Are glowing into day we may resume
The march of our existence: and thus I,
Still on thy shores, fair Leman! may find room
And food for meditation, nor pass by

Much that may give us pause, if pondered fittingly.

BYRON.

CLVII.

A WISHED-FOR RETREAT.

1. GIVE me, O, indulgent Fate, Give me, yet before I die,

A sweet but absolute retreat,—

'Mong paths so lost, and trees so high,
That the world may ne'er invade,
Through such windings and such shade,
My unshaken liberty!

2. No intruders thither come,

Who visit but to be from home,
None who their vain moments pass,
Only studious of their glass!
Be no tidings thither brought!
But, silent as a midnight thought,
Where the world may ne'er invade,
Be those windings and that shade '

3. Courteous Fate! afford me there
A table spread without my are
With what the neighboring fields impart,
Whose cleanliness be all its art.
Fruits, indeed (would Heaven bestow),
All that did in Eden grow

(All but the forbidden tree)

Would be coveted by me;

Grapes, with juice so crowded up,

As breaking through their native cup;

Cherries, with the downy peach,

All within my easy reach!

Whilst, creeping near the humble ground,
Should the strawberry be found,

Springing wheresoe'er I strayed,

Through those windings and that shade!

This lady, whose maiden name was Anne Kingsmill, died in 1720. She was the friend of Pope, who complimented her highly in some of his verses Wordsworth says of her, that she is "one of the very few original observers f nature who appeared in an artificial age.”

1. JOHN LITTLEJOHN was stanch and strong,
Upright and downright, scorning wrong;
He gave good weight, and paid his way,
He thought for himself, and he said his say.
Whenever a rascal strove to pass,

Instead of silver, money of brass,

He took his hammer, and said, with a frown,
"The coin is spurious, nail it down."

2. John Littlejohn was firm and true,

You could not cheat him in "two and twe;"
When foolish arguers, might and main,
Darkened and twisted the clear and plain,
He saw through the mazes of their speech
The simple truth beyond their reach;
And crushing their logic, said, with a frown,
"Your coin is spurious, nail it down.”

3. John Littlejohn maintained the right,
Through storm and shine, in the world's despite,
When fools or quacks desired his vote,
Dosed him with arguments, learned by rote,
Or by coaxing, threats, or promise, tried
To gain his support to the wrongful side,
"Nay, nay," said John, with an angry frown,
"Your coin is spurious, nail it down."

4. When told that kings had a right divine,
And that the people were herds of swine,
That nobles alone were fit to rule,

That the poor were unimproved by school,
That ceaseless toil was the proper fate
Of all but the wealthy and the great,

John shook his head, and said, with a frown,
"The coin is spurious, nail it down.”

5. When told that events might justify
A false and crooked policy,

That a decent hope of future good

Might excuse departure from rectitude,

That a lie, if white, was a small offence,

To be forgiven by men of sense,

"Nay, nay,” said John, with a sigh and frown, "The coin is spurious, nail it down."

МАСТАУ.

Bur yonder comes the powerful king of day,
Rejoicing in the east. The lessening cloud,
The kindling azure, and the mountain's brow
Illumed with fluid gold, his near approach
Betoken glad. Lo! now apparent all,
Aslant the dew-bright earth and colored air
He looks in boundless majesty abroad,

And sheds the shining day, that burnished plays

On rocks, and hills, and towers, and wandering streams,
High gleaming from afar! Prime cheerer Light!
Of all material beings first and best!

Efflux divine! Nature's resplendent robe!
Without whose vesting beauty all were wrapt
In unessential gloom; and thou, O Sun!
Soul of surrounding worlds! in whom best seen
Shines out thy Maker! May I sing of thee?

2. WELCOME OF THE BIRDS.-Holmes.
Now bursts the song from every leafy glade,
The yielding season's bridal serenade;
Now flash the wings returning Summer calls
Through the deep arches of her forest halls.
The crack-brained bobolink courts his crazy mate,
Poised on a bulrush tipsy with his weight;
Nay, in his cage the lone canary sings,
Feels the soft air, and spreads his idle wings.

3. TO THE FLOWERS.-Horace Smith.

Day-stars! that ope your frownless eyes, to twinkle
From rainbow galaxies of earth's creation,
Ard dew-drops on her holy altars sprinkle
As a libation!

Your voiceless lips, O flowers! are living preachers,
Each cup a pulpit and each leaf a book,
Supplying to my fancy numerous teachers
From loneliest nook!

• Thou wast not, Solomon, in all thy glory
Arrayed," the lilies cry, "in robes like ours!
How vain your grandeur! Ah, how transitory
Are human flowers!"

Ephemeral sages! what instructors hōary
For such a world of thought could furnish scope?
Each fading calyx a memento mōri,
Yet fount of hope!

Posthumous glories! angel-like collection!
Upraised from seed or bulb interred in earth,
Ye are to me a type of resurrection
And second birth.

Were I, O God! in churchless lands remaining,
Far from all teachers and from all divines,
My soul would find in flowers of Thy ordaining
Priests, sermons, shrines!

4. SUMMER WIND. - Bryant.

It is a sultry day; the sun has drunk
The dew that lay upon the morning grass;
There is no rustling in the lofty elm
That canopies my dwelling, and its shade
Scarce cools me. All is silent, save the faint
And interrupted murmur of the bee,
Settling on the sick flowers, and then again
Instantly on the wing. The plants around
Feel the too potent fervors; the tall maize
Rolls up its long green leaves; the clover droops
Its tender foliage, and declines its blooms.
But far in the fierce sunshine tower the hills,
With all their growth of woods, silent and stern,
As if the scorching heat and dazzling light
Were but an element they loved. Bright clouds,
Motionless pillars of the brazen heaven,
Their bases on the mountains, their white tops
Shining in the far ether, fire the air
With a reflected radiance, and make turn
The gazer's eye away. For me, I lie

Languidly in the shade, where the thick turf,

Yet virgin from the kisses of the sun,

Retains some freshness, and I woo the wind
That still delays its coming.

1. Or the blessings which civilization and philosophy bring with them, a large proportion is common to all ranks, and would, if withdrawn, be missed as painfully by the laborer as by the peer. The market-place, which the rustic can now reach with