44

THE BRAMBLE FLOWER.

Your mither has lo'ed you, as mither can lo'e;

And mine has done for me what mithers can

do;

We are ane, high an' laigh, and we shouldna be twa;

Come, gi'e me your hand-we are brethren

a'.

We love the same simmer day sunny an' fair;

Hame!-Oh, how we love it, an' a' that are there!

Frae the pure air o' heaven the same life we draw

Come, gi'e me your hand-we are brethren

a'.

Frail shakin' auld age, will soon come o'er us baith,

An' creeping along at his back will be Death, Syne into the same mither-yird we will fa'; Come, gi'e me your hand-we are brethREN A'.

Nicol.

TO THE BRAMBLE FLOWER.

Thy fruit full well the school-boy knows,
Wild bramble of the brake!

WAGGONER IN A SNOW-STORM.

So put thou forth thy small white rose,

I love it for his sake.

For dull the eye, the heart is dull,

That cannot feel how fair, Amid all beauty, beautiful, Thy tender blossoms are! How delicate thy gauzy frill,

45

How rich thy branchy stem,
How soft thy voice when woods are still,
And thou sing'st hymns to them;
While silent showers are falling slow,
And, 'mid the general hush,
A soft air lifts the little bough,

Lone whispering through the bush!
The primrose to the grave is gone,
The hawthorn flower is dead;
The violet by the moss'd grey stone,
Has laid her weary head.

But thou, wild bramble! back dost bring
In all their beauteous power,

The fresh green days of life's fair spring,
And boyhood's blossomy hour.

Ebenezer Elliott.

WAGGONER IN A SNOW-STORM.

Ill fares the traveller now, and he that stalks In ponderous boots beside his reeking team;

46 CRY OF THE SPRING-FLOWER SELLER.

The wain goes heavily, impeded sore
By congregated loads adhering close

To the clogged wheels; and in its sluggish

pace

Noiseless, appears a moving hill of snow.
The toiling steeds expand the nostril wide,
While every breath, by respiration strong
Forced downward, is consolidated soon
Upon their jutting chests. He, formed to

bear

The pelting brunt of the tempestuous night, With half shut eyes, and puckered cheeks,

and teeth

Presented bare against the storm, plods on. One hand secures his hat, save when with both

He brandishes his pliant length of whip,
Resounding oft, and never heard in vain.
Ah treat them kindly! rude as thop ap-
pear'st

Yet show that thou hast mercy!

Cowper.

CRY OF THE SPRING-FLOWER

SELLER.

Violets, violets-here, see, I bring Primroses, wet from the woods of the spring.

CRY OF THE SPRING-FOWER SELLER 47

Lilies, the whitest that silver our valleys, Come out from your courts, from the gloom of your alleys

Buy my flowers!

Here's pleasure a selling! my blossoms come buy

Cheap enough for the low, choice enough for the high

Buy my flowers!

Come, make your close rooms and your dark windows gay,

With thoughts of their dwellings on banks far away,

And the hours of work, sluggish for many a day,

Though the thoughts that they bring shall trip lightly away

Buy my flowers!

And into the heart of the city they'll bring The country, the meadows, the woodlands, and spring.

Pleasant hours you spent in the green fields long ago,

On styles that you loved, and in lanes well you know

Come and buy!

The poorest may buy them, the richest they'll please

There's ne'er a one sells brighter blossoms than these

There's ne'er a one sells such sweet flowers

as I

Buy my flowers!

W. C. Bennett.

SONG.

Who are the happy, and who are the free?
You tell me and I will tell thee!
They who have tongues that never lie,
Truth on the lip, truth in the eye,
Truth in the soul, to friend or foe,
To all above, and to all below.

These are the happy, and these are the free;
So may it be with thee and me!

Mrs. Adams.

A MOTHER'S LOVE.

Hast thou sounded the depths of yonder sea, And counted the sands that under it be? Hast thou measured the height of heaven