise at all.
For me, why should I wish to roam ?
This spot is my paternal home,
It is my pleasant heritage;
My Father, many a happy year,
Here spread his careless blossoms, here
Attained a good old age.

Swiftly turn the murmuring wheel !
Night has brought the welcome hour,
When the weary fingers feel
Help, as if from faery power;
Dewy night o'ershades the ground:
Turn the swift wheel round and round!

Even such as his may be my lot.
What cause have I to haunt
My heart with terrors? Am I not
In truth a favoured plant !
On me such bounty Summer pours,
That I am covered o'er with flowers ;
And, when the Frost is in the sky,
Ny branches are so fresh and gay
that you might look at me, and say
This plant can never die.

Now, beneath the starry sky,
Couch the widely-scattered sheep; -
Ply the pleasant labour, ply!
For the spindle, while they sleep,
Runs with speed more smooth and fine,
Gathering up a trustier line.
Short-lived likings may be brea
By a glance from fickle eyes;
But true love is like the thread
Which the kindly wool supplies,
When the flocks are all at rest
Sleeping on the mountain's breast.

THE REDBREAST AND BUTTERFLY,

The Butterfly, all green and gold,
To me hath often flown,
Here in my Blossoms to behold
Wings lovely as his own.
When grass is chill with rain or dew,
Beneath my shade, the mother Ewe
Lies with her infant Lamb; I see
The love they to each other make,
And the sweet joy, which they partake,
It is a joy to me.'

Art thou the Bird whom Man loves best,
The pious Bird with the scarlet breast,

Our little English Robin;
The Bird that comes about our doore
When Autumn winds are sobbing
Art thou the Peter of Norway Boors

Their Thomas in Finland,

And Russia far inland ?
The Bird, who by some name or other
All men who know thee call their Brother,
The Darling of Children and men ?
Could Father Adam* open his eyes
And see this sight beneath the skies,
He'd wish to close them again.

ller voice was blithe, her heart was light;
The Broom might have pursued
ller speech, until the stars of night
Their journey had renewed;
But in the branches of the Oak
Two Ravons now began to croak
Their nuptial song, a gladsome air;
And to her own groen bower the breeze
that mutant brought two stripling Bees

wy, or murmur here.

If the Butterfly knew but his friend,
Hither his Aight he would bend;
And find his way to me,
Under the branches of the tree:

me misht, my Children! from the North
Tapp no # frious blast ;
It doek of day I ventured forth,
10 Hewr the Chill I passed.

* See Paradise Lost, Book XI., where Adam points out to Eve the ominous sion of the Eagle chasing “two Birds of gayes

! plume,' and

!Isrt and Hind pursued by their enemy

Now she works with three or four,
Like an Indian Conjutor;
Quick as he in feats of art,
Far beyond in joy of heart.
Were her antics played in the eye
Of a thousand Standers-by,
Clapping hands with shout and stare,
What would little Tabby care
For the plaudits of the Crowd?
Over happy to be proud,
Over wealthy in the treasure
Of her own exceeding pleasure !

'T is a pretty Baby-treat ;
Nor, I deem, for me unmeet;
Here, for neither Babe nor me,
Other Play-mate can I see.
Of the countless living things,
That with stir of feet and wings
(In the sun or under shade,
Upon bough or grassy blade)
And with busy revellings,
Chirp and song, and murmurings,
Made this Orchard's narrow space,
And this Vale so blithe a place;
Multitudes are swept away,
Never more to breathe the day:
Some are sleeping; some in Bands
Travelled into distant Lands;
Others slunk to moor and wood,
Far from human neighbourhood;
And, among the Kinds that keep
With us closer fellowship,
With us openly abide,
All have laid their mirth aside.

- Where is he that giddy Sprive,
Blue cap, with his colours bright,
Who was blest as bird could be,
Feeding in the apple-tree;
Made such wanton spoil and rout,
Turning blossoms inside out;
Hung with head towards the ground,
Fluttered, perched, into a round
Bound himself, and then unbound;
Lithest, gaudiest Harlequin !
Prettiest Tumbler ever seen!
Light of heart and light of limb;
What is now become of Him?
Lambs, that through the mountains went
Frisking, bleating merriment,
When the year was in its prime,
They are sobered by this time.
If
you

look to vale or hill,
If you listen, ai. 's still,
Save a little neighbouring Rill,
That from out the rocky ground
Strikes a solitary sound.

Say, when the moving Creatures saw
All kinds commingled without fear,
Prevailed a like indulgent law
For the still Growths that
Did wanton Fawn and Kid forbear
The half-blown Rose, the Lily spare ?

prosper here!

Or peeped they often from their beds
And prematurely disappeared,
Devoured like pleasure ere it spreads
A bosom to the Sun endeared ?
If such their harsh untimely doom,
It falls not here on bud or bloom.

All Summer long the happy Eve
Of this fair Spot her flowers may bind,
Nor e'er, with ruffled fancy, grieve,
From the next glance she casts, to find
That love for little Things by Fate
Is rendered vain as love for great.

Yet, where the guardian Fence is wouuni,
So subtly is the eye beguiled
It sees not nor suspects a Bound,
No more than in some forest wiid;
Free as the light in semblance
Only by art in nature lost.

Cros

And, though the jealous turf refuse
By random footsteps to be prest,
And feeds on never-sullied dews,
Ye, gentle breezes from the West,
With all the ministers of Hope,
Are tempted to this sunny slope !

And hither throngs of birds resort ;
Some, inmates lodged in shady nests,
Some, perched on stems of stately port
That nod to welcome transient guests;
While Hare and Leveret, seen at play,
Appear not more shut out than they.

Apt emblem (for reproof of pride)
This delicate Enclosure shows
Of modest kindness, that would hide
The firm protection she bestows;
Of manners, like its viewless fence,
Ensuring peace to innocence.

Thus spake the moral Muse - her wing
Abruptly spreading to depart,
She left that farewell offering,
Memento for some docile heart;
That may respect the good old age
When Fancy was Truth's willing Page;
And Truth would skim the flowery glade
Though entoring but as Fancy's Shade.