And digs for himself a chain that shall bind 'Neath the festering fetters-the craving sin That dwarfs the soul within. Copy the peacock, then, which flies Major C. Campbell. THE MORNING LARK. FEATHER'D Songster, warbling high, A land breeze shook the shrouds, Down went the Royal George, Toll for the brave! His sword was in his sheath, Weigh the vessel up, Once dreaded by our foes; The tear that England owes. Her timbers yet are sound, Full-charged with England's thunder And plough the distant main. MAY. MAY, Sweet May, again is come, On the laughing hedgerow's side Hill and dale are May's own treasures; Up, then, children, we will go We the bursting flowers will see: Listen to the birds' sweet song; From the German. THE FROST. THE Frost look'd forth one still clear night, I will not go on like that blustering train, Then he flew to the mountain, and powder'd its crest; Of the quivering lake he spread A coat of mail, that it need not fear He went to the windows of those who slept, By the light of the moon were seen Most beautiful things:-there were flowers and trees, But he did one thing that was hardly fair; Shall 'tchick!' to tell them I'm drinking." Miss Gould. |