Her voice was blithe, her heart was light;

The Broom might have pursued

Her speech, until the stars of night

Their journey had renewed.

But in the branches of the Oak

Two Ravens now began to croak
Their nuptial song, a gladsome air;
And to her own green bower the breeze
That instant brought two stripling Bees
To rest and murmur there.

One night, my Children! from the North

There came a furious blast;

At break of day I ventured forth,

And near the Cliff I passed.

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.

IX.

The REDBREAST and the BUTTERFLY.

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 doors
When Autumn winds are sobbing?

Art thou the Peter of Norway Boors?
Their Thomas in Finland,

And Russia far inland?

The Bird, whom 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.

If the Butterfly knew but his friend,
Hither his flight he would bend;

* See Paradise Lost, Book XI, where Adam points out to Eve the ominous sign of the Eagle chasing" two Birds of gayest plume," and the gentle Hart and Hind pursued by their enemy.

Under the branches of the tree :

In and out, he darts about;

Can this be the Bird, to man so good,

That, after their bewildering,

Did cover with leaves the little children,

So painfully in the wood?

What ailed thee, Robin, that thou could'st pursue

A beautiful Creature,

That is gentle by nature?

Beneath the summer sky

From flower to flower let him fly;

"Tis all that he wishes to do.

The Cheerer Thou of our in-door sadness,
He is the Friend of our summer gladness
What hinders, then, that ye should be
Playmates in the sunny weather,
And fly about in the air together!
His beautiful wings in crimson are drest,

A crimson as bright as thine own:
If thou would'st be happy in thy nest,
O pious Bird! whom Man loves best,
Love him, or leave him alone!

X.

TO THE DAISY*.

WITH little here to do or see

Of things that in the great world be,
Sweet Daisy! oft I talk to thee,
For thou art worthy,

Thou unassuming Common-place

Of Nature, with that homely face,
And yet with something of a grace,

Which Love makes for thee!

Oft do I sit by thee at ease,

And weave a web of similies,

Loose types of Things through all degrees,

Thoughts of thy raising:

* The two following Poems were overflowings of the mind in composing the one which stands first in this Class.

And many a fond and idle name

I give to thee, for praise or blame,
As is the humour of the game,
While I am gazing.

A Nun demure, of lowly port;

Or sprightly Maiden, of Love's Court,

In thy simplicity the sport

Of all temptations;

A Queen in crown of rubies drest;

A Starveling in a scanty vest;

Are all, as seem to suit thee best,

Thy appellations.

A little Cyclops, with one eye

Staring to threaten and defy,

That thought comes next--and instantly

The freak is over,

The shape will vanish, and behold!
A silver Shield with boss of gold,

That spreads itself, some Faery bold

In fight to cover.

1