Its very ruins now are lost, its site is waste and lonc, And played with all a child's delight, beside her father's door; Then sauntering down the precipice, the girl did gladly go, To see, perchance, how matters went in the little world below. With few and easy steps she passed the mountain and the wood; At length near Haslach, at the place where mankind dwelt, she stood; And many a town and village fair, and many a field so green, Before her wondering eyes appeared a strange and curious scene. And as she gazed, in wonder lost, on all the scene around, She saw a peasant at her feet, a-tilling of the ground; The little creature crawled about so slowly here and there, And, lighted by the morning sun, his plough shone bright and fair. "O, pretty plaything!" cried the child, "I'll take thee home with me;" Then with her infant hands she spread her kerchief on her knee, And cradling horse, and man, and plough, all gently on her arm, She bore them home with cautious steps, afraid to do them harm: She hastes with joyous steps and quick (we know what children are), And spying soon her father out, she shouted from afar— "O father, dearest father, such a plaything I have found, I never saw so fair a one on all our mountain ground." Her father sat at table then, and drank his wine so mild, And, smiling with a parent's smile, he asks the happy child "What struggling creature hast thou brought so carefully to me? Thou leap'st for very joy, my girl; come, open, let us see." She opes her kerchief carefully, and gladly, you may deem, And shows her eager sire the plough, the peasant, and his team; And when she'd placed before his sight the new-found pretty toy, She clasped her hands, and screamed aloud, and cried for very joy. But her father looked quite seriously, and shaking slow his head, "What hast thou brought me home, my child? This is no toy," he said; "Go, take it quickly back again, and put it down below; The peasant is no plaything, girl-how could'st thou think him so? So go, without a sigh or sob, and do my will," he said; "For know, without the peasant, girl, we none of us had bread; "Tis from the peasant's hardy stock the race of giants are, The peasant is no plaything, child-no, God forbid he were!" RICHARDSON. ADARE. O SWEET Adare! O lovely vale! O soft retreat of sylvan splendour! Nor summer sun, nor morning gale, E'er hailed a scene more softly tender. How shall I tell the thousand charms Within thy verdant bosom dwelling, Where lulled in Nature's fost❜ring arms, Soft peace abides and joy excelling! Ye morning airs, how sweet at dawn With odour of the harebell taken. Thy smile from far Knockfierna's mountain, O'er waving woods and bounding streams, And many a grove and glancing fountain. In sweet Adare, the jocund spring His notes of odorous joy is breathing, The wild birds in the woodland sing, The wild-flowers in the vale are breathing. There winds the Mague, as silver clear, Among the elms so sweetly flowing, There, fragrant in the early year, Wild roses on the banks are blowing. The wild duck seeks the sedgy bank, The hawthorn scents the leafy dale, The sound of vernal joy is swelling. GRIFFIN. MORNING'S DAWN. THERE is a soft and fragrant hour- Steals from the veil of parting night, 'Tis when some ling'ring stars scarce shed O'er the mist-clad mountain's head Their fairy beam; Then one by one, retiring, shroud, 'Tis when, just waked from transient death Sheds on the air its rich perfume, While every bud with deeper bloom "Tis when fond nature, genial power! Weeps o'er each drooping night-closed flower, Those doubtful mists, that leave to view "Tis when the restless child of sorrow, And seeks, 'midst scenes so sweet, so mild, Nor day, nor night, this hour can claim ; But fresh, reviving, dewy, sweet, It hastes the glowing hours to meet MORGAN. THE HAUNTED SPRING. GAILY through the mountain glen The hunter's horn did ring, As the milk-white doe Escaped his bow, Down by the haunted spring. In vain his silver horn he wound,- "Twas echo answered back; For neither groom nor baying hound In vain he sought the milk-white doe That made him stray, and 'scaped his bow, |