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The robin warbled forth his full clear note
For hours, and wearied not.

W. C. BRYANT. Bird of the broad and sweeping wing,

Thy home is high in heaven,
Where wide the storms their banners fling,
And tempest-clouds are driven !

J. G. PERCIVAL
Ofttimes, tho' seldom seen,
The cuckoo, that in summer haunts our groves,
Is heard to moan, as if at every

breath Panting aloud.

CARLOS Wilcox. The merry mocking-bird together links, In one continued

-song,

all diff'rent notes, Adding new life and sweetness to them all.

CARLOS Wilcox. Along the surface of the winding stream, Pursuing every turn, gay swallows skim, Or, round the borders of the spacious lawn, Fly in repeated circles, rising o'er Hillock and fence, with motion serpentine, Easy and light.

Carlos Wilcox. The robin to the garden or green yard, Close to the door, repairs to build again Within her wonted tree.

Carlos Wilcox, And in mid air the sportive night-hawk, seen Flying awhile at random, uttering oft A cheerful cry, attended with a shake Of level pinions dark, but, when upturn'd Against the brightness of the western sky, The white plume shining in the midst of each, Then far down diving with a hollow sound.

Carlos Wilcox:

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The whippoorwill, her name her only song.

CARLOS WILCOX
The yellowhammer by the wayside picks
Mutely the thistle seed: but in her flight
So smoothly serpentine, her wings outspread
To rise a little, clos’d to fall as far.

CARLOS Wilcox
The flippant blackbird, with light yellow crown,
Hangs flutt'ring in the air, and chatters thick
Till her breath fails, when, breaking off, she drops
On the next tree, and on its highest limb,
Or some tall flag, and, gently rocking, sits,
Her strain repeating.

CARLOS WILCOX.
With sonorous notes
Of every tone, mix'd in confusion sweet,
The forest rings.

CARLOS WILCOX.
The bird whose pinion courts the sunbeam's fire.

CHARLES SPRAGUE.
Ever, my son, be thou like the dove ;
In friendship as faithful, as constant in love.

BISHOP DOANE.
A free, wild spirit unto thee is given,

Bright minstrel of the blue celestial dome!
For thou wilt wander to yon upper heaven,

And bathe thy plumage in the sunbeam's home;
And, soaring upward, from thy dizzy height,
On free and fearless wing, be lost to human sight !

MRS. AMELIA Welex
Hark! how with love and flutt'ring start

The skylark soars above,
And with her full, melodious heart,

She pours her strains of love.

BLACKSMITH - FARMER - PEASANT.

91

Bird of the pure and dewy morn!
How soft thy heavenward lay

where life and light are born, Around the rosy day !

MRS. AMELIA WELBY

Floats up

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Here smokes his forge ; he bares his sinewy arm,
And early strokes the sounding anvil warm;
Around his shop the steely sparkles flew,
As for the steed he shap'd the bending shoe.

Gay's Trivia. Dit did the harvest to the sickle yield,

Their harrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke;
How jocund did they drive their team a-field,
How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke !

Gray's Elegy.
He trudg'd along, unknowing what he sought,
And whistled as he went, for want of thought.

DRYDEN. His corn and cattle were his only care, And his supreme delight, a country fair.

DRYDEN. Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade; A breath can make them, as a breath hath made ; But a bold peasantry, their country's pride, When once destroy’d, can never be supplied.

GOLDSMITH's Deserted Village. From labour health, from health contentment springs ; Contentment opes the source of every joy.

BEATTIE'S Minstrel.

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The smith, a mighty man is he,

With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.

H. W. LONGFELLOW
Week in, week out, from morn till night

You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge
With measur'd beat and slow.

H. W. LONGFELLOW.
How blest the farmer's simple life!

How pure the joy it yields !
Far from the world's tempestuous strife,
Free, 'mid the scented fields !

C. W. EVEREST.
The cobbler's all depends upon his awl,

And sheer's the merit of the tailor's shears ;
The farmers crop their living from their crop,

And each man shares the blessings of their shares.
Who ever saw the workman wield his saw

Or move his plane along the timber's plane,
Or with just rule adjust his iron rule,
Must fain admit his skill he does not feign.

J. T. WATSON.

BLINDNESS.

O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon;
Irrevocably dark! total eclipse,
Without all hope of day,

Milton's Samson Agonistes.
O, loss of sight, of thee I most complain!
Light, the prime work of God, to me's extinct,
And all ner various objects of delight
Annullid, which might in part my grief have eas'd.

Milton's Samson Agonistes.

BLUSH - BOASTING

93

Thus with the year
Seasons return, but not to me returns
Day, or the sweet approach of ev’n or morn,
Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose,
Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine;
But clouds instead, and ever-during dark
Surrounds me, from the cheerful ways

of men
Cut off, and for the book of knowledge fair
Presented with an universal blank
Of nature's works to me expung’d and ras’d,
And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out.

Milton's Paradise Lost.
Nor to these idle orbs doth sight appear
Of sun, or moon, or stars, throughout the year,
Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not
Against heaven's hand or will, nor bate a jot
Of heart or hope ; but still bear

up

and steer Right onward.

Milton, Ah! little know they of the dreamy sadness

That shadows o'er my spirit's viewless urn,
For they can look out on the free world's gladness,

Where blossoms blow, and stars shoot out and burn;
While I mușt sit, a fair yet darken’d flower,

Amid the bright band gathering round our hearth,
The only sad thing in our sweet home's bower-
Oh! for one glance upon the fresh

green

earth!
MRS. A. B WELBY

BLUSH.-(See BASHFULNESS.)

BOASTING.

The honour's overpaid, When he that did the act is commentator.

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