Cuckoo! Cuckoo! he sings again-his notes are void of art;

But simplest strains do soonest sound the deep founts of the heart.

Good Lord! it is a gracious boon for thought-crazed wight like me,

To smell again these summer flowers beneath this summer tree!

To suck once more in every breath their little souls away, And feed my fancy with fond dreams of youth's bright

summer day,

When, rushing forth like untamed colt, the reckless, truant boy, Wandered through greenwoods all day long, a mighty heart of joy!

I'm sadder now-I have had cause; but oh! I'm proud to think

That each pure joy-fount, loved of yore, I yet delight to drink;

Leaf, blossom, blade, hill, valley, stream, the calm, unclouded sky,

:

Still mingle music with my dreams, as in the days gone by,

When summer's loveliness and light fall round me dark

and cold,

I'll bear indeed life's heaviest curse, -a heart that hath waxed old!

William Motherwell.

THE GARDEN BOUGH.

55

UNWATCHED the garden bough shall sway,
The tender blossom flutter down,
Unloved that beech will gather brown,
This maple burn itself away;

Unloved the sunflower, shining fair,

Ray round with flames her disk of seed,
And many a rose-carnation feed
With summer spice the humming air;

Unloved by many a sandy bar,

The brook shall babble down the plain,
At noon, or when the lesser wain

Is twisting round the polar star;

Uncared for, gird the windy grove,

And flood the haunts of hern and crake;
Or into silvery arrows break
The sailing moon in creek and cove;

Till from the garden and the wild
A fresh association blow,

And year by year the landscape grow

Familiar to the stranger's child;

As year by year the laborer tills
His wonted glebe, or lops the glades;
And year by year our memory fades

From all the circle of the hills.

Alfred Tennyson.

價

THE PRAISE OF A COUNTRYMAN'S LIFE.

Он, the sweet contentment

The countryman doth find!

Heigh trolollie, lollie, lol, heigh trolollie, lee;

That quiet contemplation

Possesseth all my mind;

Then, care away, and wend along with me.

For courts are full of flattery,

As hath too oft been tried;

Heigh trolollie, lollie, lol, heigh trolollie, lee;

The city full of wantonness,

And both are full of pride;

Then, care away, and wend along with me.

But, oh! the honest countryman
Speaks truly from his heart;

Heigh trolollie, lollie, lol, heigh trolollie, lee;
His pride is in his tillage,
His horses, and his cart;

Then, care away, and wend along with me.

Our clothing is good sheepskins,
Gray russet for our wives;

Heigh trolollie, lollie, lol, heigh trolollie, lee;
'Tis warmth, and not gay clothing,
That doth prolong our lives;

Then, care away, and wend along with me.

PRAISE OF A COUNTRYMAN'S LIFE.

The ploughman, though he labor hard,
Yet on the holy day,

Heigh trolollie, lollie, lol, heigh trolollie, lee;
No emperor so merrily
Does pass his time away;

Then, care away, and wend along with me.

To recompense our tillage,
The heavens afford us showers,

Heigh trolollie, lollie, lol, heigh trolollie, lee;
And for our sweet refreshments
The earth affords us bowers;

Then, care away, and wend along with me.

The cuckoo and the nightingale

Full merrily do sing,

Heigh trolollie, lollie, lol, heigh trolollie, lee;
And with their pleasant roundelays
Do welcome in the spring;

Then, care away, and wend along with me.

This is not half the happiness
The countryman enjoys;

Heigh trolollie, lollie, lol, heigh trolollie, lee;
Though others think they have as much,
Yet he that says so lies;

Then, care away, and come along with me.

John Chalkhill.

57 THE WILD CHERRY-TREE.

Он, there never was yet so fair a thing,
By racing river or bubbling spring,
Nothing that ever so gayly grew
Up from the ground when the skies were blue,
Nothing so brave, nothing so free,
As thou, my wild, wild Cherry-tree!

Jove! how it danced in the gusty breeze!
Jove! how it frolicked amongst the trees!
Dashing the pride of the poplar down,
Stripping the thorn of his hoary crown!
Oak or ash-what matter to thee?

'Twas the same to my wild, wild Cherry-tree.

Never at rest, like one that's young,
Abroad to the winds its arms it flung,
Shaking its bright and crowned head,
Whilst I stole up for its berries red.
Beautiful berries! beautiful tree!
Hurrah! for the wild, wild Cherry-tree!

Back I fly to the days gone by,

And I see thy branches against the sky;
I see on the grass thy blossoms dead,
I see (nay, I taste) thy berries red,

And I shout like the tempest, loud and free,
Hurrah! for the wild, wild Cherry-tree!

Barry Cornwall.