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BIRDS AND FLOWERS. 
 
kelsons' Series oi SPnbcnilc .^rt-^ook©. 
 
 BIRDS AND FLOWERS 
 
 LAYS AND LYRICS OF RURAL LIFE. 
 
 WRITTEN BY 
 
 Ml^x^ ^0toitt, 
 
 AND ILLUSTRATED WITH UPWARDS OF ONE HUNDRED DRAWINGS BY 
 
 H. GIACOMELLI, 
 
 ILLUSTRATOR OF " THE BIKD " BY MICHELET. 
 
 > y A,^ 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 T. NELSON AND SONS, PATERNOSTER ROW; 
 
 EDINBURGH ; AND NEW YORK. 
 1873- 
 
f 
 
 UBLISHERS' JMOTE. 
 
 ^T is with cordial satisfaction we submit to the Public the present 
 volume, characterized as it is by a singularly felicitous combin- 
 ation of talent — namely, that of a deservedly popular English 
 Authoress, whose admirable contributions to English literature 
 will not readily be forgotten ; and that of a distinguished 
 French Artist, whose designs in " The Bird " by Michelet, and " Nature " 
 by Madame Michelet, have attracted the favourable attention of our best 
 Art-critics by their powei', delicacy, and truthfulness. 
 
 It was at our special request that M. Giacomelli kindly undertook ' 
 the task of illustrating the following pages ; and we think the reader 
 will own that he has executed it with the greatest success. If we are 
 not mistaken, he has interpreted the graceful poetry of Mary Howitt 
 with kindred grace. Such being the case, we presume to expect for the 
 present volume, — one of a series of Juvenile Art-Books we are engaged 
 in preparing, — a very considerable measure of popularity ; and we con- 
 fidently believe that this new edition of " Birds and Flowers " will make 
 the honoured name of Mary Howitt still more widely known as that 
 of one of our most agreeable English writers, and M. Giacomelli's as 
 that of one of the most eminent artists of modern France. 
 
 3957)50 
 
VI NOTE BY THE AUTHOR. 
 
 His drawings, it is right to add, have been rendered with scrupulous 
 
 care and faithfuhiess by the best English and French engravers ; in the 
 
 main, by those who executed the illustrations of "Nature" and "The 
 
 Bird." 
 
 T. NELSON AND SONS. 
 
 NOTE BY THE AUTHOR. 
 
 My kind Publishers, in their preliminary Note to the present edition of 
 this work, have expressed themselves in such obliging terms in relation 
 to it, that I feel some diffidence in complying with their desire that I 
 would myself add a few words before finally dismissing it from the press. 
 
 I may, however, avail myself of this opportunity of acknowledg- 
 ing the gratification I feel in seeing my book brought out in so 
 beautiful a manner, and illustrated and embellished by M. Giacomelli, 
 an artist who has studied Nature so carefully, and who possesses so 
 peculiar a power of delineating her works, not only with rare fidelity, 
 but, at the same time, both gracefully and poetically. 
 
 All honour has thus been done to these simple verses, which, in 
 themselves, can but claim to be as the wild-flowers by the wayside, or 
 the songs of the birds in the bushes ; and very great pleasure does it 
 aftbrd me to see it permitted thus to enjoy, as it were, a second spring- 
 time. 
 
 MARY HOWITT. 
 
 Rome, November 1, 1872. 
 
 *<t* " Sketches of Natural History," in Verse, by the same Author, and illustrated 
 by the same Artist, forming the second volume of our Series of Juvenile Art-Books, 
 is now ready. 
 
p 
 
 O N T E N T S 
 
 BUTTERCUPS AND DAISIES, ... 
 
 la 
 
 THE SWALLOW, 
 
 16 
 
 THE NETTLE-KING, ... 
 
 20 
 
 SUMMER WOODS, 
 
 24 
 
 THE MONTHS, 
 
 28 
 
 THE WOOD-MOUSE, ... 
 
 33 
 
 THE MILL-STREAM, ... 
 
 37 
 
 THE HORNET, 
 
 40 
 
 THE USE OF FLOWERS, 
 
 44 
 
 THE STOCK-DOVE, ... 
 
 47 
 
 THE OAK-TEEE, 
 
 50 
 
 SUNSHINE, 
 
 54 
 
 HARVEST-FIELD FLOWERS, ... ... ... ... ... * ... 
 
 58 
 
 CEDAR-TREES, 
 
 61 
 
 THE HAREBELL, 
 
 65 
 
 THE ROSE OF MAY, 
 
 69 
 
 THE FLAX-FLOWER, 
 
 72 
 
 FLOWER COMPARISONS, 
 
 76 
 
 THE MANDRAKE, ... 
 
 80 
 
 FLOWER-PAINTINGS, 
 
 86 
 
 THE WILD SPRING-CROCUS IN NOTTINGHAM MEADOWS, 
 
 89 
 
VIU CONTENTS. 
 
 
 THE GARDEN, 
 
 94 
 
 WILD FLOWERS, 
 
 99 
 
 BIRDS, 
 
 104 
 
 THE FLOWER-LESSON, 
 
 109 
 
 THE sparrow's NEST, 
 
 117 
 
 THE IVY-BUSH, 
 
 121 
 
 THE NEST OF THE LONG-TAILED TITMOUSE, ... 
 
 126 
 
 SPRING, ... 
 
 130 
 
 REST-HARROW, 
 
 137 
 
 OLD-FASHIONED WINTER, 
 
 140 
 
 THE WILD FRITILLARY, 
 
 145 
 
 THE SEA, ... 
 
 148 
 
 MORNING THOUGHTS, 
 
 152 
 
 THE GIRL AND THE DOVE, ... 
 
 155 
 
 THE CUCKOO, 
 
 159 
 
 SUMMER, ... 
 
 163 
 
 THE BROOM-FLOWER, 
 
 167 
 
 THE TITMOUSE, OR BLUE-CAP, 
 
 170 
 
 CHILDHOOD, 
 
 175 
 
 LITTLE STREAMS, ... 
 
 181 
 
 THE PAS.SION-FLOWER, 
 
 185 
 
 THE CHILD AND THE FLOWERS, 
 
 194 
 
 THE APPLE-TREE, ... 
 
 197 
 
 THE POOR man's GARDEN, .. 
 
 200 
 
 l'envoi, ... 
 
 207 
 
 NOTES, 
 
 209 
 
y 
 
 1ST OF LLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Drawn by H. Giacomelli; 
 
 ENGRAVED BY BERVEILLER, MEAULLE, SARGENT, ROUGET, JONNARD, WHYMPER, 
 AND MORISON. EXPRESSLY FOR THIS WORK. 
 
 A Cluster of Buttercups and Daisies Jonnard 13 
 
 The CJoming of the Swallows £. Berveiller 16 
 
 Crossino the Sea E. Berveiller 18 
 
 " An Owl sat up in an Old Ash-tree" E. Berveiller 20 
 
 " And a Kaven was perched above his Head " Jonnard 21 
 
 Summer Woods Rouget 24 
 
 "Many a Merry Bird is there" A. Sargent 25 
 
 The Freakish Squirrels jB. Berveiller 20 
 
 A Snow-scene J. IK. IVhymper 28 
 
 Gathering the Apples F. Miaulle 32 
 
 " It makes its Nest of Soft, Dry Moss " Jonnard 33 
 
 "Under A Mushroom Tall" E. Berveiller 35 
 
 The Mill-stream Rouget 37 
 
 The Miller's Donkey Rouget 39 
 
 The Hornet A. Sargent 40 
 
 "Serve Him Eight !" Jonnard 43 
 
 A Posy op Flowers A. Sargent 44 
 
 The Stock-doves Laly 47 
 
 " Amid the Greenwood Alleys " E. Berveiller 48 
 
 r 
 
X LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 "The Monauch or the Wood " J- "^. IVIiyniper 50 
 
 Acorns ^- Berveiller 53 
 
 A Sunny Morning •■ Jimnard r>4 
 
 The Eeapeus Rouget 55 
 
 At Sea ^- Sargent 56 
 
 Harvest-field Flowers E. Berveiller 5S 
 
 " The Buolos Brightly Blue " E Berveiller 5i) 
 
 " The Eobin sings his Song" Rouget 60 
 
 The Cedar-wood ■'■"'■ Whijmper 61 
 
 By the Brook F. Miaidle 63 
 
 The Harebell E. BerveiUer 65 
 
 "Where the Pock Wounded Hart came down to Drink " E. Berveiller 66 
 
 "Along the Old Stone Balustrade" A. Sargent 69 
 
 The Rose and the Sword •/• ^V. IVhymper 70 
 
 The Flax-flower J W. miymper 72 
 
 The Meadow Pool A. Sargent 75 
 
 "Sweet Cousin Blanche" J- W. Uliyniper 76 
 
 Among the Tombs F. Miaulle 80 
 
 A Night-piece Jonnard 83 
 
 A F'lower-piece Rouget 86 
 
 The Wild Spring-crocus E. Berveiller 89 
 
 " They fill each Little Pinafore " Jonnard 93 
 
 In the Garden F- Miaulle 94 
 
 Thirsty Birds A. Sargent 98 
 
 A Group OF Wild Flowers E. Berveiller 99 
 
 " Go, Florence, gather Wild Floweks " F. Miaulle 102 
 
 " Birds building in each Hoary Tree " Rouget 104 
 
 A Group of Birds E. Berveiller 105 
 
 The Nest E. Berveiller 107 
 
 "Birds are singing loud" E. Berveiller 108 
 
 The Flower-lesson A. Sargent 109 
 
 "Where the Shining Lizard hideth " E. Berveiller — 112 
 
 Leaf and Blossom E. Berveiller 110 
 
 The Sparrow's Nest Rouget 117 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTHATIONS. xi 
 
 Flyinu Home E. Berveiller 120 
 
 " How THEY WINKING SIT IN THE IVY-TREE " A. Sargent 121 
 
 " The Owls, with a. Fierce Delight, riot and feast, like Lords, 
 
 AT Night " F. Mdaulle 12.5 
 
 The Long-tailed Titmice and their Nest E. Berveiller 120 
 
 Father and Mother E. Berveiller 12!) 
 
 ■■ Small Birds warble round about " E. Berveiller 130 
 
 Waving Butterflies Jonnard 132 
 
 The Shepherd and his Flock Jonnard 137 
 
 Friends Out-of-Doors E. Berveiller 140 
 
 " Dead ! " Rouget 143 
 
 The Wild Fritillary Jonnard 145 
 
 "Like a Dragon's Head well -moulded, is the Bud, so Dusk 
 
 AND Airy " E. Berveiller 140 
 
 A Sea-piece. Jonnard 148 
 
 Down by the Sea A. Sargent 151 
 
 Morning in the Woods Bouget 152 
 
 A Morning Song Jonnard 153 
 
 The Girl and the Dove F. Miaulle 155 
 
 " For Nothing but Love it serveth Me" E. Berveiller 157 
 
 " The Cuckoo's a-ooking ! " J. W. Whymper. 159 
 
 The Plundered Nest E. Berveiller 162 
 
 The Birds among the Vine-leaves E. Berveiller Ifi? 
 
 " The Rich Flow.ery Growth of the Old Pasture Meadows " ..Jonnard 1G4 
 
 " Fall the Far-gleaming Cataracts, Silvery White ! " A. Sargent 165 
 
 Bright Shining Butterflies " Jonnard 16G 
 
 The Pool in the Glen J. IC Wliympcr 107 
 
 The Broom-flower E. Berveiller 169 
 
 Blue-caps under the Cottage-eaves A. Sargent 170 
 
 A Merry Trio E. Berveiller 173 
 
 The Sisters F. M4aulle 175 
 
 "The Bright Hay-harvest Meadow " F. M4av,lle 178 
 
 " Through the Forest Dim and Wide" J. W. Whymper 181 
 
 " Where the Little Streams are welling '' A. Sargent 182 
 
xn 
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 "The Good Old Passion-flower". 
 
 In the Abbey -garden 
 
 The Child and the Flo week 
 
 . Jonnard 185 
 
 . A. Sargent 191 
 
 .F. Miaulle 194 
 
 "Put by thy Work, i pray thee, and come out, Mother Dear \"A. Sargent 105 
 
 Klowebs in " God's Acre " Jonnard 196 
 
 " A Song of the Apple-tree " Jonnard 197 
 
 The Lizard and the Apples A.Sargent 199 
 
 In the Poor Man's Garden ilougct 200 
 
 " He toileth WITH Goodwill" J- ^f'- Whymper 201 
 
 L'Envoi :— Farewell to the Reader E. Berveiller 207 
 
 The Last Vignette ^' Sargent 208 
 
 tail-pieces enuraved by u. a mouison. 
 
BUTTERCUPS AND DAISIES. 
 
 Buttercups and Daisies — 
 
 the pretty flowei's ! 
 Coming ere the spring-time, 
 
 To teU of sunny hours. 
 While the trees are leafless ; 
 
 While the fields are bare, 
 Buttercups and Daisies 
 
 Spring up liere and there. 
 
U ^' •■'''•'' ''• i^t^fl'ERCUPS AND DAISIES. 
 
 Ere the snow-drop peepeth ; 
 
 Ere the crocus bold ; 
 Ere the early primrose 
 
 Opes its paly gold, 
 Somewhere on a sunny bank 
 
 Buttercups are bright ; 
 Somewhere 'mong the frozen grass 
 
 Peeps the Daisy white. 
 
 Little hardy tiowers, 
 
 Like to children poor 
 Playing in their sturdy health 
 
 By their mother's door : 
 Purple with the north wind, 
 
 Yet alert and bold ; 
 Fearing not and caring not, 
 
 Though they be a-cold ! 
 
 What to them is weather ' 
 What are stormy showers ! 
 
 Buttercups and Daisies 
 Are these hvunan Howers ! 
 
 He who gave tliem hardship 
 And a life of care, 
 
BUTTERCUPS AND DAISIES. 15 
 
 Gave them likewise hardy strength, 
 And patient hearts to bear. 
 
 Welcome, yellow Buttercups ! 
 
 Welcome, Daisies white ! 
 Ye are in my spirit 
 
 Visioned, a delight ! 
 Coming ere the spring-time, 
 
 Of sunny hours to tell — 
 Speaking to our hearts of Him 
 
 Who doeth all things well. 
 
THE SWALLOW. 
 
 &; 
 
 ^^/-; 
 
 w^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 Twittering Swallow, fluttering Swallow, 
 
 Art come back again ? 
 Come from water-bed or hollow, 
 
 Where thou winter-long hast lain ? 
 Nay, I'll not believe it, Swallow, — 
 Not in England hast thou tarried ; 
 Many a day, 
 Far away. 
 Has thy wing been wearied, 
 
(2) 
 
 THE SWALLOW. 17 
 
 Over continent and isle, \'"' 
 
 Many and many and many &. mile ! 
 Tell me, prithee, bird, the story 
 Of thy six months migratory ! 
 
 If thou wert a human traveller, 
 
 We a quarto book should see ; 
 Thou wouldst be the sage unraveller 
 
 Of some dark, old mystery ; 
 Thou wouldst tell the wise men. Swallow, 
 Of the rivers' hidden fountains ; 
 Plain and glen, 
 And savage men, 
 And AftHians of the mountains ; 
 Ch-eatures, plants, and men unkno'wn, 
 And cities in the deserts lone : 
 Thou wouldst be, thou far-land dweller, 
 Like an Arab story-teller ! 
 
 Was it in a temple, Swallow ; 
 
 In some Moorish minaret ; 
 In some cavern's gloomy hollow, 
 
 Where the lion and serpent met, 
 That thy nest was builded, Swallow ? 
 
 9 
 
THE SWALLOW. 
 
 Did the Negi'o people meet tliee 
 
 With a word 
 
 Of welcome, bird, 
 Kind as that with which we greet thee ? 
 Prithee tell me how and where 
 Thou wast giiided through the air ; 
 Prithee cease thy building-labour. 
 And tell o'er thy travels, neighbour ! 
 
 Thou hast been among the Kaffirs ; 
 
 Seen the Bushman's stealthy arm ; 
 Thou hast heard the lowing heifers 
 
 On some good Hen-nhuter's farm ; 
 
THE SWALLOW. 
 
 19 
 
 Seen the gold-dust-finder, Swallow, 
 Heard the lion-hunter's Holla ! 
 
 Peace and strife, 
 
 And much of life. 
 Hast thou witnessed, wandering Swallow. 
 Tell but this, — we'll leave the rest, — 
 Which is wisest, which is best ; 
 Tell which happiest, if thou can, 
 Hottentot or Englishman ? — 
 Nought for answer can we get, 
 Save Twitter, twdtter, twitter, twet ! 
 

 
 
THE NETTLE-KING. 
 
 It was in a wood both drear and dank, 
 
 Where gi'ew tlie Nettle so broad and rank ; 
 
 And an owl sat up in an old ash-tree 
 
 That was wasting away so silently ; 
 
 And a raven was perched above his head, 
 
 And both of them heard what the Nettle-kini^ said ; 
 
 21 
 
 
 And there was a toad that sat below, 
 Chewing his venom sedate and slow. 
 And he heard the words of the Nettle also. 
 
 The Nettle he throve, and the Nettle he grew, 
 And the strength of the earth around him drew 
 
THE NETTLE-KING. 
 
 There was a pale stellaria meek, 
 But as he grew strong, so she grew weak ; 
 There was a campion, crimson-eyed, 
 But as he grew up, the campion died ; 
 And the blue veronica, shut from light, 
 Faded away in a sickly white ; 
 For upon his leaves a dew was hung. 
 That fell like a blight from a serpent's tongue, — 
 Nor was there a flower about the spot, 
 Herb-robert, harebell, or forget-me-not. 
 Yet up grew the Nettle like water-sedge, 
 Higher and higher above the hedge ; 
 The stuff of his leaves was strong and stout. 
 And the points of his stinging flowers stood out ; 
 And the child that went in the wood to play. 
 From the great King - nettle would shrink 
 away ! 
 
 " Now," says the Nettle, " there's none like me ! 
 
 I am as great as a plant can be ! 
 
 I have crushed each weak and tender root. 
 
 With the mighty force of my kingly foot ; 
 
 I have spread out my arms so strong and wide. 
 
 And opened my way on every side ; 
 
THE NETTLE-KING. 23 
 
 I have drawn from the earth its virtues fine, 
 
 To strengthen for me each poison-spine : 
 
 Both morn and night my leaves I've spread, 
 
 And upon the falling dews have fed, 
 
 Till I am as large as a forest-tree ; 
 
 The great wide world is the place for me ! " 
 
 Said the Nettle-king in his bravery. 
 
 Just then came up a woodman stout, — 
 
 In the thick of the wood he was peering about ; 
 
 The Nettle looked up, the Nettle looked down, 
 
 And graciously smiled on the simple clown : 
 
 " Thou knowest me well, Sir Clo^\^l," said he, 
 
 " And 'tis meet that thou reverence one like me ! " 
 
 Nothing at all the man replied. 
 
 But he lifted a scythe that was at his side. 
 
 And he cut the Nettle up by the root, 
 
 And trampled it under his heavy foot ; 
 
 He saw where the toad in its shadow lay. 
 
 But he said not a word, and went his way. 
 

 W^mf^^^ 
 
 SUMMER WOODS. 
 
 Come ye into the summer woods ; 
 
 There enteretli no annoy ; 
 All greenly wave the chestnut leaves, 
 
 And the earth is full of joy. 
 
 I cannot tell you half the sights 
 
 Of beauty you may see, — 
 The bursts of golden sunsldne, 
 
 And many a shady tree. 
 
 There, lightly swung in bowery glades, 
 The honeysuckles twine ; 
 
SUMMER WOODS. 
 
 25 
 
 There blooms the rose-red campion, 
 And the dark blue columbine. 
 
 
 There grows the four-leaved plant, " true 
 love," 
 
 In some dusk woodland spot ; 
 There grows the enchanter's nii/ht-shade, 
 
 And the wood foro-et-me-not. 
 
 And many a merry bird is there, 
 Unscared by lawless men : 
 
 The blue-winged jay, the woodpecker, 
 And the o-olden-crested wren. 
 
 r^~ 
 
 Come down, and ye shall see them all, 
 
 The timid and the bold ; 
 For their sweet life of pleasantness, 
 
 It is not to be told. 
 
 And far within that summer wood, 
 Among the leaves so gTeen, 
 
 There flows a little gurgling brook, 
 The brightest e'er was seen. 
 
26 
 
 SUMMER WOODS. 
 
 There come the little gentle birds, 
 
 Without a fear of ill, 
 Down to the murmuring water's edge 
 
 And freely drink their fill ! 
 
 And dash about and splash about — 
 
 The merry little things ; 
 And look askance with bright black eyes. 
 
 And flirt their dripping wings. 
 
 I've seen the freakish squirrels drop 
 Down from their leafy tree, 
 
 The little squirrels with the old, — 
 Great joy it was to me ! 
 
 And down unto the running brook, 
 
 I've seen them nimbly go ; 
 And the bright water seemed to speak 
 
 A welcome kind and low. 
 
SUMMER WOODS. 
 
 The nodding plants they bowed their lieads, 
 
 As if, in heartsome cheer, 
 They spake unto those little things, 
 
 " 'Tis merry living here ! " 
 
 Oh, how my heart ran o'er with joy I 
 
 I saw that all was good, 
 And that we might glean up delight 
 
 All round us, if we would ! 
 
 And many a wood-mouse dwelleth there, 
 
 Beneath the old wood shade. 
 And all day long has work to do. 
 
 Nor is of aught afraid. 
 
 The green shoots grow above their heads. 
 
 And roots so fresh and fine 
 Beneath their feet ; nor is there strife 
 
 'Mong them for mine and thine. 
 
 There is enough for every one, 
 
 And they lovingly agree ; 
 We might learn a lesson, all of us, 
 
 Beneath the grreenwood tree ! 
 
First of the months comes Janivier, 
 The coldest month of all the year ; 
 When days are short and nights are 
 
 long; 
 When snows fall deep and frost is 
 
 strong ; 
 When Wealth by fires doth count his 
 
 gold, 
 And Want stands shiverinfr all a-cold. 
 
 -Vv^^^^^i^^'^^ Wet February next comes by, 
 
 With chill damp earth and dripping sky ; 
 
THE MONTHS. 29 
 
 But, heart, cheer up ; the days speed on ; 
 Winds blow, suns shine, and thaws are gone ; 
 And in the garden may be seen 
 Upspringing flowers and buddings green. 
 
 March — lia ! he comes like March of old, 
 A blustering, cordial friend and bold ! 
 He calls the peasant to his toil. 
 And trims with him the wholesome soil. 
 Flocks multiply, the seed is sown. 
 Its increase is of Heaven alone ! 
 
 Next, April comes with shine and showers, 
 Green mantling leaves and opening flowers, 
 Loud singing birds, low humming bees, 
 And the white-blossomed orchard trees ; 
 And that which bus}^ March did sow 
 Begins in April's warmth to gi-ow. 
 
 The winter now is gone and past. 
 And flowery May advances fixst ; 
 Birds sing, rains fall, and sunshine glows. 
 Till the rich earth with joy o'erflows ! 
 
30 THE MONTHS. 
 
 Lord, who hast so crowned the spring, 
 We bless Thee for each ofracious thino^ ! 
 
 Come on, come on ! 'tis summer-time. 
 The golden year is in its prime ! 
 June speeds along 'midst flowers and dews. 
 Rainbows, clear skies, and sunset hues ; 
 And hark the cuckoo ! and the blithe 
 Low ringing of the early scythe ! 
 
 The year is full ! 'tis bright July, 
 And God in thunder passeth by 1 
 Far in the fields till close of day 
 The peasant people make the hay ; 
 And darker grows the forest bough, 
 And sino-ino- birds are silent now. 
 
 Next, August comes ! Now look around. 
 The harvest-fields are golden-crowned ; 
 And sturdy reapers bending, go, 
 With scythe or sickle, all a-row ; 
 And gleaners with their burdens boon 
 Come home beneath the harvest-moon. 
 
THE MONTHS. 31 
 
 September, rich in corn and wine, 
 Of the twelve months completeth nine. 
 Now apples rosy grow, and seed 
 Ripens in tree and flower and weed ; 
 Now the green acorn groweth brown, 
 And ruddy nuts come showering down. 
 
 The summer-time is ended now, 
 
 And autumn tinteth every bough ; 
 
 The days are bright, the air is still, 
 
 October's mists are on the hill ; 
 
 Down droops the fern, and fades the heather, 
 
 And thistle-down floats like a feather. 
 
 Dark on the earth November lies ; 
 Cloud, fog, and storm o'ergloom the skies ; 
 The matted leaves lie 'neath our tread. 
 And hollow winds wail overhead ; 
 Pile up the hearth,— its heartsome blaze 
 Cheers, like a sun, the darkest days I 
 
 The year it groweth old apace : 
 Eleven months have run their race, 
 
32 
 
 THE MONTHS. 
 
 And dull December brings to earth 
 That time which gave our Saviour birth. 
 The year is done ! — Let all revere 
 The great, good Father of the year ! 
 
 
Do ye know the little Wood-mouse, 
 
 That pretty little thing, 
 That sits amongst the forest leaves, 
 
 Beside the forest spring ? 
 
 Its fur is red as the cl^estnut, 
 
 And it is small and slim, 
 
 It leads a life most innocent 
 
 Within the forest dim. 
 3 
 
34 THE WOOD-MOUSE. 
 
 'Tis a timid, gentle creature, 
 Aiid seldom comes in sight ; 
 
 It Las a long and wiry tail, 
 
 And eyes both black and bright. 
 
 It makes its nest of soft, dry moss, 
 In a hole so deep and strong ; 
 
 And there it sleeps secure and warm. 
 The dreary winter long. 
 
 And though it keeps no calendar, 
 
 It knows when flowers are springing ; 
 
 And waketh to its summer life 
 When nightingales are singing. 
 
 Upon the boughs the squirrel sits, 
 Tlie Wood-mouse plays below ; 
 
 And plenty of food it finds itself 
 Where the beech and chestnut grow. 
 
 &* 
 
 In the hedge-sparrow's nest it sits, 
 When the summer brood is fled, 
 
 And picks the berries from the bough 
 Of the hawthorn overhead. 
 
THE WOOD-MOUSE. 35 
 
 I saw a little Wood-mouse once, 
 
 Like Oberon in his hall, 
 With the green, green moss beneatli his feet, 
 
 Sit under a mushroom tall. 
 
 I saw him sit and his dinner eat. 
 All under the forest tree — 
 
 His dinner of chestnut ripe and red, 
 And he ate it heartily. 
 
 I wish you could have seen him there 
 
 It did my spirit good. 
 To see the small thing God had made 
 
 Thus eating- in the wood. 
 
 "■'-^ 
 
36 
 
 THE WOOD -MOUSE. 
 
 I saw that He regardeth them, 
 Those creatures weak and small ; 
 
 Their table in the wild is spread 
 By Him who cares for all ! 
 
THE MILL-STREAM. 
 
 Long trails of cistus-flowers 
 
 Creej) on the rocky hill ; 
 And beds of strong spear-mint 
 
 Grow round about the mill ; 
 And from a mountain tarn above, 
 
 As peaceful as a dream, 
 Like to child unruly, 
 Though schooled and counselled truly. 
 
 Foams down the wild Mill-stream I 
 
 i'G ^T — ^ 
 
38 THE MILL-STREAM. 
 
 The wild Mill-stream it leapetli 
 In merriment away, 
 
 And keeps the miller and his son 
 Right busy all the day ! 
 
 Into the mad Mill-stream 
 
 The mountain-roses fall ; 
 And fern and adder's-tongue 
 
 Grow on the old mill wall. 
 The tarn is on the upland moor, 
 
 Where not a leaf doth grow ; 
 And through the mountain-gashes 
 The merry Mill-stream dashes 
 
 Down to the sea below. 
 But, in the quiet hollows, 
 
 The red trout groweth prime, 
 And the miller and the miller's son 
 
 They angle when they've time. 
 
 Then fair befall the stream 
 That turns the mountain-mill ; 
 
 And fair befall the narrow road 
 That windeth up the hill ! 
 
THE MILL-STREAM. 
 
 39 
 
 And good luck to the countryman, 
 And to his old gray mare, 
 
 That upward toileth steadily, 
 
 With meal-sacks laden heavily, 
 In storm as well as fair ! 
 
 And good kick to the miller. 
 And to the miller's son ; 
 
 And ever may the mill-wheel turn 
 While mountain- waters run ! 
 
 ^-l>i^^^-^i^- 
 
 5^ .,.'.,. V-. .-h^ 
 
 
'''''Mhf~^'^'~ THE HORNET. 
 
 f ^^^l'^^''^' So, there at last I've found you, my ftimous old 
 fellow ! 
 
 Ay, and mighty grand besides, in your suit of 
 red and yellow ! 
 
 I often have heard talk of you, but ne'er saw 
 you before, 
 
 And there you're standing sentinel at the Hor- 
 net-castle door ! 
 
THE HORNET. 41 
 
 Well, what a size you are ! just like a great wasp-king ! 
 What a solemn buzz you make, now you're upon the wing ! 
 I'm sure I do not wonder that people fear your sting ! 
 So ! so ! — Don't be so angry ! Why do you come at me 
 With a swoop and with a hum, — is't a crime to look at ye ? 
 See where the testy fellow goes whiz into the hole, 
 And brings out from the hollow tree his fellows in a shoal. 
 Hark ! what an awful, hollow boom ! How fierce they come ! 
 
 I'd rather 
 Just quietly step back, and stand from them a little further. 
 There, now, the Hornet-host is retreating to its den. 
 And so, good Mr. Sentinel — lo ! here I am again ! 
 Well! how the little angry wretch doth stamp and raise his 
 
 head. 
 And flirt his wings, and seem to say, " Come here — I'll sting 
 
 you dead ! " 
 No, thank you, fierce Sir Hornet, — that's not at all inviting : — 
 But what a pair of shears the fellow has for biting ! 
 What a pair of monstrous shears to carry at his head ! 
 If wasp or fly come in their gripe, that moment he is dead ! 
 There ! bite in two the whip-lash, as we poke it at your chin ! 
 See, how he bites ! but it is tough, and again he hurries in. 
 Ho ! ho ! we soon shall have the whole vindictive race, 
 With a hurry and a scurry, all flying in our face. 
 
42 THE HORNET. 
 
 To potter in a Hornet's nest, is a proverb old and good, 
 
 So it's just as well to take the hint, and retreat into the 
 
 wood. 
 Now here behind this hazel-bush we safely may look out, 
 And see what all the colony of Hornets is about. 
 Why, what a furious troop it is, how fierce they seem to be, 
 As they fly now in the sunshine, now in shadow of the 
 
 tree! 
 And yet they're noble insects ! their bodies red and yellow, 
 And large almost as little birds, how richly toned and 
 
 mellow. 
 And these old woods, so full of trees, all hollow and decayed. 
 Must be a perfect paradise, for the Hornet legions made. 
 Secure from village lads, and from gardeners' watchful eyes. 
 They may build their paper-nests, and issue for supplies 
 To orchards or to gardens, for plum, and peach, and pear, — 
 With wasp, fly, ant, and earwig, they'll have a giant's share. 
 And you, stout Mr. Sentinel, there standing at the door. 
 Though Homer said in his time, " The Hornet's soul all 
 
 o'er," — 
 You're not so very spiritual, but soon some sunny morning 
 I may find you in a green-gage, and give you little warning ; 
 Or feeding in a Windsor pear ; or at the juicy stalk 
 Of m}- negro-boy, gi'and dahlia, — too heavy much to walk ; 
 
THE HORNET. 
 
 43 
 
 Ay, very much too heavy, — tliat juicy stem deceives, — 
 " Makes faint with too much sweet such heavy- winged thieves." 
 Too heavy much to walk, — then, pray, how can you fly ? 
 No, there you'll drop upon the ground, and there you're doomed 
 to die ! 
 
 w. H. 
 
THE USE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 God might have bade the earth bring forth 
 
 Enough for great and small, 
 The oak-tree and the cedar-tree, 
 
 Without a flower at all. 
 
 We mio-ht have had enouo-h, enough 
 
 For every want of ours, 
 For luxury, medicine, and for toil, 
 
 And yet have had no flowers. 
 
THE USE OF FLOWERS. ^5 
 
 The ore within the mountain mine 
 
 Requireth none to gi'ow ; 
 Nor doth it need the lotus-flower 
 
 To make the river flow. 
 
 The clouds might give abundant rain ; 
 
 The nightly dews might fall, 
 And tlie herb that keepeth life in man 
 
 Might yet have drank them all. 
 
 Then wherefore, wherefore were they made, 
 
 Ml dyed with rainbow light, 
 All fashioned with supremest grace, 
 
 Upspringing day and night : — 
 
 Springing in valleys green and low. 
 
 And on the mountains high. 
 And in the silent wilderness 
 
 Where no man passes by ? 
 
 Our outward life requires them not — 
 
 Then wherefore had they birth ? 
 To minister delight to man, 
 
 To beautify the earth ; 
 
46 
 
 THE USE OB' FLOWERS. 
 
 To comfort man — to whisper hope, 
 Whene'er his faith is dim ; 
 
 For who so careth for the flowers 
 Will much more care for him. 
 

 THE STOCK-DOVE. 
 
 " Tell me, Stock-dove, wherefore thou art 
 moaning ever, 
 Filhng all the greenwood with thy 
 plaint of woe ? " 
 " I moan not," says the Stock-dove ; " I praise 
 the great, good Giver 
 Of life and love and sunshine in the best 
 way that I know. 
 
48 
 
 THE STOCK-DOVE. 
 
 " I learned my note in Eden, when young was all creation, 
 
 When wandered sinless Adam beneath those blessed bowers ; 
 When the morning stars thrilled heaven with shouts of exultation, 
 And the joyous Earth was radiant with a rainbow-zone of 
 flowers. 
 
 .■mi 
 
 
 " Then all the birds made vocal the new-born hills and valleys, 
 And twittered alleluias were heard in every gi'ove ; 
 And, with my mate beside me, amid the greenwood alleys, 
 I praised God as He taught me, with a cooing song of love. 
 
THE STOCK-DOVE. 49 
 
 " We did not make our singing, nor one despise tlie other 
 Because his part was humbler or different to his own ; 
 God was the loving Father, and every bird a brother-, 
 
 And all strove in glad chorus to make His goodness known. 
 
 " And if I seem to murmur and moan in endless grieving, 
 'Tis thou who hast mistaken the meaning of my lay ; 
 I moan not, neither murmur, but coo forth sweet thanksgiving 
 To that good, loving Father who feeds us day by day." 
 
 (2) 
 
Sing for the Oak-tree, 
 
 The monarch of the wood ; 
 Sing for the Oak-tree, 
 
 That groweth green and good : 
 That groweth broad and branching 
 
 Within the forest shade ; 
 That gi'oweth now, and yet shall grow 
 
 When we are lowly laid ! 
 
THE OAK-TREE. 51 
 
 The Oak-tree was an acorn once, 
 
 And fell upon the earth ; 
 And sun and showers nourished it, 
 
 And gave the Oak-tree birth. 
 The little sprouting Oak-ti'ee ! 
 
 Two leaves it had at first, 
 Till sun and showers had nourished it, 
 
 Then out the branches burst. 
 
 The little sapling Oak-tree ! 
 
 Its root was like a thread, 
 Till the kindly earth had nourished it, 
 
 Then out it freely spread : 
 On this side and on that side 
 
 It grappled with the ground ; 
 And in the ancient, rifted rock 
 
 Its firmest footing found. 
 
 The winds came, and the rain fell ; 
 
 The gusty tempests blew ; 
 All, all were friends to the Oak-tree, 
 
 And stronger yet it grew. 
 The boy that saw the acorn fall, 
 
 He feeble gi-ew and gray ; 
 
52 THE OAK-TREE. 
 
 But the Oak was still a thriving tree, 
 And strengthened every day ! 
 
 For centuries grows the Oak-tree, 
 
 Nor doth its verdure fail ; 
 Its heart is like the iron-wood, 
 
 Its bark like plated mail. 
 Now, cut us down the Oak-tree, 
 
 The monarch of the wood ; 
 And of its timber stout and strong 
 
 We'll build a vessel good ! 
 
 The Oak-tree of the forest 
 
 Both east and west shall fly ; 
 And the blessings of a thousand lands 
 
 Upon our ship shall lie ! 
 She shall not be a man-of-war, 
 
 Nor a pirate shall she be ; — 
 But a noble. Christian merchant-ship, 
 
 To sail upon the sea. 
 
 Then sing for the Oak-tree, 
 The monarch of tlie wood I 
 
THE OAK-TREE. 
 
 63 
 
 Sing for the Oak-tree, 
 
 That groweth green and good ! 
 That groweth broad and branching 
 
 Within the forest shade ; 
 That groweth now, and yet sliall grow 
 
 When we are lowly laid ! 
 
 
SUNSHINE. 
 
 I love it when it streameth in 
 
 The humble cottage door, 
 And casts the chequered casement shade 
 
 Upon the red-brick floor. 
 
 55 
 
 I love it when the children lie 
 
 Deep in the clovery grass, 
 To watch among the twining roots 
 
 The gold-green beetles pass. 
 
 I love it on the breezy sea, 
 
 To crlance on sail and oar, 
 While the great waves, like molten glass, 
 
 Come leaping to the shore. 
 
 I love it on the mountain-tops, 
 Where rests the thawless snow, 
 
SUNSHINE. 
 
 Aiid half a kingdom, bathed in light, 
 Lies stretchino; out below. 
 
 And when it shines in forest-glades, 
 
 Hidden, and green, and cool, 
 Through moss}^ boughs and veined leaves, 
 
 How is it beautiful ! 
 
 How beautiful on little streams. 
 When sun and shade, at play, 
 
 Make silvery meshes, while the brook- 
 Goes singing on its way. 
 
SUNSHINE. 57 
 
 How beautiful, where dragon-flies 
 
 Are wondrous to behold, 
 With rainbow wings of gauzy pearl, 
 
 And bodies blue and gold ! 
 
 How beautiful, on harvest slopes, 
 
 To see the sunshine lie ; 
 Or on the paler reaped fields, 
 
 Where yellow shocks stand high ! 
 
 Oh yes ! I love the sunshine ! 
 
 Like kindness or like mirth 
 Upon a human countenance. 
 
 Is sunshine on the earth ! 
 
 Upon the earth ; upon the sea ; 
 
 And through the crystal air ; 
 On piled-up cloud ; — the gracious sun 
 
 Is glorious everywhere ! 
 
HARVEST-FIELD FLOWERS. 
 
 Come down into the harvest-fields 
 
 This autumn morn with me ; 
 For in the pleasant autumn fields 
 
 There's much to hear and see. 
 On yellow slopes of wa\ang corn 
 
 The autumn sun shines clearly ; 
 And 'tis joy to Avalk, on days like this, 
 
 Among the bearded barley. 
 
HARVEST-FIELD FLOWERS. 
 
 Within the sunny harvest-fields 
 
 We'll gather flowers enow ; 
 The poppy red, the marigold, 
 
 The buglos brightly blue ; 
 We'll gather the white convolvulus. 
 
 That opes in the morning early ; 
 With a cluster of nuts, an ear o 
 wheat. 
 
 And an ear of the bearded barley. 
 
 59 
 
 '^ f 
 
 Brio-ht over the cjolden fields of corn 
 
 Doth shine the autumn sky ; 
 So let's be merry while we may. 
 
 For Time goes hurrying by. 
 They took the sickle from the wall 
 
 When morning dews shone pearly ; 
 And the mower whets the ringing 
 scythe 
 
 To cut the bearded barley. 
 
 ".5r'^ 
 
 -^m 
 
 ■r<h 
 
 in^ 
 
 Come then into the harvest-fields ; 
 
 The robin sings his song ; 
 The com stands yellow on the hills, 
 
 And autumn stays not long. 
 
60 
 
 HARVEST-FIELD FLOWERS. 
 
 They'll carry the sheaves of corn away 
 They gathered to-day so early, 
 
 Along the lanes with a rustling sound,- 
 Their loads of the bearded barley ! 
 
 "''^^ ■e- 
 
 
1> ■■'■ 
 
 CEDAR-TREES. 
 
 The Power that formed the violet, 
 
 The all-creating One ; 
 He made the stately Cedar-trees 
 
 That crowned Mount Lebanon. 
 
 And all within the garden 
 That angels came to see, 
 
 He set in crroves and on the hills 
 The goodly Cedar- tree. 
 
62 CEDAR-TREES. 
 
 There played the gladsome creatures, 
 
 Beneath its shadow dim ; 
 And from its spreading leafy boughs 
 
 Went up the wild bird's hymn. 
 
 And Eve in her young innocence 
 Delayed her footsteps there ; 
 
 And Adam's heart grew warm with praise 
 To see a tree so fair. 
 
 And though tlie world was darkened 
 With the shade of human ill, 
 
 And man was cast from Paradise, 
 Yet wast thou goodly still. 
 
 And when an ancient poet 
 Some lofty theme would sing. 
 
 He made the Cedar symbol forth 
 Each gi'eat and gracious thing. 
 
 And royal was the Cedar, 
 
 Aljove all other trees ! 
 They chose of old its scented wood 
 
 For kingly palaces. 
 
CEDAll-TREES. 
 
 And in the halls of princes, 
 And on the Phoenix-pyre, 
 
 'Twas only noble Cedar-wood 
 Could feed the odorous fire. 
 
 63 
 
 • ^V^""' 
 
 In the Temple of Jerusalem, 
 That glorious Temple old, 
 
 They only found the Cedar- wood 
 To match with carved orold. 
 
64 CEDAR-TREES. 
 
 Thou great and noble Solomon ! 
 
 What king; was e'er like thee ? 
 Thou, 'mid the princes of the earth 
 
 Wast like a Cedar-tree ! 
 
 But the giory of the Cedar-tree 
 
 Is as an old renown ; 
 And few and dwindled grow they now 
 
 Upon Mount Lebanon. 
 
 Eut dear they are to poet's heart, 
 And dear to painter's eye : 
 
 And the beauty of the Cedar-tree 
 On earth will never die ! 
 
 * 
 
# 
 
 ^^.. 
 
 THE HAREBELL. 
 
 (campanula ROTUNDIFOLIA.j 
 
 It springeth on the heath, 
 
 The forest-tree beneath, 
 
 Jjike to some elfin dweller of the wild ; 
 
 Light as a breeze astir, 
 
 Stemmed with the gossamer : 
 
 Soft as the blue eyes of a poet's child. 
 5 
 
66 THE HAREBELL. 
 
 The very flower to take 
 
 Into the heart, and make 
 The cherished memory of all pleasant places ; 
 
 Name but the light Harebell, 
 
 And straight is pictured well 
 Where'er of fallen state lie lonely traces. 
 
 We vision wild sea-rocks. 
 
 Where hang its clustering locks, 
 Waving at dizzy height o'er ocean's brink ; 
 
 The hermit's lonesome cell ; 
 
 The forest's sylvan well. 
 Where the poor wounded hart came down 
 to drink. 
 
THE HAREBELL. 67 
 
 We vision moors far spread, 
 
 Where blooms the heather red, 
 And hunters with their dogs lie down at noon. 
 
 Lone shepherd-boys, who keep 
 
 On mountain-sides their sheep, 
 Cheating the time with flowers and fancies boon. 
 
 Old slopes of pasture ground ; 
 
 Old fosse, and moat, and mound, 
 Where the mailed warrior and crusader came ; 
 
 Old walls of crumbling stone, 
 
 Wliere trails tlie snap-dragon ; 
 Rise at the mention of the Harebell's name. 
 
 We see the sere turf brown, 
 
 And the dry yarrow's crown 
 Scarce raising from the stem its thick-set flowers; 
 
 The pale hawkweed we see, 
 
 The blue-flowered chiccor}^ 
 And the strong ivy-growth o'er crumbling towers. 
 
 Light Harebell, there thou art. 
 Making a lovely part 
 Of the old splendour of the days gone by ; 
 
68 
 
 THE HAREBELL. 
 
 Waving, if but a breeze 
 Pant through the chestnut-trees, 
 That on the hill-top grow, broad-branched and high. 
 
 Oh, when I look on thee, 
 
 In th}' foir S3nnmetry, 
 And look on other flowers as fair beside, 
 
 My sense is gratitude. 
 
 That God has been thus good, 
 To scatter flowers, like common blessings, wide ! 
 
Ah, there's the lily, marble pale, 
 1/ The bonny broom, the cistus frail ; 
 The rich sweet-pear, the iris blue, 
 The larkspur with its peacock hue ;— 
 Each one is fair, yet hold I will 
 That the Rose of Ma}' is fairer still. 
 
 'Tis gi'and 'neath palace walls to grow. 
 To blaze where lords and ladies go ; 
 To hang o'er marble founts, and shine 
 In modern gardens trim and line ; 
 
70 
 
 THE ROSE OF MAY. 
 
 But the Rose of May is only seen 
 Where the great of other days have been. 
 
 The house is mouldering stone by stone, 
 The garden- walks are overgrown ; 
 The flowers are low, the weeds are high, 
 The fountain-stream is choked and dry ; 
 The dial-stone with moss is green, 
 Where'er the Rose of May is seen. 
 
 The Rose of May its pride displayed 
 Along the old stone balustrade ; 
 And ancient ladies, quaintly dight, 
 In its pink blossoms took delight, 
 
THE ROSE OF MAY. 71 
 
 And on the steps would make a stand, 
 To scent its sweetness, fan in hand. 
 
 Long have been dead those ladies gay ; 
 Their very heirs have passed away ; 
 And their old portraits, prim and tall, 
 Are mouldering in the mouldering hall ; 
 The terrace and the balustrade 
 Lie broken, weedy, and decayed. 
 
 But, lithe and tall, the Rose of May 
 Shoots upward through the ruin gray, 
 With scented flower, and leaf pale green, 
 Such rose as it hath ever been ; 
 Left, like a noble deed, to grace 
 The memory of an ancient race. 
 
> ■ >i 
 
 
 /V 
 
 V^P" 
 
 1'^ 
 
 'S.^ 
 
 THE FLAX-FLOWER 
 
 THE little Flax-flower ! 
 
 It groweth on the hill, 
 And, be the breeze awake or sleep, 
 
 It never standeth still. 
 It groweth, and it groweth fast ; 
 
 One day it is a seed. 
 And then a little grassy blade, 
 
 Scarce better than a weed. 
 But then out comes the Flax-flower, 
 
 As blue as is the sky ; 
 And " 'Tis a dainty little thing ! " 
 
 We say, as we go by. 
 
 i 
 
THE FLAX-FLOWER. 73 
 
 A goodly little thing it is ! 
 
 It growetli for the poor, 
 And many a peasant blesses it, 
 
 Beside his cottage door. 
 He thinketh how those slender steins, 
 
 That simmer in the sun. 
 Are rich for him in web and woof, 
 
 And shortly shall be spun. 
 He thinketh how those tender flowers, 
 
 Of seed will yield him store : 
 And sees in thought his next year's 
 crop 
 
 Blue shining round his door. 
 
 The little, useful Flax-flower ! 
 
 The mother, then says she, — 
 " Go pull the thyme, the heath, the fern, 
 
 But let the Flax-flower be ! 
 It groweth for the children's sake, 
 
 It groweth for our own ; 
 There are flowers enough upon the hill. 
 
 But leave the Flax alone ! 
 The farmer hath his fields of wheat, 
 
 Much cometh to his share ; 
 
74 THE FLAX-FLOWER. 
 
 We have this little plot of Flax, 
 That we have tilled with care. 
 
 " Our squire he hath the holt and hill, 
 
 Great halls and noble rent ; 
 We only have the Flax-field, 
 
 Yet therewith are content. 
 We watch it morn, we watch it night, 
 
 And when the stars are out. 
 The good-man and the little ones, 
 
 They pace it round about ; 
 For it we wish the sun to shine, 
 
 For it the rain to fall ; 
 Good lack ! for who is j)Oor doth make 
 
 Great count of what is small ! " 
 
 The goodly, kindly Flax-flower ! 
 
 It groweth on the hill, 
 And be the breeze awake or sleep, 
 
 It never standeth still ! 
 It seemeth all astir with life, 
 
 As if it loved to tlirive ; 
 As if it had a merry lieart 
 
 Within its stem alive ! 
 
THE FLAX-FLOWER. 
 
 Then fair befall the Flax-field ! 
 
 And may the fruitful showers 
 Give strength unto its shining stem, 
 
 Give seed unto its flowers ! 
 
 
1 
 
 Ah, sweet cousin Blanche, let's see 
 What's the flower resembling thee ! 
 With those dove-like eyes of thine, 
 And thy fair hair's silken twine ; 
 With thy low, broad forehead, white 
 As marble, and as purely bright ; 
 With thy mouth so calm and sweet, 
 And thy dainty hands and feet ; 
 What's the flower most like thee ? 
 
FLOWER COMPARISONS. . 77 
 
 Blossom of the orange-tree ! 
 
 Where may the bright flower be met 
 That can match with Margaret,— 
 Margaret, stately, staid, and good, 
 Growing up to womanhood ; 
 Loving, thoughtful, wise, and kind, 
 Pure in heart and strong in mind ? 
 Eyes deep blue as is the sky 
 When the full moon sails on high ; 
 Eyebrow true and forehead fair, 
 And dark, richly-braided hair, 
 And a queenly head well set, 
 Crown my maiden Margaret. 
 Where's the flower that thou canst 
 
 find 
 Match for her in form and mind ? 
 
 Fair white lilies, having birth 
 In their native genial earth ; — 
 These, in ^cent and queenly grace, 
 Match thy maiden's form and face 1 
 
 Now for madcap Isabel — 
 
FLOWER COMPARISONS. 
 
 What shall suit her, prithee tell ? 
 Isabel is brown and wild ; 
 Will be evermore a child ; 
 Is all laughter, all vagary, 
 Has the spirit of a fairy. 
 Are you grave ? — The gipsy sly 
 Turns on you her merry eye, 
 And you laugh, despite your will. 
 Isabel is never still. 
 Always doing, never done. 
 Be it mischief, work, or fun. 
 Isabel is short and brown, 
 Soft to touch as eider-down ; 
 Tempered like the balmy south. 
 With a rosy, laughing mouth ; 
 Cheeks just tinged with peachy red, 
 And a graceful Hebe head ; 
 Hair put up in some wild way. 
 Decked with a hedge-rose's spray. 
 Now, where is the bud or bell 
 That may match with Isabel ? 
 
 Streaky tulip, jet and gold, 
 Dearly priced whenever sold ; 
 
FLOWER COMPARISONS. 79 
 
 Rich in colour, low and sweet, 
 This for Isabel is meet. 
 
 Last for Jeanie, grave and mild— 
 Jeanie never was a child ! 
 Sitting on her mother's knee, 
 Hers was thoughtful infancy ; 
 Growing up so meek and good, 
 Even from her babyhood. 
 All her mother's labour sharing ; 
 For the house and children caring; 
 To her bed in silence creeping ; 
 Rising early, little sleeping ; 
 Learning soon of care and need ; 
 Learning late to write and read ; 
 To all hardships reconciled, 
 For she was a poor man's child ! 
 What's the lowly flower of earth 
 Match for Jeanie's humble worth ? . 
 
 Soon poor Jeanie's flower is met — 
 The meek, precious violet ! 
 
Ha ' 
 
 ^ There once was a garden grand and old, 
 Its stately walks were trodden by few ; 
 And there, in its driest and deepest mould, 
 The dark green poisonous Mandrake grew. 
 
 Tbat garden's lord was a learned man, — 
 It is of an ancient time we tell, — 
 
 He was grim and stem, with a visage wan, 
 And had books which only he could spell. 
 
THE MANDRAKE. 81 
 
 He liad been a monk in his younger days, 
 They said, and travelled by land and sea ; 
 
 And now, in his old, ancestral place, 
 He was come to study in privacy. 
 
 A garden it was both large and lone, 
 And in it was temple, cave, and mound ; 
 
 The trees were with ivy overgroAvn, 
 
 And the depth of its lake no line had found. 
 
 Some said that the springs of the lake lay deep 
 
 Under the fierce volcano's root ; 
 For the water would ofttimes curl and leap 
 
 When the summer air was calm and mute. 
 
 And all along o'er its margin dank 
 
 Hung massy branches of evergreen ; 
 And among the pebbles upon the bank 
 
 The playful water-snakes were seen. 
 
 And yew-trees old, in the alleys dim, 
 
 Were cut into dragon shapes of dread ; 
 And in midst of shadow, grotesque and grim. 
 
 Stood goat-limbed statues of sullen lead. 
 
THE MANDRAKE. 
 
 The garden beds they were long, and all 
 With a tangle of flowers were overgrown ; 
 
 And each was screened with an ancient wall, 
 Or parapet low of mossy stone. 
 
 And from every crevice and broken ledge 
 The harebell blue and wall-flower sprung ; 
 
 And from the wall to the water's edge 
 Wild masses of tendrilled creepers hung ; 
 
 For there was a moat outside, where slept 
 Deep waters, with slimy moss grown o'er ; 
 
 And a wall and a tower securely kept 
 By a ban-dog fierce at a grated door. 
 
 This garden's lord was a scholar wise — 
 A scholar wise, with a learned look ; 
 
 He studied by night the starry skies. 
 And all day long some ancient book. 
 
 There were lords hard by who lived by S})oil, 
 But he did the men of war eschew ; 
 
 There were lowly seifs who tilled the soil, 
 But with toilinc: serfs he had nought to do. 
 
THE MANDRAKE. 
 
 Lut now and then might with him be seen 
 Two other old men with look jDrofound, 
 
 Who peered 'mid the leaves of the ]\Iandrake 
 green, 
 And lightened with care the soil around. 
 
 83 
 
 >^-'t v^"^ 
 
 For the king was sick, and of help had need : 
 Or he had a foe whom art must quell, 
 
 So he sent to the learned man with speed 
 To gather for him a Mandrake spell. 
 
THE MANDRAKE. 
 
 And at night, when the moon was at the full, 
 When the air was still and the stars were out, 
 
 Came the three the Mandrake root to pull, 
 With the help of the ban-dog fierce and stout. 
 
 Oh, the Mandrake root ! and the}^ listened, all three. 
 For awful sounds, and they spoke no word ; 
 
 And when the owl screeched from the hollow tree. 
 They said 'twas the Mandrake's groan they heard. 
 
 And words they n^uttered, but what none knew, 
 
 With motion slow of hand and foot ; 
 Then into the cave the three withdrew, 
 
 And carried with them the Mandrake root. 
 
 They were all scholars of high degree, 
 
 So they took the root of the Mandrake fell. 
 
 And cut and carved it hideously, 
 And muttered it into a magic spell. 
 
 Then who had been there by dawn of day, 
 
 Micjht have seen the two from the o-rated door 
 
 Speed forth ; and as sure as they went away, 
 The magic Mandrake root they bore. 
 
THE MANDRAKE. 
 
 85 
 
 And the old lord up in his chamber sat, 
 Blessing himself, sedate and mute, 
 
 That he thus could gift the wise and great 
 With more than ofold — the Mandrake root. 
 
I LOVE those pictures that we see 
 
 At times in some old gallery. 
 
 Hung amid armed men of old, 
 
 And antique ladies quaint and colJ ; 
 
 'Mong furious battle-pieces, dire 
 
 With agony, and blood, and fire ; — ■ 
 
 Flower-pictures, painted long ago, 
 
 Thougli worn and old, and dimmed of glow, 
 
 I love them, although ai-t may deem 
 
 Such pictures but of light esteem. 
 
FLOWER-PAINTINGS. 
 
 There are tlie red rose and the wliite, 
 And stems of lilies strong and bright ; 
 The leaf and tendril of the vine ; 
 The iris and the columbine ; 
 The streaky tulip, gold and jet ; 
 The amaranth and violet ; 
 There is the bright jonquil ; the trail 
 Of bind-weed, chalice-like and pale ; 
 The crumpled poppy, brave and bold ; 
 The pea; the pink; the marigold. 
 
 There are they grouped, in form and hue, 
 Flower, bud, and leaf to nature true ! 
 Yes, although slighted and forlorn. 
 And oft the mark of modern scorn, 
 I love such pictures, and mine eye 
 With cold regard ne'er passed them by. 
 I love them most, that they present 
 Some pious, antique sentiment : 
 The Virgin-Mother, young and mild ; 
 The cradle of the Holy Child ; 
 Or, 'mid a visioned glory faint. 
 The meek brow of some martyred saint ; 
 
8S 
 
 FLOWER-rAINTINGS. 
 
 And with their painters I can find 
 A kindred sympathy of mind. 
 
 Flowers are around me bright of hue, 
 The quaint old favourites and the new, 
 In form and colour infinite, 
 Each one a creature of delio-ht. 
 But with this fair ari*ay is brought 
 Full many a deep and holy thought, 
 For garden-beds to me, and bowei'S, 
 Like the old pictures of the flowei^s. 
 Within their bloomy depths enshrine 
 A hymn of praise, a thought divine ! 
 
 ^. §^ 
 
90 THE WILD SPRING-CROCUS. 
 
 Tlirougli meiTy England you might ride, — 
 Tlirougli all its length from side to side, — 
 Through lifty counties, nor have spied 
 This flower so passing tair. 
 
 But in these meadow^s it is growing. 
 
 And now it is the early spiing ; 
 And see ! from out the kindly earth 
 How thousand thousands issue forth 
 As if it gloried to give birtli 
 
 To such a lovely thing. 
 
 Like lilac-flame its colour glows, 
 Tender, and yet so clearly bright. 
 
 That all for miles and miles about 
 
 The splendid meadow shineth out ; 
 
 And far-off" village children shout 
 To see the \velcome siirht. 
 
 I love the odorous hawthorn-flower ; 
 I love the wilding's bloom to see ; 
 
THE WILD SPRING-CROCUS. 91 
 
 I love the ligiit anemones, 
 That tremble to the faintest breeze ; 
 And hyacinth-like orchises 
 Are very dear to me ! 
 
 The star-wort is a faiiy-tlower ; 
 
 The violet is a thing to prize ; 
 The wild-pink on the craggy ledge ; 
 The waving sword-like water-sedge, 
 And e'en the Robin-run-i'-th'-hedo;e, 
 
 Are precious in mine eyes. 
 
 7es, yes, I love them all, bright things ! 
 
 But then, such glorious flowers as these 
 Are dearer still. I'll tell you why: 
 There's joy in many and many an eye 
 When first goes forth the welcome cry 
 
 Of—" Lo, the Crocuses ! " 
 
 Then little toiling children leave 
 
 Their care, and here by thousands throng, 
 
92 THE WILD SPRIXG-CROCUS. 
 
 And through the shining meadow run, 
 And gather them ; not one by one, 
 But by grasped handfuls, where are none 
 To say that they do wrong. 
 
 They run, they leap, they sliout for joy ; 
 
 They bring their infant brethren here ; 
 Tliey fill each little pinafore; 
 They bear their baskets brimming o'er , 
 Within their very hearts they store 
 
 This first joy of the year. 
 
 Yes, joy in these abundant meadows 
 
 Pours out like to the earth's o'erflowing ; 
 
 And, less that they are beautiful 
 
 Than that they are so plentiful, 
 
 So free for every child to pull, 
 I love to see them orowino:. 
 
 And here, in our own fields they grow — 
 An English flower, but ver}- rare ; 
 
THE WILD SPRIXG-CROCUS. 
 
 Tlirougli all the kingdom you may ride, 
 O'er marshy flat, on mountain-side, — 
 Nor ever see, outstretching wide, 
 Such flowery meadows fair ! 
 
 93 
 
I HAD a Garden when a clnkl ; 
 
 I ke]it it all in order ! 
 'Twas full of flowers as it could be, 
 
 And London-pride was its border. 
 
 And soon as came the ])leasant sjnin*;, 
 The sincrincj-birds built in it, — 
 
 The blackbird and the throstle-cock, 
 The woodlark and the linnet. 
 
THE GARDEN. 95 
 
 And all within my Garden ran 
 
 A labyrinth-walk so mazy ; 
 In the middle there grew a yellow rose, 
 
 At each end a Michaelmas-daisy. 
 
 I had a bush of southern-wood, 
 
 And two of bright mezereon ; 
 A peony root, a snow-white phlox, 
 
 And a plant of red valerian ; 
 
 A lilac-tree, and a guelder-rose ; 
 
 A broom, and a tiger-lily ; 
 And I walked a dozen miles to find 
 
 The true wild daffodilly. 
 
 I had columbines, both pink and blue. 
 
 And thalictrum like a feather ; 
 And the bright goat's-beard, that shuts its leaves 
 
 Before a change of weather. 
 
 I had marigolds, and gilliflowers, 
 
 And pinks all pinks exceeding; 
 I'd a noble root of love-in-a-mist, 
 
 And plenty of love-lies-bleeding. 
 
THE GARDEN. 
 
 I had Jacob's ladder, Aaron's rod, 
 
 And the peacock-gentianella ; 
 1 had asters, more than I can tell, 
 
 And lupins blue and yellow. 
 
 I set a grain of Indian corn, 
 
 One day in an idle humour, 
 And the grain sprung up six feet or more, 
 
 My glory for a summer. 
 
 I found far off in the pleasant fields, 
 More flowers than I can mention 
 
 I found the English asphodel. 
 
 And the spring and autumn gentian. 
 
 I found the orchis, fly and bee, 
 And the cistus of the mountain ; 
 
 The money-wort, and the green hart's-tongue, 
 Beside an old wood fountain. 
 
 I found, within another wood, 
 
 The rare pyrola blowing ; 
 For wherever there was a curious flower, 
 
 I was sure to find it growing. 
 
THE GARDEN. 97 
 
 I set tliem in my Garden beds, 
 
 Those beds I loved so dearly, 
 
 » 
 
 Where I laboured after set of sun, 
 And in summer mornings early. 
 
 Oh ! my pleasant Garden-plot ! — 
 
 A shrubbery was beside it, 
 And an old and mossy apple-tree, 
 
 With a woodbine wreathed to hide it. 
 
 There was a bower in my Garden-plot, 
 
 A spiraea grew before it ; 
 Behind it was a laburnum-tree 
 
 And a wild hop clambered o'er it. 
 
 Ofttimes I sat within my bower, 
 
 Like a king in all his glory ; 
 Ofttimes I read, and read for hours, 
 
 Some pleasant, wondrous story. 
 
 I read of Gardens in old times, — 
 
 Old stately Gardens, kingly, 
 Where people walked in gorgeous crowds, 
 
 Or, for silent nmsing, singly. 
 
 (2) 7 
 
THE GARDEN. 
 
 I raised up visions in my brain, 
 
 The noblest and the fairest ; 
 But still I loved my Garden best, 
 
 And thought it far the rarest. 
 
 And all amongst my flowers I walked, 
 Like a miser 'midst his treasure : 
 
 For that pleasant plot of Garden ground 
 Was a world of endless pleasure. 
 
 ->^(~C' s^"^ **" 
 
 ^-'«t;^ 
 
 _-^;^ „i^ 
 
 
 
m 
 
 WILD FLOWERS. 
 
 Go, Florence, gather Wild Flowers, 
 
 My little merry Florence, do ! 
 Run all about ; — see here and there, 
 Far off, a-nigh, and everywhere 
 They spring up, white and blue. 
 
 White and blue and red and yellow, 
 Round about our path they shine ; — 
 
 Everywhere beneath our feet 
 
 Spring up wild flowers fresh and sweet, 
 To dadden hearts like thine : 
 
100 WILD FLOWERS. 
 
 But lately and the earth was cold, — 
 Brown and bare as it could be, — 
 
 Not an orchis to be seen ; 
 
 Not a hooded anim green ; 
 Not a ficary ! 
 
 Lately even the primroses, 
 
 Each one like a gentle star, 
 King-cups like to flowers of gold, 
 Daisies white, a thousandfold, 
 Were not — now they are ! 
 
 Could the wealth of London town 
 
 Have been given three months ago. 
 To call these several wnld flowers forth. 
 And o'er the bosom of the earth 
 To cast this grlorious show, 
 
 The wealth of London had been vain.— 
 Look round about and sec them now 
 Li wood and waste, on hill and plain. 
 On the green banks of every lane ; 
 On every hanging bough ! 
 
WILD flowers! •'''''" ^' >'',' ; '\ i '• ;' i /i.'n 
 
 The wind-flower waveth in the grass ; 
 
 The blue-bell noddeth 'neath the trees ; 
 The ancient leafy sycamore, — 
 The older oak is covered o'er 
 
 With pale green racimes ; 
 
 Look round ! a brown and husked seed," 
 
 A berry, or a kemelled stone — 
 A small and worthless thing to see — 
 Contains a flower, enfolds a tree ; 
 
 And hence all these have grown. 
 
 Look round ! the sunshine and the air. 
 The water-brooks that smoothly glide ; 
 
 The mother Earth that keeps and warms ; 
 
 Soft-falling dews, careering storms, — 
 Have nourishment supplied. 
 
 O gracious handiworks of God ! 
 
 And thus is clothed the barren wild 
 With flowers, so many and so fair, 
 That spring, innumerous, everywliere, 
 
 To please a little child ! 
 
ipe/, ''"' 
 
 WILD FLOWERS. 
 
 Go, Florence, gather wild flowers, 
 Go, gather of the flowers thy fill 
 
 ^>^^ 
 
 The blue-bell and the orchis red. 
 The boughs of wilding overhead, 
 The cistus from the hill. 
 
 Go, bring me sprays of yellow broom,- 
 Its flowers are wondrous fair to see ! 
 
 Go, bring the budding grass and reed ; 
 
 The opening flower of every weed 
 Shall be a joy to thee ! 
 
WILD FLOWERS. 
 
 For, looking on a little flower, 
 
 A holy truth shall reach thy heart— 
 A glimpse of that divinest plan, 
 That bond of love 'twixt God and man, 
 In which even thou hast part! 
 
 103 
 
BIRDS. 
 
 THE sunny summer-time ! 
 
 the leafy sunmier-time ! 
 Merry is the Bird's life, 
 
 When the year is in its prime ! 
 Birds are by the waterfalls 
 
 Dashing in the rainbow spray ; 
 Everywhere, everywhere, 
 
 Light and lovely, there are tliey ! 
 Birds are in the forest old, 
 
 Building in each hoary tree ; 
 
BIRDS. 
 
 Birds are on tlie green liills ; 
 Birds are by tlie sea ! 
 
 In the heather on the hill ; 
 
 All among the mountain thyme ; 
 By the little brook-sides, 
 
 Where the sparkling waters chime ; 
 On the moor and in the fen, 
 
 'Mong the wortle-berries green ; 
 In the yeUow furze-bush, — 
 
 There the joyous Bird is seen. 
 
 105 
 
 O'er the crag, and o'er the peak 
 Splintered, savage, wild, and bare, 
 
 On wild wing the Bird-flocks 
 Wheel amid the air. 
 
106 BIRDS. 
 
 Wheel amid the breezy air, 
 
 Singing, screaming in their flight, 
 Callins: to their Bird-mates, 
 
 In a troubleless delight ! 
 In the green and leafy wood. 
 
 Where the branching ferns up-curl, 
 Soon as is the dawning, 
 
 Wakes the mavis and the merle ; 
 Wakes the cuckoo on the bough ; 
 
 Wakes the jay with ruddy breast ; 
 Wakes the mother ring-dove, 
 
 Brooding on her nest ! 
 
 O the sunny summer-time ! 
 
 O the leafy summer-time ! 
 Merry is the Bird's life, 
 
 When the year is in its prime ! 
 Some are strong and some are weak ; 
 
 Some love day and some love 
 night ; 
 But whate'er a Bird is, 
 
 Whate'er loves — it has delight, 
 In the joyous song it sings ; 
 
 In the liquid air it cleaves ; 
 
BIRDS. 
 
 107 
 
 In the sunshine ; in the shower ; 
 In the nest it weaves ! 
 
 
 Do we wake ; or do we sleep ; 
 
 Go our fancies in a crowd 
 After many a dull care — 
 
 Birds are singing loud ! 
 Sing then, linnet ; sing then, wren ; 
 
 Merle and mavis, sing your fill ; 
 
108 
 
 BIRDS. 
 
 And thou, rapturous skylark, 
 Sing and soar up from the hill ! 
 
 Sing, O nightingale, and pour 
 Out for us sweet fancies new ! — 
 
 Singing thus for us, Birds, 
 We will sing of you ! 
 
 
 
-^r. 
 
 -^'jm&^ 
 
 Cousin Marion, come and see 
 What these pretty flowers may be. 
 Yester-morn my brother John, 
 Ere the shining dews were gone. 
 He and I set out to go 
 
 L 
 
 .-I To the heights of Eder-low, — 
 \V3 And these flowers gi^ew by the way ; 
 Wliat their names, I pray thee say ! 
 
110 THE FLOWER-LESSON. 
 
 Thus, upon a summer noon, 
 In the flowery month of June, 
 Spoke a little country-maiden. 
 To her cousin, flower-laden ; 
 " Here is bud and here is bell — 
 What their names, I pray thee tell ? " 
 
 Down the merry maidens bent ; 
 Each u})on her task intent ; 
 Happy -hearted child was each, 
 Til is to listen, that to teach, — 
 " Here is bud and here is bell — 
 What their names, sweet Marion, tell ? 
 
 .MARION. 
 
 This, the ladies'-mantle, see — 
 Silken, as it ought to be, — 
 Folded, fan-like, with such care, 
 As for bright Queen Mab to wear. 
 That — in wayside woods it grows — 
 Is our English caielder-rose. 
 
 AMY. 
 In a little running brook, 
 Where came never fisher's hook, 
 
THE FLOWER-LESSON. HI 
 
 Where the birds build all unhurt, 
 Grew this flower. 
 
 MARION. 
 
 'Tis money- wort. 
 Well I love those shady nooks, 
 Love this flower, and love those brooks. 
 This, — the water-violet, — 
 
 AMY. 
 
 In a meadow-pool we met. 
 Where the stately water-lily 
 Lay so marble-like and stilly ! 
 
 MARION. 
 This, — oh, yes, I know it well, — 
 Is the English asphodel : 
 In the turfy bogs you found it, 
 Brown osmunda growing round it. 
 
 AMY. 
 
 Where the shining lizard liideth. 
 Where the speckled viper slideth, — 
 
112 
 
 THE FLOWER-LESSON. 
 
 'Mmm^- 
 
 MARION. 
 
 Where the spicy sweet-gale springs, 
 And afar its odour flings ; 
 All amongst the mosses many, 
 On those wilds so brown and fenny, 
 
 'Mongst the wortlc-berries crude, 
 
 In a trackless solitude. 
 
 Shining out, like sunshine yellow, 
 
 In a picture old and mellow, 
 
THE FLOWER-LESSON. 113 
 
 Lay the beds of asphodel ; — 
 Golden flowers ! I love them well ! 
 These — the columbines, dark blue — 
 
 AMY. 
 
 In the woods of Eder grew, 
 Nodding on their graceful stems 
 Like to sapphire diadems. 
 
 MARION. 
 This — the bearded wayside barley — 
 Groweth late and cometh early. 
 Dry and husky, crisp and hard, 
 Like this grass, the wiry nard. 
 Ah, and here's the wormwood hoary ; 
 And the yellow fumitory ; 
 And the trailing snap-dragon ; — 
 These love ruins, every one : 
 In some ancient place they grew. 
 
 AMY. 
 Cousin Marion, that is true, — 
 On the abbey's ruined wall, 
 
 (2) 8 
 
114 THE FLOWER-LESSON. 
 
 In the dry turf grew they all ; — 
 This sprang in the woods above — 
 
 MARION. 
 
 That strange plant is called true-love, — 
 Four round leaves and one dull flower, 
 Fitted for enchanter's bower. 
 
 AMY. 
 
 Here's the sky-blue periwinkle, 
 
 MARION. 
 
 There the sundew's diamonds, twinkle ; 
 This — its name I scarce need tell — 
 "' * Is the scarlet pimpernel : 
 
 'Mongst the budding corn it grew. 
 
 AMY. 
 
 Marion, look ! this flower so blue, 
 On the rocky heights we found, 
 In the cairn-stones' mossy round, 
 Where the cool, fresh breezes blow, — 
 On the top of Eder-low. 
 
THE FLOWER-LESSON. ' 115 
 
 MARION. 
 
 Yes, I know the breezy hill, 
 Solitary, stem, and still, — 
 There with eager feet I ran 
 Oft to call valerian. — 
 Dear to me that old hill's crowii, 
 With its turf so dry and brown, 
 And its ring of mossy stone ! 
 
 AMY. 
 
 Would that we that place had known ! 
 
 MARION. 
 
 Dear to me the raven's cry, 
 Sounding as it soareth l^y ; — 
 Dear to me the gray-faced sheep, 
 Standing timidly to peep 
 But one moment, then are gone. 
 
 AMY. 
 Would that we these things had known ! 
 But, sweet Cousin Marion, 
 On the morrow let us go, — 
 Thou with us, — to Eder-low. 
 
116 
 
 THE FLOWER-LESSON. 
 
 Brother John right glad will hi 
 We shall make a merry three — 
 Let us on the moiTow go ! 
 
 MARION. 
 Happy thought ! to Eder-low 1 
 
Nay, only look what I have found ! 
 A Sparrow's Nest upon the ground 
 A Sparrow's Nest, as you may see. 
 Blown out of yonder old elm-tree. 
 
 And what a medley thing it is ! 
 I never saw a nest like this, — 
 Not neatly wove with tender care, 
 Of silvery moss and shining hair ; 
 
118 THE sparrow's NEST. 
 
 But put together, odds and ends, 
 Picked up from enemies and friends ; 
 See, bits of thread, and bits of rag, 
 Just like a little rubbish-bag ! 
 
 Here is a scrap of red and brown, 
 Like tlie old washer-woman's gown ; 
 And here is muslin, pink and green, 
 And bits of calico between. 
 
 Oh, never thinks the lady fair. 
 As she goes by with dainty air, 
 How the pert Sparrow overhead, 
 Has robbed her gown to make its bed ! 
 
 See, hair of dog and fur of cat. 
 
 And rovings of a worsted mat, 
 
 And shreds of silk, and many a feather, 
 
 Compacted cunningly together ! 
 
 Well, here has hoarding been, and hiving, 
 And not a little good contriving, 
 Before a home of peace and ease 
 Was fashioned out of things like these ! 
 
THE sparrow's NEST. 119 
 
 Tliink, had these odds and ends been brought 
 To some wise men renowned for thought, — 
 Some man, of men a very gem. 
 Pray, what could he have done with them ? 
 
 If we had said, " Here, sir, we bring 
 You many a worthless little thing. 
 Just bits and scraps, so very small, 
 That they have scarcely size at all ; 
 
 • And out of these you must contrive 
 A dwelling large enough for five ; 
 Neat, warm, and snug,; with comfort stored ; 
 Where five small things may lodge and board." 
 
 How would the man of learning vast 
 Have been astonished and aghast ; 
 And vowed that such a thing had been 
 Ne'er heard of, thought of, much less seen ! 
 
 Ah ! man of learning, you are wrong ! 
 Instinct is, more than wisdom, strong ; 
 And He who made the Sparrow, taught 
 This skill beyond your reach of thought. 
 
120 
 
 THE SPARROW S NEST. 
 
 And here, in this uncostly nest, 
 Five little creatures have been blest ; 
 Nor have kings known, in palaces, 
 Half their contentedness in this — 
 Poor, simple dwelling as it is ! 
 
' In the very heart of Winter-burn wood, 
 -_ \ Last summer an Ivy-bush there stood ; 
 As strong as an oak, as thick as a yew, 
 ^'^*^' "i This Ivy-bush in the forest grew: 
 Let us go down this day, and see 
 If in Winter-burn still ffi'ows this tree. 
 
122 THE IVY-BUSH. 
 
 Now we are here : — the words I spoke 
 Were not, ye see, an idle joke ! 
 Stem, branch, and root, what think ye all 
 Of this Ivy-bush so broad and tall ? 
 Many and many a year, I wis, 
 The tree has throve, ere it grew to this ; 
 Many a year has tried its speed, 
 Since this old bush was an ivy-seed ; 
 And the woodman's children that were then, 
 Long years ago were ancient men. 
 And now no more on earth are seen ; 
 But the Ivy-bush is hale and green ; 
 And ere it sinks in slow decay. 
 Years and years will have passed away. 
 
 All round about 'mong its twisting boughs 
 Many old owls do snugly house. 
 Warm feathered o'er ; yet none can see 
 How they winking sit in the Ivy-tree, 
 For the leaves are thick as they can be. 
 But at fall of night, when the stars come out, 
 The old owls begin to move about ; 
 And the Ivy-bush, like a busy hive. 
 Within its leaves is all alive ; 
 
THE IVY-BUSH. 123 
 
 And Avere you here, you would declare 
 
 That the very bush began to stare ; 
 
 For amid the dusk of leaves dark green, 
 
 The owl eyes look out fixed and keen ; 
 
 North and south, and round about, 
 
 East and west those eyes look out. 
 
 And anon is heard afar and nigh 
 
 How the Ivy-bush sends forth a cry — 
 
 A cry so long, a cry so wild, 
 
 That it wakes almost the cradled child ; 
 
 And the coach that comes with its peopled 
 
 load, 
 Man, woman and babe, up the hilly road, 
 They hear in amaze the sudden hoot 
 That shakes the old bush, branch and root ; 
 And the caped-up coachman, then says he, 
 " In Winter-burn there grows a tree, 
 And in this tree more owls abide 
 Than in all Winter-bum beside ; 
 And every night, as we climb this brow, 
 The owls hoot out as they're hooting now ! " 
 
 And when they hoot, and when they shout, 
 'Tis woe to the wood-mice all about ; 
 
124 THE IVY-BUSH. 
 
 And when the fires of their eyes appear, 
 The weak little birds they quake for fear — 
 For they know that the owls, with a fierce 
 
 delight, 
 Riot and feast, like lords, at night. 
 
 Old bush, of ivy-trees the prime, 
 Men find thee out at Christmas-time ; 
 From the distant town, through frost and 
 
 snow, 
 To the woods of Winter-burn they go ; 
 And were Care killed by an ivy bough, 
 What a killer of Care, old tree, wert thou ! 
 For high in the hall, with laughter merry. 
 They hang thy twigs with their powdered 
 
 berry ; 
 And the red-gemmed holly they mix also 
 With the spectral branches of mistletoe. 
 Rare old tree ! and the cottage small 
 Is decked as well as the baron's hall : 
 For the children's hands are busy and fain 
 To dress up the little window-pane. 
 And set in the chinks of the roof-tree wood 
 The holly and ivy, green and good. 
 
THE IVY-BUSH. 
 
 125 
 
 'Twere well for us, thou rare old tree 1 
 C'ould we gladden the human heart like thee — 
 Like thee and the holly, that thus make gay 
 The lowliest cot for a winter's day I 
 

 THE NEST OF THE 
 
 LONG-TAILED TITMOUSE. 
 
 In books of travel I have heard 
 
 About the clever tailor-bird ; 
 
 A bird of wondrous skill, that sews, 
 
 Upon the bough whereon it grows, 
 
 A leaf into a nest so fair 
 
 That Mdtli it nothing can compare ; 
 
THE NEST OF THE LONG-TAILED TITMOUSE. 127 
 
 A light and lovely airy thing 
 That vibrates with the breeze's wing. 
 Ah well ! it is ^\dth cunning power 
 That little artist makes her bower ; 
 But come into an English wood, 
 And I'll show you a work as good, — 
 A work the tailor-bird's excelling, 
 A more elaborate, snugger dwelling ; 
 More beautiful, upon my word, — 
 Wrought by a little English bird. 
 
 There, where those boug-lis of black-thorn 
 
 Cl'OSS, 
 
 Behold that oval ball of moss ! 
 Look all the forest round and round. 
 No fairer nest can e'er be found ; 
 Observe it near, all knit too-ether, — 
 Moss, willow-down, and many a feather, — 
 And filled within, as you may see, 
 As full of feathers as can be ; 
 Whence it is called by countr3'-folk, — 
 A fitting name, — the Feather-poke ; 
 But learned people, I have heard, 
 Pariis caudatus call the bird, 
 
128 THE NEST OF THE LONG-TAILED TITMOUSE. 
 
 And others, not the learned clan, 
 Call it Wood-pot, and Jug, and Can. 
 
 Ay, here's a nest ! a nest indeed, 
 
 That doth all other nests exceed. 
 
 Propped with the black -thorn twigs beneath. 
 
 And festooned with a woodbine wreath ! 
 
 Look at it near, all knit together, — 
 
 Moss, willow-down, and many a feather ; 
 
 So soft, so light, so wrought with grace. 
 
 So suited to this gi-eenwood place, 
 
 And spangled o'er, as with the intent 
 
 Of giving fitting ornament. 
 
 With silvery flakes of lichen bright. 
 
 That shine like opals, dazzling white ! 
 
 Think only of the creature small 
 That wrought this soft and silvery ball, 
 Without a tool to aid her skill — 
 Nought but her little feet and bill — 
 Without a pattern whence to trace 
 This little roofed-in dwelling-place, 
 And does not in your bosom spring 
 Love fen- this skilful little thin<r ? 
 
THE NEST OF THE LONG-TAILED TITMOUSE. 
 
 129 
 
 See ! there's a window in the wall : 
 Peep in; the house is not so small 
 But, snug and cosy, you shall see 
 A very numerous family ! 
 Now count them — one, two, three, four, five- 
 Nay, sixteen merry things alive — 
 Sixteen young chirping things, all set 
 Where you your small hand could not get ! 
 I'm glad you've seen it, for you never 
 Saw aught before so soft and clever ' 
 
 
 (-'; 
 
Dear cliildien all, lejoice and smg, 
 Like tlie glad birds, for this is Spring I 
 Look up, the skies above are bright, 
 And darkly blue as deep midnight ; 
 And piled-up, silvery clouds lie there, 
 Like radiant slumberers of the air. 
 And hark ! from every bush and tree 
 Rings forth the wild- wood melody : 
 The blackbird and the thrush sing out : 
 And small birds warble round about, 
 As if they were bereft of reason, 
 In the frrcat irladness of the season ; 
 
SPRING. 131 
 
 Ajicl though the hedge be leafless yet, 
 
 Still many a little nest is set 
 
 'Mongst twisted boughs so cunningly, 
 
 Where eaiiv eggs lie, two or three. 
 
 And hark ! those rooks the trees among, 
 
 Feeding their never silent young ; 
 
 A pleasant din it is, that calls 
 
 The fancy to ancestral halls. 
 
 But hush ! from out that warm wood- 
 
 side, 
 I hear a voice that ringeth wide — 
 Oh, joyful Spring's sweet minstrel, hail ! 
 It is indeed the nightingale, 
 Loud singfinof in the morning clear, 
 As poets ever love to hear ! 
 
 Look now abroad. — All creatures see. 
 How they are filled with life and glee : 
 This little bee among the flowers 
 Hath laboured since the morning hours. 
 Making the pleasant air astir, 
 And mth its murmuring pleasanter. 
 See there ! the waving butterfly. 
 With starting motion fluttering bv, 
 
132 SPRING. 
 
 From leaf to leaf, from spray to spray, 
 A thini^ whose life is holiday ; 
 
 The little rabbits, too, are out ; 
 And leverets skipping all about ; 
 And squirrels, peeping from their trees, 
 A-start at every vagrant breeze ; — 
 For life, in the glad days of spring, 
 Doth gladden each created thing. 
 
 Now green is every bank, and full 
 Of flowers and leaves for all to pull. 
 The ficary in each sunny place. 
 Doth shine out like a meny face ; 
 
SPRIXG. 133 
 
 The strong green mercniy, and the dear 
 
 Fresh \'iolets of the early year, 
 
 Peering their broad green leaves all through, 
 
 In odorous thousands, white and blue ; 
 
 And the broad dandelion's blaze, 
 
 Bright as the sun of summer days ; 
 
 And in the woods, beneath the green 
 
 Of budding trees, are brightly seen 
 
 The noddinfj blue-bell's o-raceful flowers — 
 
 The hyacinth of this land of ours— 
 
 As fair as anj^flower that blows ; 
 
 And here the wliite stellaria grows, 
 
 Like Una with her gentle gi-ace, 
 
 Shining out in a shady place ; 
 
 And here, on open slopes we see 
 
 The lightly-set anemone ; 
 
 Here, too, the spotted arum gi-een^ 
 
 A hooded mystery, is seen ; 
 
 And in the turfy meadows shine 
 
 White saxifrage and cardamine ; 
 
 And acres of the crocus make 
 
 A lustre like a purple lake. 
 
 And overhead how nobly towers 
 
 The chestnut, with its waxen flowers. 
 
134 SPRING. 
 
 And broad green leaves, which wide expand, 
 
 Like to a giant's open hand. 
 
 Beside you blooms the hawthorn free ; 
 
 And yonder the wild cherry-tree, 
 
 The fairy-lady of the wood ; 
 
 And there the sycamore's bursting bud, 
 
 The Spanish chestnut, and the lime. 
 
 Those trees of flowery summer-time. 
 
 Look up, the leaves ai-e fresh and green, 
 
 And every branching vein is seen 
 
 Through their almost transparent sheen ' 
 
 Spirit of Beauty, thou dost fling 
 
 Such grace o'er each created thing. 
 
 That even a little leaf may stir 
 
 The heart to be a worshipper ; 
 
 And joy which in the soul has birth, 
 
 From these bright creatures of the earth, 
 
 Good is it thou shouldst have thy wa}^ — 
 
 Thou art as much of God as they ! 
 
 Now let us to the garden go, 
 And dig and delve, and plant and sow ; 
 The fresh dark mould is rich and sweet. 
 And each flower-plot is trim and neat ; 
 
SPRING. 135 
 
 And dafibdil and primrose see, 
 
 And many-liued anemone, 
 
 As full of flower as they can be ; 
 
 And here the hyacinth sweetly pale, 
 
 Recalling some old Grecian tale ; 
 
 And here the mild narcissus too ; 
 
 And every flower of every hue 
 
 Which the oiad season sends, is here ; 
 
 The almond, whilst its branch is sere, 
 
 With myriad blossoms beautified. 
 
 As pink as the sea-shell's inside ; 
 
 And, under the warm cottage-eaves. 
 
 Amongst its clustered, budding leaves, 
 
 Shines out the pear-tree's flowers of snow. 
 
 As white as any flowers that grow ; 
 
 And budding is the southern vine. 
 
 And apricot and nectarine ; 
 
 And plum-trees in the garden warm. 
 
 And damsons round the cottage farm, 
 
 Like snow-showers shed upon the trees, 
 
 And, like them, shaken by the breeze. 
 
 Dear ones ! 'tis now the time that ye 
 Sit down with zeal to botany ; 
 
136 SPRING. 
 
 And names which were so hard and tough, 
 Are easy now, and clear enough ; 
 For from the mom to evening hours 
 Your bright instructors are sweet flowers. 
 Go out through pleasant field and lane. 
 And come back, glad of heart again. 
 Bringing with you life's best of wealth, 
 Knowledge, and joy of heart, and health. 
 Ere long each bank whereon ye look 
 Will be to you an open book. 
 And flowers, by the Creator writ, 
 Tlie characters inscribed on it ! 
 
 Come, let us forth unto the fields ! 
 Unceasing joy the season yields ; 
 Why should we tarry within door ? 
 Behold ! the children of the poor 
 Are out, all joy, and running races, 
 With buoyant limbs and laughing faces. 
 Thank Heaven ! the sunshine and the air 
 Are free to these young sons of care ! 
 Come, let us too be glad as they, 
 For soon is gone the meny May ! 
 
^'« 
 
 REST-HARROW. 
 
 On the broomy hills, 
 
 Where the wild thyme blowetli, 
 There the red Rest-haiTOw 
 
 In its beauty groweth ; 
 
 Where the slender hare-bell 
 Is the blue-sky's feUow, 
 
138 • KEST-HARROW. 
 
 And the little liawkweeds 
 Spread their stars of yellow ; 
 
 Where the sky-lark builds 
 Its nest amongst the yarrow, 
 
 Shooting through the sunny air 
 Like a winged arrow ; 
 
 Where the shepherd lads 
 
 Tend their flocks in summer, 
 
 And the piping ortolan 
 Is a July comer ; 
 
 There the red Rest-harrow 
 Groweth in its beauty, 
 
 Clingfino; to its Mother Earth 
 With obedient duty. 
 
 Man doth never tend it 
 As a careful warden, 
 
 Nor collect its podded seed 
 To adorn his garden. 
 
REST-HARROW. 
 
 139 
 
 But by Nature's hand 
 In the wilds 'tis planted, 
 
 Like a thousand common things, 
 Given where it's wanted. 
 
 "-O:-!!:^-, 
 
 
OLD-FASHIONED WINTER. 
 
 FiVE-AND-TWENTY years ago, 
 Winter was a time of snow. 
 Frost and snow, I well remember, 
 Were the emblems of December. 
 Then, in one night's time there fell 
 Snow wliich made impassable 
 
OLD-FASHIONED WINTER. 141 
 
 Roads and streets, until the spade 
 To every house a path had made. 
 Then the drifted snows were seen, 
 Fit palace for a fairy-queen. 
 With vaulted roof and porticoes 
 Spangled o'er with diamond snows. 
 Then we heard of travellers wear}% 
 On the commons wide and dreary, — 
 Knowing not which way to go, — 
 Dying in the pathless snow. 
 
 Then the boys at snow-ball played, 
 
 And snow-men and monsters made ; 
 
 Or a piled-up, strong snow-wall, 
 
 Pierced with arches wide and tall ; 
 
 Or in orchards, all a-row, 
 
 Scooped out cottages of snow. 
 
 Then the ponds and streams were frozen, 
 
 And the sliding-places chosen. 
 
 And no word the boys could say 
 
 But of sliding all the day. 
 
 Then on pavements you might see 
 Sawdust scattered carefully, 
 
142 OLD-FASHIONED WINTER. 
 
 And good people, staff in hand, 
 Shod with strips of woollen band. 
 Creeping o'er the icy stones, 
 Ha vino; dread of broken bones. 
 
 Then the cows were in their shed ; 
 And the sheep with hay were fed ; 
 And the servants of the farm 
 Housed up every creature warm, 
 And, up-muffled, cheek and chin, 
 Brought the logs for evening in ; 
 And the fire, so w^ell suppHed, 
 Crackled up the chimney wide ; 
 And slumbrous was the hot fireside. 
 
 Then the spinning-wheel went round, 
 With a dreamy, buzzing sound ; 
 For the sheets and table-linen 
 Were of the good housewife's spinning, 
 And the village-weaver made. 
 At his loom, sufficient trade. 
 
 Then the icicles hung low . 
 From the heavy roofs of snow, 
 
OLD-FASHIONED WINTER. 
 
 Like a line of daggers strong, — 
 Some were short and some were long,- 
 Melting when the days were bright, 
 Freezincf o'er asain at nio-ht. 
 
 143 
 
 Then the chamber-windows bore 
 
 Fan-like leaves and branchings hoar; 
 
 And the water in a trice, 
 
 In the ewer, was solid ice. 
 
 Then hands were chapped and noses red ; 
 
 And folks were even cold in bed. 
 
 Till their teeth chattered in their head. 
 
144 OLD-FASHIONED WINTER. 
 
 Then the famished birds were tame, 
 And hopping to the window came, 
 Begffidncr little crumbs of bread — 
 Beo-ffinff to be housed and fed ; 
 And the finches in their need 
 Picked the pyi'acantha-seed. 
 
(2) 
 
 FAMILIARLY CALLED THE WEEPING WIDOW, 
 OR THE MOURXIXft BRIDK. 
 
 Like a drooping thing of sorrow, 
 
 Sad to-day, more sad to-morrow ; 
 
 Like a widow dark weeds wearing, 
 
 Anguish in her bosom bearing ; 
 
 Ijike a nun in raiment sable. 
 
 Sorrow-bowed, inconsolable ; 
 
 Like a melancholy fairy, 
 
 Art thou, Meadow-Fritillary ! 
 10 
 
146 THE WILD FRITILLARY. 
 
 Like the head of snake enchanted, 
 Where whilom the life hath panted, 
 All its purple chequering scaly 
 Growing cold and dim and paly ; 
 Like a dragon's head well-moulded, 
 Scaly jaws together folded, 
 Is the bud, so dusk and airy, 
 Of the wild Field-Fritillary ! 
 
 ^ 
 
 rr 
 
 
 Like a joy my memory knoweth. 
 In m}^ native fields it groweth ; 
 Like the voice of one long parted, 
 Calling to the faithful-hearted ; 
 
THE WILD FRITILLARY. 
 
 147 
 
 Like an unexpected pleasure, 
 That hath neither stint nor measure ; 
 Like a bountiful good fairy, — 
 Do I hail thee, Fritillary ! 
 

 THE SEA. 
 
 The Sea it is deep, the Sea it is wide ; 
 
 And it girdeth the Earth on eveiy side, 
 On every side it girds it round 
 With an undecaying, mighty bound. 
 
 When the Spirit of God eanie down at first, 
 Ere the day from primal night had burst. 
 
THE SEA. 149 
 
 Before the mountains sprung to birth, 
 The dark, deep waters veiled the earth, 
 Like a j^outhful giant roused from sleep. 
 At creation's call uprose the Deep, 
 And his crested waves tossed up their spray. 
 As the bonds of his ancient rest gave way ; 
 And a voice went up in that stillness vast. 
 As if life through a mighty heart had passed. 
 
 Oh, ancient, wide, unfathomed Sea, 
 
 Ere the mountains were, God fashioned thee ; 
 
 And gave in thine awful depths to dwell 
 
 Things, like thyself, untamable — 
 
 The dragons old, and the harpy brood. 
 
 Were the lords of thine early solitude ! 
 
 But night came down on that ancient day, 
 
 And that mighty race was swept away ; 
 
 And death thy fathomless depths passed through ; 
 
 And thy waters were meted out anew ; 
 
 And then on thy calmer breast were seen 
 
 The verdant crests of islands green ; 
 
 And mountains in their strength came forth, 
 
 And trees and flowers arrayed the earth. 
 
150 , THE SEA. 
 
 Then the dolphin first his gambols played, 
 
 In his rainbow-tinted scales arrayed ; 
 
 And down below, all fretted and frore, 
 
 Was wrought the coral and madrepore ; 
 
 And amongst the sea- weeds green and red, 
 
 Like flocks of the valley the turtles fed ; 
 
 And the sea-flowers budded and opened wide 
 
 In the lustre of waters deepened and dyed ; 
 
 And the little nautilus set afloat. 
 
 On thy bounding tide, his pearly boat ; 
 
 And the whale sprang forth in his vigorous 
 
 play; 
 And shoals of the flying-fish leaped into day ; 
 And the pearl-fish under thy world of waves 
 Laid up his store in the old sea-caves. 
 
 Tlien man came down, and with silent awe 
 The majesty of waters saw ; 
 And he felt like a humbled thing of fear, 
 As he stood in that Presence august, severe. 
 Till he saw how the innocent creatures played 
 In the billowy depths, and were not afraid ; 
 Till he saw how the nautilus spread his sail. 
 And caught, as it blew, the favouring gale ; 
 
THE SEA. 
 
 liil 
 
 And great and small, through the watery realm, 
 Were steered as it were by a veering helm ; 
 Then his heart grew bold, and his will grew strong, 
 And he pondered in vigilant thought not long 
 Ere he fashioned a boat of a hollow tree, 
 And thus became lord of the mighty Sea. 
 
MORNING THOUGHTS. 
 
 The summer sun is shining 
 
 Upon a world so bright ! 
 The dew upon each grassy blade, 
 The golden light, the depth of shade, 
 All seem as they were only made 
 
 To minister delight. 
 
MORNING THOUGHTS. 
 
 From giant trees, strong-branched, 
 And all their veined leaves ; 
 
 From little birds that madly sing ; 
 
 From insects fluttering on the wing ; 
 
 Ay, from the very meanest thing, 
 My spirit joy receives. 
 
 153 
 
 I think of angel- voices 
 
 When the birds' songs I hear ; 
 Of that celestial city, bright 
 With jacinth, gold, and chrysolite. 
 When, with its blazing pomp of light, 
 
 The morning doth appear ! 
 
154 MORNING THOUGHTS. 
 
 I think of that great River 
 
 That from the Throne flows free ; 
 
 Of weary pilgrims on its brink, 
 
 Who, thirsting, have come down to drink ; 
 
 Of that unfailing Stream I think, 
 When earthly streams I see. 
 
 I think of pain and dying. 
 
 As that which is but nought. 
 When glorious morning, Varm and bright. 
 With all its voices of delight. 
 From the chill darkness of the night, 
 Like a new life, is brought. 
 
 I think of human sorrow 
 But as of clouds that brood 
 
 Upon the bosom of the day. 
 
 And the next moment pass away ; 
 
 And with a trusting heart I say, 
 Tliank God, all things are good ! 
 

 
 i^/^" 
 
 THE 
 
 ^.^^#,'^■ ^ "" ''f^' ' GIRL AND THE DOVE. '\ 
 
 viZ-ilo. My father is served bV an old j?/J 
 
 >-^vt4v^ nencnman; 'nX 
 
 If 
 
 -I'tr' Ji-sl-?,. My mother by the stately Mistress ^ 
 
 Ann; I 
 
 My brother by a little foot-page so j 
 
 free ; j 
 
 But this true Dove it serveth me ! 
 
156 THE GIRL AND THE DOVE. 
 
 The old henchman is mde and rough, 
 His foot it is heavy, his speech is gruff; 
 Whilst Mistress Ann cannot smile if she would, 
 With her pursed-up mouth, and pinched-up hood. 
 
 The little foot-page, he is bold and vain. 
 And he needs, as much as a horse, the rein ; 
 But my true Dove, it is meek and wise, 
 And I read its heart in its gentle eyes. 
 
 My father's squire, the henchman old. 
 He serveth him not for love, but gold ; 
 And away this day from his hall would flee, 
 Could he win but a nobler serving-fee. 
 
 And the Mistress Ann she would not stay 
 To wait on my mother one single day. 
 Although she has served her for many a year, 
 Were it not for the winning her silken gear. 
 
 And that light foot-page with his swinging feather, 
 I know what keeps master and man together ; — 
 The master has gold in a purse so fair. 
 And he knows how to spend far better than spare. 
 
THE GIRL AND THE DOVE. 
 
 But the Dove that was ta'en from the chestnut-tree, 
 
 For nothing but love it serveth me 
 
 I bade it begone on a morn in May, 
 
 But it looked in my eyes, and begged to stay. 
 
 157 
 
 I showed it the woods so green and fair ; 
 I bade it list to the breezy air, 
 To the coo of the Doves, so wild and low ; 
 But it clung to my hand and would not go. 
 
 Ay, then, let the little foot-page so gay 
 Mimic his master as best he may ; 
 Let the Mistress Ann be as grave as an owl ; 
 And the henchman put on his darkest scowl. 
 
158 THE GIRL AND THE DOVE, 
 
 I love far better than all the three, 
 The true little Dove that serveth me ; 
 That is always merry and kind and good, 
 And hath left for me its own greenwood. 
 
 

 
 THE CUCKOO. 
 
 " Pee 1 pee ' pee ! " says the merry Pee-bird ; 
 
 And as soon as the children hear it, 
 
 " The Cuckoo's a-coming," they say, " for I heard. 
 
 Up in his tree, the merry Pee-bird, 
 
 And he'll come in three days, or near it ! " 
 
 The days go on, — one, two, three ; 
 
 And the little bird singeth " Pee ! pee ! pee 1 " 
 
 Then on the morrow, 'tis ver}^ tnie. 
 
 They hear the note of the old Cuckoo; 
 
160 THE CUCKOO. 
 
 Up ill the elm-tree, through the day, 
 Just as last summer he shouted away ; 
 " Cuckoo," the Cuckoo doth cry, 
 And the little boys mock him as they go by. 
 
 The woodpecker laughs to hear the strain. 
 And says, " The old fellow is come back again ; 
 He sitteth again on the very same tree. 
 And he talks of himself again ! — He ! he ! he ! " 
 The stock-doves too^ether becrin to coo 
 When they hear the voice of the old Cuckoo ; 
 " Ho ! ho ! " say they ; " he did not find 
 Those far-away countries quite to his mind. 
 So he's come again to see what he can do 
 With sucking the little birds' eggs, coo-coo ! " 
 The blackbird, and throstle, and loud missel-cock, 
 They sing all together, the Cuckoo to mock : 
 " What want we with him ? let him stay over sea ! " 
 Sings the bold, piping reed-sparrow ; " want him ? 
 not we ! " 
 " Cuckoo ! " the Cuckoo shouts still, 
 " I care not for you, let you rave as you will 1 " 
 " Cuckoo ! " the Cuckoo doth cry, 
 And the little boys mock him as they go by. 
 
THE CUCKOO. Itil 
 
 "Hark! hark!" sings the chiff-chaff; "Hark! hark!" sings the 
 
 lark ; 
 And the white-throats and buntings all twitter " Hark ! hark ! " 
 The wren and the hedge-sparrow hear it anon, 
 And "Hark ! hark !" in a moment shouts every one. 
 " Hark ! hark ! — that's the Cuckoo there, shouting amain ! 
 Bless our lives ! why that egg-sucker's come back again ! " 
 
 " Cuckoo ! " the Cuckoo shouts still ! 
 
 " I shall taste of your eggs, let you rave as you will ! " 
 
 " Cuckoo ! " the Cuckoo doth cry, 
 
 And the little boys mock him as they go by. 
 
 The water-hens hear it, the rail, and the smew. 
 
 And they say, " Why, on land there's a pretty ado ! 
 
 Sure the Cuckoo's come back, what else can be the matter ? 
 
 The pyes and the jays are all making a chatter ! " 
 
 " Hark ! hark ! " says the woodcock, " I hear him myself. 
 
 Shouting up in the elm-tree, the comical elf ! " 
 
 " Hark ! hark ! " cries the widgeon, " and I hear him too. 
 
 Shouting loudly as ever, that self-same Cuckoo ! " 
 
 " Let him shout ! " says the wild duck, " what is it to us ? 
 
 I've no spite 'gainst the Cuckoo ; why make such a fuss ? 
 
 Let him shout as he listeth — he comes over sea — 
 
 And his French may be French, 'tis no matter to me ; 
 
 (2) 11 
 
162 
 
 THE CUCKOO. 
 
 I have no spite against him, my soul's not so narrow, 
 I leave all such whims to the tomtit and sparrow ! " 
 
 " Cuckoo ! " the Cuckoo shouts still, 
 
 " You may all hold your peace, I shall do as I will 1 " 
 
 " Cuckoo ! " the Cuckoo doth cry, 
 
 And the little boj^s mock him as they go by. 
 
 
They may boast of the spring-time, when 
 flowers are the fairest, 
 And bii'ds sing by thousands on every green 
 tree ; 
 They may call it the loveliest, the greenest, the 
 rarest ; — 
 But the Summer's the season that's dearest 
 to me ! 
 
 The brightness of sunshine ; the depth of the shadows ; 
 The crystal of waters ; the fulness of green. 
 
164 SUMMER. 
 
 And the rich flowery growth of the old pasture meadows, 
 In the glory of Summer can only be seen. 
 
 Oh, the joy of the greenwood ! I love to be in it, 
 And list to the hum of the never-still bees. 
 
 And to hear the sweet voice of the old mother linnet, 
 Calling unto her young 'mong the leaves of the trees ! 
 
 To see the red squirrel frisk hither and thither. 
 And the water-rat plunging about in his mirth ; 
 
 And the thousand small lives that the warm Summer 
 weather 
 Calls forth to rejoice on the bountiful earth ! 
 
 Then the mountains, how fair ! to the blue vault of 
 
 heaven 
 Towering uj) in tlie sunshine, and drinking the light. 
 
SUMMER. 
 
 165 
 
 While adowii their deep chasms, all splintered and i-iven, 
 Fall the far-gleaming cataracts, silvery white ! 
 
 And where are the flowers that in beauty are glowing 
 In the garden and fields of the young merry spring, 
 
 Like the mountain-side wilds of the yellow broom blowing. 
 And the old forest pride, the red wastes of the ling ? 
 
 And the garden, no longer 'tis leafless and chilly, 
 
 * 
 
 But warm with the sunshine, and bright with the sheen 
 Of rich flowers, the moss-rose and the bright tiger-lily, 
 Barbaric in pomp as an Ethiop queen. 
 
166 SUMMER. 
 
 The beautiful flowers, all colours combining, — 
 
 The larkspur, the pink, and the sweet mignonette, 
 
 And the blue fleur-de-lis, in the warm sunlight shining, 
 As if grains of gold in its petals were set ! 
 
 Yes, the Summer, the radiant Summer's the fairest. 
 
 For greenwoods and mountains, for meadows and bowers, 
 
 For waters, and fruits, and for flowers the rarest. 
 And for bright shining butterflies, lovely as flowers ! 
 
Oh ! the Broom, the yellow Broom, 
 
 The ancient poet sung it ; 
 And sweet it is on summer days 
 
 To lie at rest among it. 
 
 4 
 
 I know the realms where people say 
 The flowers have not their fellow ; 
 
 1 know where they shine out like suns, 
 The crimson and the yellow. 
 
 1 
 
1(58 THE BROOM-FLOWER. 
 
 I know where ladies live enchained 
 . , In luxury's silken fettei-s, 
 
 ^ And flowers, as bright as glittering gems, 
 
 Are used for written letters. 
 
 •!► 
 
 But ne'er was flower so fair as this 
 In modern days or olden ; 
 
 It groweth on its nodding stem 
 Like to a garland golden. 
 
 And all about my mother's door 
 Shine out its glittering bushes. 
 
 And down the glen, where clear as light 
 The mountain- water gushes. 
 
 Take all the rest, but leave me this. 
 And the bird that nestles in it ; — 
 
 I love it, for it loves the Broom, — 
 The green and yellow linnet. 
 
 Well, call the rose the queen of flowers, 
 And boast of that of Sharon ; 
 
 Of lilies like to marble cups, 
 And the golden rod of Aaron ; 
 
THE BROOM-FLOWER. 
 
 I care not how these flowers may be 
 Beloved of man and woman ; 
 
 The Broom it is the flower for me, 
 That groweth on the common. 
 
 Oh ! the Broom, the yellow Broom, 
 The ancient poet sung it ; 
 
 And sweet it is on summer days 
 To lie at rest amono- it ' 
 
 169 
 
TITMOUSE, OR BLUE-CAP. 
 
 ^ The merry Titmouse is a comical fellow ; 
 He wearetli a plumage of purple and 
 
 ^-yto Barred over with black, and with white inter- 
 
 -7\ laced :— 
 
 ) 
 
 Depend on't, the Titmouse has excellent 
 
 taste. 
 
THE TITMOUSE, OR BLUE-CAP. 171 
 
 And he, like his betters of noble old blood, 
 
 Keeps up, with great spirit, a ftimily feud ; 
 
 A feud with the owl ; — and why ? would you know ? 
 
 'Tis an old by-gone quarrel of ages ago ; — 
 
 Perhaps in the Ark might be taken offence — 
 But I know not, indeed, of the where and the wdience ; — 
 Only this is quite true,— let them meet as they may, 
 Having quarrelled long since, they would quarrel to-day. 
 
 But we'll leave them to settle this ancient affair. 
 And now look at his nest, made with exquisite care, 
 Of lichen, and moss, and the soft downy feather, — 
 And the web of the spider to keep it together. 
 
 Is a brick out of place by your window ? — don't send 
 For the man with the trowel the fracture to mend : 
 Through the dry months of summer just leave it alone, 
 For the poor little Titmouse has made it his own. 
 
 Peep in now, and look at that wonderful labour ; 
 And be glad to have near you so merry a neighbour ; 
 His work unto him is no trouble ; — behold 
 For one moment his motions, so tricksy and bold. 
 
THE TITMOUSE, OR BLUE-CAP. 
 
 How he twists, how he turns, with a harlequin grace ! 
 He can't lift a feather without a grimace ; 
 He carries the moss in his bill with an air ; 
 And he laughs at the spider he robs of his lair. 
 
 See his round, burly head, that is like a Friar Tuck ; 
 And his glancing black eye, that is worthy of Puck ; 
 Saw you ever a merrier creature than he ? 
 Oh no ! — make him welcome, as welcome can be. 
 
 His nest now is finished with fine cobweb thread, 
 And the eggs are laid in it — white, speckled with red ; 
 Just knock at the wall, or tap loud on the pane, — 
 Hark ! what is that tapping so briskly again ? 
 
 'Tis the blithe mother-bird, all alive and alert ; 
 As her mate, every whit, is she comic and pert ; 
 Tap you once — she taps twice ; — she has nothing to do 
 But to keep her eggs warm, and be neighbourly too ! 
 
 Did you say that the Titmouse was given to stealing. 
 That he ate your pear-buds while he shammed to be reeling; 
 And nipped off" the apricot-bloom in his fun — 
 And that shortly you'll end his career with a gun ^ 
 
THE TITMOUSE, OR BLUE-CAP. 173 
 
 Oil ! hold back your hand — 'twere a deed to repent ; 
 Of your blame the poor fellow is quite innocent. 
 Stand back for one moment — anon he'll be here, 
 He believes you his friend, and he thinks not of fear. 
 
 Here he comes ! — See how drolly he looketh askew ; — 
 And now hangs head downward : now glances on you ! 
 
 
 Be not rash, though he light on your apricot-bough — 
 Though he touches a bud — there, he touches it now ! 
 
 He has got what he wanted, and off he has Hovni ! — 
 Now look at the apricot-bud — is it gone ? 
 Not the apricot-bud — but the grub that was in it ! — 
 You may thank him — he does you a service each minute. 
 
17i 
 
 THE TITMOUSE, OR BLUE-CAP. 
 
 Then love the poor Titmouse, and welcome him too,- 
 Great beauty is there in his yellow and blue. 
 He's a fine cheerful fellow, so let him be free 
 Of your garden — to build in your wall or your tree ! 
 
But chiefest was my sister dear. — 
 Oh, how I loved my sister ! 
 
 I never played at all with joy, 
 If from my side I missed her. 
 
176 
 
 CHILDHOOD. 
 
 I can remember many a time, 
 
 Up in the morning early — 
 Up in the morn by break of day, 
 
 When summer dews hung pearly ; 
 
 Out in the fields, what joy it was, 
 While the cowslip yet was bending. 
 
 To see the large round moon gi'ow dim, 
 And the early lark ascending ! 
 
 I can remember, too, we rose 
 
 Wlien the winter stars shone brightly ; 
 'Twas an easy thing to shake off sleep 
 
 From spirits strong and sprightly. 
 
 How beautiful were those winter skies. 
 All frosty-bright and unclouded, 
 
 And the garden trees, like cypresses, 
 
 Looked black, in the darkness shrouded ! 
 
 Then the deep, deep snows were beautiful, 
 Tliat fell through the long night stilly. 
 
 When behold, at morn, like a silent plain 
 Lay the country wild and hilly ! 
 
CHILDHOOD. 177 
 
 AiiJ the fir-trees down by the garden side, 
 In their blackness towered more stately : 
 
 And the lower trees were feathered with snow, 
 That were bare and brown so lately. 
 
 And then, when the rare hoar-frost would come, 
 
 'Twas like a dream of wonder ; 
 Above us grew the crystal trees, 
 
 And the crystal plants grew under ! 
 
 The garden was an enchanted land ; 
 
 All silent and without motion. 
 Like a sudden growth of the stalactite, 
 
 Or the corallines of ocean ! 
 
 'Twas all like a fairy forest then, 
 
 Where the diamond trees were growing. 
 
 And within each brancli the emerald green 
 And the ruby red were glowing. 
 
 I remember many a day we spent 
 
 In the bright hay-harvest meadow ; 
 (2> 12 
 
178 CHILDHOOD. 
 
 The glimmering heat of the noonday ground, 
 And the hazy depth of sliadow. 
 
 ?^^^^^^S:<?^^555^^r^:^,;._^S^^*^:^^^^^^:^ 
 
 I can remember, as to-day, 
 
 The corn-field and the reaping, 
 
 The rustling of the harvest-sheaves, 
 And the harvest- wains upheaping ; 
 
 I can feel, this hour, as if I lay 
 Adown 'neatli the hazel bushes, 
 
 And as if we wove, for pastime wild. 
 Our grenadier-caps of rushes. 
 
 And every flower within that field 
 To my memory's eye comes flitting, — 
 
 The chiccory-flower, like a blue cockade, 
 For a fairy knight befitting. 
 
CHILDHOOD. 1 79 
 
 The willow-herb by the water-side, 
 
 With its fruit-like scent so mellow ; 
 The gentian blue on the marly hill, 
 
 And the snap-dragon white and yellow. 
 
 I know where the hawthorn groweth red ; 
 
 Wliere pink grows the wayside yarrow ; 
 I remember the wastes of wood and broom. 
 
 And the shrubs of the red rest-liarrow. 
 
 I know where the blue geranium blows, 
 And the stork's-bill small and musky ; 
 
 Where the rich osmunda groweth brown, 
 And the wormwood white and dusky. 
 
 There was a forest a-nigh our home — 
 
 A forest old and hoary — 
 We loved in its sylvan wilds to roam. 
 
 And remember its by-gone story. 
 
 We sat in the shade of its mighty trees, 
 
 When the summer noon was glowing. 
 And heard in the depths of its undergrowth 
 
 The pebbly waters flowing. 
 
180 CHILDHOOD. 
 
 We quenched our thirst at the forest- well ; 
 
 We ate of the forest berry ; 
 And the time we spent in the good greenwood, 
 
 Like the times of song, were merry. . 
 
 We had no crosses then, no cares ; 
 
 We were children like yourselves then ; 
 And we danced and sang, and made us mirth, 
 
 Like the dancing moonlight elves then ! 
 
 ■ ''^^^-^'';■^ I 
 
 ^.^^< 
 
 
 ^-*^^«<*'^- 
 
Little streams, in light and shadow, 
 Flowing through the pasture meadow ; 
 Flowing by the green wayside ; 
 Through the forest dim and wide ; 
 Through the hamlet still and small ; 
 By the cottage ; by the hall ; 
 By the ruined abbey still ; 
 Turning here and there a mill ; 
 Bearing tribute to the river ; — 
 Little streams, I love you ever ' 
 
182 
 
 LITTLE STREAMS. 
 
 Summer music is their flowing ; 
 Flowering plants in them are growing ; 
 Happy life is in them all, 
 Creatures innocent and small ; 
 Little birds come down to drink 
 Fearless on their leafy brink , 
 Noble trees beside them grow, 
 Glooming them with branches low ; 
 And between, the sunshine, glancing, 
 In their little waves is dancina;. 
 
 a^^'-^>.-*tsr..lc^^^':;,v^ 
 
 Little streams have flowers a many. 
 Beautiful and fair as any ; 
 
LITTLE STREAMS. 1S3 
 
 Typha strong, and green bur-reed ; 
 Willow-herb with cotton-seed ; 
 Arrow-head with eye of jet; 
 And the water- violet ; 
 There the flowering rush you meet ; 
 And the plumy meadow-sweet ; 
 And in places deep and stilly, 
 Marble-like, the water-lily. 
 
 Little streams — their voices cheery 
 
 Sound forth welcomes to the weary ; 
 
 Flowing on from day to day 
 
 Without stint and without stay. 
 
 Here, upon their flowery bank. 
 
 In the old times, pilgrims drank ; 
 
 Here have seen, as now, pass by 
 
 Kmgfisher and dragon-fly, — 
 
 Those bright things that have their dwelling 
 
 Where the little streams are welling. 
 
 Down in valleys green and lowly. 
 Murmuring not, and gliding slowly ; 
 Up in mountain hollows wild, 
 Fretting like a peevish child ; 
 
184 
 
 LITTLE STREAMS. 
 
 Through the hamlet, where all day 
 In their waves the children play,— 
 Runnino- west, or running east, 
 Doino- orood to man and beast ; 
 Always giving, weary never, — 
 Little streams, I love you ever ! 
 
THE PASSION-FLOWER. 
 
 I LOVE sweet flowers of every sort, 
 High-spired or trailing low ; 
 
 I love the musky roses red, 
 The lilies white as snow. 
 
 The aster and the columbine, 
 Sweet-pea and virgin-bower, — 
 
 I love them all ; but most I love 
 The good old Passion-flower ! 
 
186 THE PASSION-FLOWER. 
 
 Yes, yes, the good old Passion-flower ! 
 
 It bringeth to my mind 
 The young days of the Christian Church, 
 
 Long ages left behind. 
 
 I see the blood}'- streets of Rome ! 
 
 The throng — the burning pyre ; 
 And Christians stand with clasped hands 
 
 Amid the raging fire. 
 
 I hear the women, angel-toned, 
 The men with courage high, 
 
 Preach their dear Lord amid their pangs,— 
 Forgive their foes — and die. 
 
 I see, far from the world apart, 
 
 In desert places dwell. 
 The early Fathers of the Church, 
 
 In wood or mountain cell. 
 
 And there the wandering thousands come. 
 
 By love and pity brought. 
 To liear them tell of Jesus Christ, 
 
 And the new truths He taught. 
 
THE PASSION-FLOWER. 187 
 
 I see the fearless Fathers stand 
 
 Amid the eager throng, 
 Preaching, like Paul at Ephesus, 
 
 In burning words and strong. 
 
 — Again, I see a lonely man, 
 
 Of spirit sad and mild. 
 Who hath his little dwelling-place 
 
 Amid a region wild. 
 
 The wild flowers of the desert 
 
 Grow round him thick as weeds. 
 And, in their beautiful array, 
 
 Of holy things he reads. 
 
 The red is the dear blood of Christ ; 
 
 The white, the pure from sin ; 
 The yellow is the seamless robe 
 
 Christ was apparelled in. 
 
 All four-leaved flowers bring to his mind 
 
 The cross whereon He died ; 
 And every thorn, the cruel spear 
 
 That pierced His blessed side. 
 
THE PASSION-FLOWER. 
 
 I see him as he mused one clay 
 
 Beneath a forest-bower, 
 With clasped hands stand, and upturned eyes. 
 
 Before an open flower ; 
 Exclaiming with a fervent joy, 
 
 " I have found the Passion-flower ! 
 
 " The Passion of our blessed Lord, 
 With all His pangs and pain. 
 Set forth within a little flower. 
 In shape and colour plain ! 
 
 " Behold the ladder, and the cord 
 With which His limbs were tied ; 
 Behold His five deep cruel wounds 
 In hands, and feet, and side ! 
 
 " Behold the hammer and the nails ; 
 The bloody crown of thorn ; 
 And these His precious tears, when lel't 
 Of God and man forlorn ! 
 
 " Up ! I will forth into the world, 
 And take this flower with me, 
 
THE PASSION-FLOWER. 189 
 
 To preach the death of Christ to all, 
 As it has preached to me ! " 
 
 And thus the good old Passion-flower 
 
 Throughout the world was sent, 
 To breathe into all Christian hearts 
 
 Its holy sentiment. 
 
 And in the after-times, when kings 
 
 Of Christian fathers came ; 
 And to profess the faith of Christ 
 
 No longer purchased shame : 
 
 When abbeys rose in towered state ; 
 
 And over wood and dell 
 Went sounding, with a royal voice, 
 
 The sta.tely minster-bell : 
 
 Then was the abbey garden made. 
 
 All with the nicest care ; 
 Its little borders quaintlj^ cut 
 
 In fancies rich and rare. 
 
 And there they bj-ought all curious plants. 
 With sainted names, a flower 
 
190 THE PASSION-FLOWER. 
 
 For every saint's day of the year, — 
 
 For every lioly hour ; 
 And above all, in pride of place. 
 
 The noble Passion-flower. 
 
 And there they kept — the pious monks — 
 
 Within a garden small, 
 Each plant which had a healing power. 
 
 Each herb medicinal. 
 
 And thither came the sick, the maimed, 
 The moonstruck, and the blind, 
 
 For holy flower, for wort of power, 
 For healing root and rind ! 
 
 those old abbey gardens, 
 With their devices rich, 
 
 Their fountains, and green, solemn walks ; 
 Their saints in many a niche ! 
 
 1 would I could call back again 
 
 Those gardens in their pride, 
 And, slowly walking up and down, 
 Tlie abbot dicniified. 
 
THE PASSION-FLOWER. 
 
 And the fat monk with sleepy eyes, 
 
 Half dozing in his cell ; 
 And him, the poor lay brother. 
 
 Who loved the flowers so well ; 
 
 Who laid the abbey gardens out, 
 With all their fancies quaint, 
 
 And loved a little flower as much 
 As his own patron saint ! 
 
 191 
 
 Who gardened late and early, 
 And twined into a bower, 
 
 Wherein he set the crucifix. 
 The good old Passion-flower ! 
 
192 THE PASSION-FLOWER. 
 
 I would I could bring back again 
 Those abbey gardens old, 
 
 And see the poor lay brother 
 So busy in the mould ; 
 
 Tying up his flowers, and thinking 
 The while, with streaming eyes, 
 
 Of Jesus in the Garden, 
 Of Eve in Paradise ! 
 
 — Alas ! the abbey lieth low ; 
 
 The abbot's tomb is bare ; 
 And he, the abbey gardener, 
 
 Is all forgotten there. 
 
 His garden is a pasture field 
 Wherein the flocks repose ; 
 
 And where his choicest flowers were set. 
 The common clover grows ! 
 
 But still we have the Passion-flower, 
 
 Although he lieth low. 
 And ever may its holy flowers 
 
 In pleasant gardens grow ! 
 
THE PASSION-FLOWER. 193 
 
 To garland bower and window-pane, 
 
 And ever bring to mind 
 The young days of the Christian Church, 
 
 Long ages left behind I 
 
 To bring the abbey's garden back, 
 
 With its quaint beds and bowers, 
 And him, the good lay brother, 
 
 Who worked among the flowers. 
 
 ^-■) 1 3 
 

 Vti^^^-^^ 
 
 rr 
 
 
 
 THE CHILD AND THE FLOWERS. 
 
 Put by thy work, dear mother ; 
 
 Dear mother, come with me, 
 For I've found, within the garden, 
 
 The beautiful sweet-pea ! 
 
 And rows of stately hollyhocks 
 Dowai by the garden- wall. 
 
 All yellow, white, and crimson, 
 So many-hued and tall ! 
 
 And, bending on their stalks, mother, 
 Are roses white and red ; 
 
THE CHILD AND THE FLOWERS. 
 
 And pale-stemmed balsams all a-blow 
 On every garden-bed. 
 
 Put by thy work, I pray thee, 
 And come out, mother dear ! 
 
 We used to buy these flowers, 
 But they are gi'owing here ! 
 
 iPf 
 
 O mother ! little Amy 
 
 Would have loved these flowers to see 
 Dost remember how we tried to get 
 
 For her a pink sweet-pea ? 
 
 Dost remember how she loved 
 Those rose-leaves pale and sere ? 
 
196 
 
 THE CHILD AND THE FLOWERS. 
 
 I wish she had hut lived to see 
 The lovely roses here ! 
 
 Put by thy work, dear mother ! 
 
 And wipe those tears away ; 
 And come into the garden 
 
 Before 'tis set of day ! 
 
THE APPLE-TREE. 
 
 Let them sing of bright red gold 
 
 Let them sing of silver fair ; 
 Sing of all things on the earth, 
 
 AH things in the air ; 
 All things in the sunny air, 
 
 All things in the sea ; 
 And I'll sing a song as rare, 
 
 Of the Apple-tree ! 
 
lyS THE APPLE-TREE. 
 
 Learned men liave learned books, 
 
 Which they ponder day and night ; 
 Easier leaves than theirs I read, — 
 
 Blossoms pink and white ; 
 Blossom leaves all pink and white ; 
 
 Wherein I can see 
 Charactered, as clear as light. 
 
 Every Apple-tree. 
 
 Autumn comes, and our good man. 
 
 Soon as harvest toil is o'er, 
 Speculates on apple crops — 
 
 Be they less or more. 
 I could tell him ; less or more 
 
 Is well knoAvn to me ; 
 I have eyes that see the core 
 
 Of tlie Apple-tree. 
 
 Winter comes, as winter will, 
 
 Bringing dark days, frost, and vime ; 
 
 But the Apple is in vogue 
 At the Christmas-time ; 
 
THE APPLE-TREE. 
 
 1!)9 
 
 At the merry Christmas-time 
 
 Folks are full of glee ; 
 Then they bring out Apples prime, 
 
 Of the primest tree ; 
 Then you the roast Apple see, 
 While they toast the Apple-tree, 
 Singing rhyme in jolly chime 
 
 To the brave old Apple-tree ! 
 
THE POOR MAN'S GARDEN. 
 
 Ah yes, the poor man's garden ! 
 
 It is great joy to me, 
 This little, precious piece of ground 
 
 Before his door to see ! 
 
 The rich man has his gardeners, 
 His gardeners young and old ; 
 
THE POOR MAN S GARDEN, 
 
 He never takes a spade in hand, 
 Nor worketh in the mould. 
 
 It is not witli the poor man so, — 
 Wealth, servants, he has none ; 
 
 201 
 
 And all the work that's done for him 
 Must by himself be done. 
 
 All day upon some weary task 
 He toileth with good will ; 
 
 And back he comes, at set of sun, 
 His garden-plot to till. 
 
202 THE POOR MAX S GARDEN. 
 
 The rich man through his garden goes, 
 And 'neath his garden trees ; 
 
 Wrapped in a dream of other things, 
 He seems to take his ease. 
 
 One moment he beholds his flowers, 
 The next they are forgot ; 
 
 He eateth of his rarest fruits 
 As though he ate them not. 
 
 It is not Avith the poor man so ; — 
 He knows each inch of ground, 
 
 And every single plant and flower 
 That grows within its bound. 
 
 He knows where grow his Avall-flowei's, 
 And when they will be out; 
 
 His moss-rose, and convolvulus 
 That twines his pales about. 
 
 He knows his red sweet-williams ; 
 
 And the stocks that cost him dear, — 
 That well-set row of crimson stocks, — 
 
 For he bought the seed last year. 
 
THE POOR MAN S GARDEN. 203 
 
 And tliougli unto the rich man 
 
 The cost of flowers is nought, 
 A sixpence to a poor man 
 
 Is toil, and care, and thought. 
 
 And here is his potato-bed. 
 
 All well-grown, strong, and green ; 
 How could a rich man's heart leap up 
 
 At anything so mean ! 
 
 But he, the poor man, sees his crop. 
 
 And a thankful man is he. 
 For he thinks all through the winter 
 
 How ricli his board will be ! 
 
 And how his meriy little ones 
 
 Beside the fire will stand, 
 Each with a large potato 
 
 In a round and rosy hand. 
 
 The rich man has his wall-fruits, 
 
 And his delicious vines : 
 His fruit for every season ; 
 
 His melons and his pines. 
 
204 THE POOR MAN S GARDEN. 
 
 The poor man lias his gooseberries ; 
 
 His currants white and red ; 
 His apple and his damson tree, 
 
 And a little strawberry-bed. 
 
 A happy man he thinks himself, 
 A man that's passing well, — 
 
 To have some fruit for the children, 
 And some besides to sell. 
 
 Around the rich man's trellised bower 
 Gay costly creepers run ; 
 
 The poor man has his scarlet-beans 
 To screen him from the sun. 
 
 And there, before the little bench, 
 O'ershadowed by the bower. 
 
 Grow southern-wood and lemon-thyme, 
 Sweet-pea and gilliflower ; 
 
 And pink and clove-carnations, 
 Rich-scented, side by side ; 
 
 And at each end a hollyhock, 
 With an edge of London-pride. 
 
THE POOR man's GARDEN. 205 
 
 And here the good old grandmother conies, 
 
 When her day's work is done ; 
 And here they bring the sickly babe 
 
 To cheer it in the sun. 
 
 And here, on Sabbath mornings. 
 
 The good-man comes to get 
 His Sunday nosegay, — moss-rose bud, 
 
 White pink, and mignonette. 
 
 And here, on Sabbath evenings, 
 
 Until the stars are out, 
 With a little one in either hand, 
 
 He walketh all about. 
 
 For though his garden plot is small, 
 
 Him doth it satisfy, 
 And every inch within its bound 
 
 Comes underneath his eye. 
 
 It is not with the rich man thus ; 
 
 For though his grounds are wide. 
 He looks beyond, and yet beyond. 
 
 With soul unsatisfied. 
 
206 
 
 THE POOR MAN S OARDEN. 
 
 Yes ! ill tjie poor man's garden grow 
 Fai' more than lierbs and flowers ; — 
 
 Kind thoughts, contentment, peace of mind, 
 And joy for weary hours. 
 
k 
 
 
 Speak thou of pleasant hours and lovely 
 things :— 
 
 Of fields and woods ; of sunshine, dew, 
 and wind ; 
 
 Of mountains, valleys, and of river- 
 springs. 
 
 Speak thou of every little bird that 
 sings ; 
 
 Of every bright, sweet-scented flower 
 that blows ; 
 
208 L ENVOI. 
 
 But cliiefest speak of Him whose mercy flings 
 Beauty and love abroad, and who bestows 
 Light to the sun alike, with odour to the rose. 
 
 My little book, thou hast been unto me 
 Even as a flower reared in a pleasant place, 
 This is the task that I impose on thee : — 
 Go forth ; with serious style or playful grace, 
 Winning young gentle hearts ; and bid them trace 
 With thee, the Spirit of Love through earth and air, 
 Which holdeth all things in a vast embrace. 
 So, do thy gracious work ; and onward fare, 
 Leaving, like angel-guest, a blessing everywhere ! 
 
 X 
 
O T E S. 
 
 Page 16. — TLe swallow is a migratory bird, or bird of passage — visiting 
 England in the spring, and leaving it in October for warmer regions. 
 
 Page 17. — Moorish minaret. — The spires, or pinnacles, of the Mooiish 
 mosques are so called. 
 
 Page 18. — Herrnlmter. — The Dutch boer, or farmer, of the Cape Colony. 
 
 Page 22. — Stellaria. — This is the common chickweed. 
 
 Page 36. — Oberon is the King of the Fairies.— See Shakspeare's Mid- 
 summer-Night's Dream : — 
 
 " The king doth keep his revels here to-night. " 
 
 Page 57. — Shocks ; that is, the piled-up sheaves of corn. The}' are called 
 stooks in Scotland. 
 
 Page 61. — Mount Lebanon has always been celebrated for its cedars ; 
 but the forest which once covered its summit is now reduced to a scanty 
 group of about four hundred trees. These stand quite alone in a depression 
 of the mountain, about 6400 feet above the sea, and 3000 feet below the 
 summit. About eleven or twelve are very large and old. and may have been 
 saplings in the days of Solomon's glory ; twenty-five are large ; fifty of 
 middle size ; and more than three hundred are younger and smallei- ones. 
 
 Page 65. — The harebell {Campanula rotundifolia) must not be confouudet-l, 
 as it often is, with the blue-bell (or wild hyacinth, Scilla mituns). The one is 
 the child of Spring, the other of Autumn. 
 (•-') 14 
 
210 NOTES. 
 
 Page 67. — Crusader. — The knight who took up the Cross, — ^that is, who 
 made a vow to assist in delivering Jerusalem from the tyranny of the Saracens, 
 — was called a Crusader. 
 
 Page 78. — Eider-down. The down, or soft white feathers, of the eider- 
 duck. 
 
 Page 80. — Our forefathers associated many curious superstitions with the 
 mandrake, originating, perhaps, in its singular form. They thought that it 
 gave a cry when its roots were torn from the ground, and that its juice was 
 useful as an opiate ; that is, to deaden pain and induce sleep. It is now 
 kuowu to possess an intoxicating property. The root of the mandrake is 
 spindle-shaped, and often divided into two or three forks; the leaves are 
 long, sharp-pointed, hairy, and of a daik-gi-een colour. 
 
 Pages 95, 96.— Gillijloivers : a kind of i^ink. Ilart's-tong^ie : a favourite 
 species of fern. 
 
 Page 106. — Mavis: that is, the thrush. Merle: the blackbird. 
 
 Page 111. — Osmunda: a very beautiful genus of ferns. 
 
 Page 126. — The tailor-bird belongs to South Africa. It is remarkable 
 for tlie ingenuity with which it constructs its nest. With its long and slender 
 bill it sews together a couple of leaves, until they resemble a pouch in shajie, 
 and at the bottom it lays the daintiest moss it can collect for a couch. 
 
 Page 133. — Una is the spotless heroine of Sjseuser's poem of The Faery 
 Queen. The line, " shining out in a shady jjlace," reminds us of the poet's, — 
 
 " Making a sunshine in a shady place." 
 
 Page 13.j. — Recalling some old Grecian tale.—T\\<i Greek poets pretended 
 that when Adonis, a beautiful youth beloved by Venus, was killed by a wild 
 boar, his blood fell on a flower, and changed its hue. Tliis flower is called in 
 Greek hyacinthos (vaKivOos), but it could not have been identical with our 
 English flower so named. 
 
 Page 138. — Yan-ow ; that is, stubble. — Ortolan: a foreign bird, auciently 
 nuich esteemed for its delicacy of flesh. It is said to feed on figs. 
 
 Page 153. — That celestial city, h-iyht. — The New Jerusalem, of which we 
 I'ead in Eevelatiou xxi. 19, 20 : " The foundations of the wall of the city were 
 
NOTES. 211 
 
 gai'uished with all manner of precious stones. The first foundation was 
 jasper ; the second, sapphire ; the third, a chalcedony ; the fourth, an emerald ; 
 the fifth, sardonyx ; the sixth, sardius ; the seventh, chrysolyte ; the eighth, 
 beryl ; the ninth, a topaz ; the tenth, a clirysoprasus ; the eleventh, a jacinth ; 
 the twelfth, an amethyst." 
 
 Page 160. — Missel-coch ; that is, the missel-thrush. 
 
 Page 172. — Friar Tuck is one of the heroes of the Robin Hood ballads. 
 He was a jovial, portly monk, who accompanied the outlaws in all their wild 
 adventures. — " Puck " is the mischievous fairy of the Midsummer- Nkjlith 
 Dream ; he is sometimes called Eobin Goodfellow. 
 
 Page 177. — Stalactite. — When water oozes slowly through a bed or stratum 
 of limestone, it becomes charged or loaded with carbonate of lime, so that it 
 hardens into a kind of incrustation, like an icicle. This continues to increase in 
 size, as the water deposits upon it drop by drop, and the result is, the forma- 
 tion of those beautiful natural ornaments of all varieties of shape which em- 
 bellish the roofs of many of our natural grottoes and caverns. 
 
 Page 187. — Like Paul at Ephesus. — See Acts xix. 8. 
 
 Page 188. — Need we tell our young readers that "the Passion" means 
 " the SufTering " (Latin, passio) of our Lord. 
 
 Page IdO.— Wort of power. — There are several herbs known by this general 
 appellation, as star-wort, cole-wort, and the like. The old monks were jierse- 
 vering students of the properties of flowers, and we are indebted to them for 
 the discovery of many vei-y valuable medicines. 
 
 Page 20-i.^ Southern-ivood {Artemisia ahrotanum) is known by many 
 popular names, — as, for instance, " Boy's love " and " Old man." Gilliflowers, 
 j»iuks, and cloves, or clove carnations, all belong to a very numerous tribe of 
 flowers, the Dianthacite, or Pinks. 
 
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