Upon yon tuft of hazel trees,
That twinkle to the gusty breeze,
Behold him perched in ecstasies,
Yet seeming still to hover;

There! where the flutter of his wings
Upon his back and body flings
Shadows and sunny glimmerings,
That cover him all over.

My sight he dazzles, half deceives,
A bird so like the dancing leaves;
Then flits, and from the cottage eaves
Pours forth his song in gushes;

As if by that exulting strain

He mocked and treated with disdain The voiceless form he chose to feign, While fluttering in the bushes.

THE CONTRAST.

WITHIN hér gilded cage confined,
I saw a dazzling belle,

A parrot of that famous kind
Whose name is NONPAREil.

Like beads of glossy jet her eyes; And, smoothed by Nature's skill, With pearl or gleaming agate vies Her finely-curvèd bill.

Her plumy mantle's living hues
In mass opposed to mass,
Outshine the splendour that imbues
The robes of pictured glass.

For you and your green twigs decoy
The little witless shepherd-boy

To come and slumber in your bower;
And, trust me, on some sultry noon,

Both you and he, Heaven knows how soon!
Will perish in one hour.

"From me this friendly warning take'-
The Broom began to doze,

And thus to keep herself awake
Did gently interpose:

'My thanks for your discourse are due;
That more than what you say is true
I know, and I have known it long;
Frail is the bond by which we hold
Our being, whether young or old,
Wise, foolish, weak, or strong.
"Disasters, do the best we can,
Will teach both great and small;
And he is oft the wisest man
Who 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 spent his careless blossoms, here

Attained a good old age.

"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,
My branches are so fresh and gay

That you might look at me and say,
This plant can never die.

"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.'

"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, or 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.”

U

SONG FOR THE SPINNING-WHEEL.

SWIFTLY turn the murmuring wheel!
Night has brought the welcome hour,
When the weary fingers feel

Help, as if from fairy power;

Dewy night o'ershades the ground;

Turn the swift wheel round and round!

Now, beneath the starry sky,
Crouch the widely-scattered sheep;―
Ply the pleasant labour, ply!
For the spindle, while they sleep,
Runs with motion smooth and fine,
Gathering up a trustier line.

Short-lived likings may be bred
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

leeping on the mountain's breast.

THE REDBREAST AND 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, 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.

If the butterfly knew but his friend,
Hither his flight he would bend;
And find his way to me

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 couldst 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 indoor 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 dressed,
A crimson as bright as thine own:
If thou wouldst be happy in thy nest,

O pious bird! whom man loves best,
Love him, or leave him alone!

THE KITTEN AND THE FALLING LEAVES.

THAT way look, my infant, lo!

What a pretty baby-show!

See the kitten on the wall,

Sporting with the leaves that fall,

Withered leaves-one-two-and three