WITH fluttering start, in silence, from her nest To earth, in hues of full-flushed summer drest; And chants her three wild notes to welcome home. MRS. J. CONDER. "The sky-lark, Alauda arvensis, is justly celebrated for its song. Though monotonous, it is cheerful, and imparts gaiety to the mind of even the most serious. Its joyous matins and heavenward flight have been aptly compared to hymns, and acts of adoration and praise.-After descending half way, it ceases to sing, and drops with the velocity of an arrow to the ground." Of this familiar fact, Gay has made a beautiful application in his popular ballad of "Black-eyed Susan." See Mr. Main's papers on British Song Birds. Mag. of Nat. Hist. vol. 4. They abound in interesting matter, and are written with the feelings of a true lover of nature. THE CUCKOO. HAIL! beauteous stranger of the grove! The messenger of Spring! Now Heaven repairs thy rural seat, And woods thy welcome sing. What time the daisy decks the green, Or mark the rolling year? Delightful visitant! with thee I hail the time of flowers, And hear the sound of music sweet, From birds among the bowers. The schoolboy wandering through the wood, To pull the primrose gay, Starts the new voice of Spring to hear, And imitates thy lay. What time the pea puts on the bloom, Thou fliest thy vocal vale: An annual guest in other lands, Sweet bird thy bower is ever green, O could I fly, I'd fly with thee! Companions of the Spring! JOHN LOGAN. The eminent statesman, Burke, was so pleased with this beautiful poem, that when he was at Edinburgh, he made himself acquainted with its author. THE WALL-FLOWER. THE Wall-flower-the Wall-flower, It gleams above the tower, Around the wrecks of Time :- Flower of the solitary place! Time's canker-tooth hath made. Thy roots outspread the ramparts o'er, In battle's grim array: The clangour of the field is fled, The beacon on the hill No more through midnight blazes red,— Whither hath fled the choral band Yon dark sepulchral yew-trees stand F In the belfry's crevices the dove Her young brood nurseth well, Whilst thou, lone flower! dost shed above 'A sweet decaying smell.' In the season of the tulip-cup, And on the hawthorn by the road The linnets sit and sing. Sweet Wall-flower-sweet Wall-flower! Thou conjurest up to me Full many a soft and sunny hour Of boyhood's thoughtless glee; In woodland pastures green, Now Autumn's pensive voice is heard Amid the yellow bowers, And Robin is the regal bird, And thou, the queen of Flowers! He sings on the laburnum trees Amid the twilight dim, And Araby ne'er gave the breeze Such scents, as thou to him. Rich is the pink, the lily gay; The rose is Summer's guest; Bland are thy charms when these decay,— Of flowers-first, last, and best! There may be gaudier on the bower, But Wall-flower-loved Wall-flower! Thou art the flower for me! MOIR. THE VIOLET. I LOVE all things the seasons bring, I love, how much I love the rose, The lily paler than the moon, The odorous wonderous month of June, She comes, the first, the fairest thing, She dwells behind her leafy screen, What modest thoughts the Violet teaches, Bright maiden, ne'er forget! But learn, and love, and so depart, B. CORNWALL. |