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If the Butterfly knew but his friend,
Under the branches of the tree :
In and out, he darts about;
Can this be the bird, to man so good,
That, after their bewildering,
Covered with leaves the little children,
So painfully in the wood?
What ailed thee, Robin, that thou could'st pursue
A beautiful creature,
That is gentle by nature?
Beneath the summer sky
From flower to flower let him fly;
'Tis all that he wishes to do.
The cheerer Thou of our in-door sadness,
SONG FOR THE SPINNING WHEEL.
FOUNDED UPON A BELIEF PREVALENT AMONG THE PASTORAL VALES
SWIFTLY turn the murmuring wheel!
Night has brought the welcome hour,
Help, as if from faery power;
Dewy night o'ershades the ground;
Turn the swift wheel round and round!
Now, beneath the starry sky,
Couch the widely-scattered sheep ;
Ply the pleasant labour, ply!
Runs with speed more smooth and fine,
Short-lived likings may be bred
HINT FROM THE MOUNTAINS
FOR CERTAIN POLITICAL PRETENDERS.
"WHо but hails the sight with pleasure When the wings of genius rise,
Their ability to measure
With great enterprise ;
But in man was ne'er such daring
Mark him, how his power he uses,
Mark, ere for his haunt he chooses
Clouds and utter glooms!
There, he wheels in downward mazes; Sunward now his flight he raises,
Catches fire, as seems, and blazes
With uninjured plumes!"—
Stranger, 'tis no act of courage
But such mockery as the nations
Such it is; the aspiring creature
(So you fancied) is by nature.
A dull helpless thing,
Dry and withered, light and yellow ;-
Wait-and you shall see how hollow
ON SEEING A NEEDLECASE IN THE FORM OF A HARP,
THE WORK OF E.M.S.
FROWNS are on every Muse's face,
A very Harp in all but size!
Needles for strings in apt gradation!
Minerva's self would stigmatize
The unclassic profanation.
Even her own needle that subdued
Arachne's rival spirit,
Though wrought in Vulcan's happiest mood, Like station could not merit.
And this, too, from the Laureate's Child,
A living lord of melody!
How will her Sire be reconciled
To the refined indignity?