« ՆախորդըՇարունակել »
IN the barn the tenant cock,
Close to Partlet perch'd on high, Briskly crows, (the shepherd's clock!) Jocund that the morning's nigh.
Swifty from the mountain's brow, Shadows, nursed by night, retire; And the peeping sunbeam now Paints with gold the village spire.
Philomel forsakes the thorn,
Plaintive where she prates at night; And the lark, to meet the morn, Soars beyond the shepherd's sight.
From the low-roof'd cottage ridge,
See the chattering swallow spring; Darting through the one-arch'd bridge, Quick she dips her dappled wing.
Now the pine-tree's waving top
Gently greets the morning gale; Kidlings now begin to crop
Daisies on the dewy dale.
From the balmy sweet uncloy'd,
(Restless till her task be done,) Now the busy bee 's employ'd
Sipping dews before the sun.
Trickling through the creviced rock,
Where the limpid stream distils, Sweet refreshment waits the flock
When 'tis sun-drove from the hills.
Colin's for the promised corn
(Ere the harvest hopes are ripe) Anxious; while the huntsman's horn, Boldly sounding, drowns his pipe.
Sweet, O sweet, the warbling throng On the white-emblossom'd spray! Nature's universal song
Echoes to the rising day.
"WHY do you sit in the dull house, Annie?
The girls are playing at 'jars of honey;'
"I must stay here in the house," said Annie, "Till mother comes back from her work to-night; Your voices sound through this open window, And I see from here the skies are bright.
I wish that I were out playing with you,
I wish; but I might as well be wishing
"For here, in the bed, poor Jennie lies moaning, And no friend or kin in the world has she; So mother says, our our Father in heaven Has given the care of poor Jennie to me. All day, dear mother is out at washing,
To earn our rent and clothes and food;
So I can't go play at 'jars of honey,'
"Come! your mother is a mile from the village, And no one will tell her," said Lizzie May; "And as to Jane, she never will miss you, If you take but an hour from this tedious day." Though I very often feel tempted," said Annie, "I cast the wrong thoughts away from my mind; And, Lizzie, I could not deceive my mother, For neither pleasure nor peace should I find.
"I have often thought of running, Lizzie,
But then I thought poor Jenny might suffer
Or would ask about the time or weather,
"And often when I'm tired, and longing
I think were He to enter this chamber,
As he enter'd the house of Galilee,
How I should wish Him to smile with pleasure, And say, Well done, faithful child!' unto me.”