"He that gathereth in summer is a wise son."
THE bee is at work among the flowers,
Turning to profit the sunbright hours,
Laying up honey and wax in store
Ere the bloomy sweets of the summer are o'er.
Ever she hummeth a cheerful song,
As from blossom to blossom she speeds along;
For heavy and sad the sluggard may be,
But merry. and light is the diligent bee.
The dry little heath seems to yield to her
Sweets that she doth to the rose prefer;
Nectar she sips from each tiny cell,
Then deep she hides in the foxglove's bell.
It bends with her weight: but as out she flies,
Lightly as ever the flow'ret will rise,
Fragrant and fresh and as fair to see;
For she is no spoiler, the gentle bee.
Thou who hast made both the bee and flower,
And givest for labour the sunbright hour,
Teach me thus to use every gift of Thine,
And the blessing that maketh rich be mine.
BESIDE a green meadow a stream used to flow,
So clear, one might see the white pebbles below;
To this cooling brook the warm cattle would stray,
To stand in the shade on a hot summer's day.
A cow, quite oppress'd by the heat of the sun,
Came here to refresh, as she often had done;
And, standing quite still, stooping over the stream,
Was musing perhaps, or perhaps she might dream.
But soon a brown ass of respectable look
Came trotting up also, to taste of the brook,
And to nibble a few of the daisies and grass:
"How d'ye do?" said the cow. "How d'ye do?"
said the ass.
"Take a seat," said the cow, gently waving her
"By no means, dear madam," said he, "while you
Then stooping to drink, with a complaisant bow, "Ma'am, your health," said the ass:- "Thank you, sir," said the cow.
When a few of these compliments more had been pass'd,
They laid themselves down on the herbage at last;
And waiting politely (as gentlemen must),
The ass held his tongue, that the cow might speak
first.
Then with a deep sigh, she directly began,
"Don't you think, Mr. Ass, we are injured by
"Tis a subject which lies with a weight on my
We really are greatly oppress'd by mankind.
Pray what is the reason (I see none at all)
That I always must go when Suke chooses to call?
Whatever I'm doing ('tis certainly hard),
I'm forced to leave off to be milked in the yard.
I've no will of my own, but must do as they please,
And give them my milk to make butter and cheese;
Sometimes I endeavour to kick down the pail,
Or give Suke a box of the ear with my tail."
"But, ma'am," said the ass, "not presuming to
O dear, I beg pardon-pray finish your speech: Excuse my mistake," said the complaisant swain, "Go on, and I'll not interrupt you again."
"Why, sir, I was just then about to observe,
Those hard-hearted tyrants no longer I'll serve;
But leave them for ever to do as they please,
And look somewhere else for their butter and
cheese."
Ass waited a moment, as gentlemen can;
And then, "Not presuming to teach," he began,
"Permit me to say, since my thoughts you invite,
I always saw things in a different light.
That you afford man an important supply,
No ass in his senses would ever deny:
But then, in return, 'tis but fair to allow,
They are of some service to you, Mistress Cow.
'Tis their pleasant meadow in which you repose,
And they find a shelter from winterly snows:
For comforts like these we're indebted to man;
And for him, in return, should do all that we can."
The cow, upon this, cast her eyes on the Not pleased to be school'd in this way by an ass; "Yet," said she to herself, "though he's not very bright,
I really believe the fellow is right."
THE SAVOYARD'S RETURN.
O, yonder is the well-known spot,-
My dear, my long-lost, native home;
O, welcome is yon little cot,
Where I shall rest, no more to roam.
O, I have travell'd far and wide,
O'er many a distant foreign land;
Each place, each province I have tried,
And sung and danced my saraband:
But all their charms could not prevail,
To steal my heart from yonder vale.
Of distant climes the false report
It lured me from my native land;
It bade me rove-my sole support
My cymbals and my saraband.
The woody dell, the hanging rock,
The chamois skipping o'er the heights;
The plain adorn'd with many a flock,
And, O, a thousand more delights
That grace yon dear beloved retreat,
Have backward won my weary feet.
Now safe return'd, with wandering tired,
No
more my little home I'll leave;
And many a tale of what I've seen
Shall wile away the winter's eve.
.O, I have wander'd far and wide,
O'er many a distant foreign land;
Each place, each province I have tried,
And sung and danced my saraband:
But all their charms could not prevail,
To steal my heart from yonder vale.
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