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النشر الإلكتروني

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SUMMER WOODS.

There grows the four-leaved plant "true-love,"
In some dusk woodland spot;
There grows the enchanter's night-shade,
And the wood forget-me-not.

And many a merry bird is there,
Unscared by lawless men;
The blue-winged jay, the woodpecker,
And the golden-crested wren.

Come down, and ye shall see them all,
The timid and the bold;

For their sweet life of pleasantness,
It is not to be told.

And far within that summer-wood,
Among the leaves so green,
There flows a little gurgling brook,
The brightest e'er was seen.

There come the little gentle birds,
Without a fear of ill;

Down to the murmuring water's edge
And freely drink their fill!

And dash about and splash about,
The merry little things;

And look askance with bright black eyes,
And flirt their dripping wings.

SUMMER WOODS.

I've seen the freakish squirrels drop.
Down from their leafy tree,
The little squirrels with the old,-
Great joy it was to me!

And down unto the running brook
I've seen them nimbly go;
And the bright water seemed to speak
A welcome kind and low.

The nodding plants they bow their heads,
As if, in heartsome cheer,

They spake unto those little things, ""Tis merry living here!"

O, how my heart ran o'er with joy!
I saw that all was good,
And how we might glean up delight
All round us, if we would!

And many a wood-mouse dwelleth there,
Beneath the old wood-shade,

And all day long has work to do,
Nor is of aught afraid.

The green shoots grow above their heads,
And roots so fresh and fine
Beneath their feet, nor is there strife
'Mong them for mine and thine.

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LITTLE BELL.

There is enough for every one,
And they lovingly agree;
We might learn a lesson, all of us,
Beneath the green-wood tree!

LITTLE BELL.

"He prayeth well who loveth well
Both man and bird and beast."

MARY HOWITT.

PIPED the Blackbird on the beechwood spray,
"Pretty maid, slow wandering this way,

What's your name?" quoth he

"What's your name? O, stop and straight unfold
Pretty maid, with showery curls of gold!"
"Little Bell," said she.

Little Bell sat down beneath the rocks,
Tossed aside her gleaming golden locks,
"Bonny bird!" quoth she,
"Sing me your best song before I go.'
"Here's the very finest song I know,
Little Bell," said he.

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And the blackbird piped
you never heard
Half so gay a song from any bird —

Full of quips and wiles,

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LITTLE BELL.

Now so round and rich, now soft and slow,
All for love of that sweet face below,
Dimpled o'er with smiles.

And the while the bonny bird did pour His full heart out, freely o'er and o'er, 'Neath the morning skies,

In the little childish heart below,

All the sweetness seemed to grow and grow,
And shine forth in happy overflow
From the blue, bright eyes.

Down the dell she tripped; and through the glade
Peeped the squirrel from the hazel shade,
And from out the tree

Swung and leaped and frolicked, void of fear, While bold Blackbird piped, that all might hear, "Little Bell!" piped he.

Little Bell sat down amid the fern:

Squirrel, Squirrel, to your task return;
Bring me nuts!" quoth she.
Up, away! the frisky squirrel hies-
Golden woodlights glancing in his eyes
And adown the tree,

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Great ripe nuts, kissed brown by July sun,
In the little lap drop, one by one –
Hark, how Blackbird pipes to see the fun!
"Happy Bell!" pipes he.

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LITTLE BELL.

Little Bell looked up and down the glade:
"Squirrel, Squirrel, from the nut-tree shade,
Bonny Blackbird, if you 're not afraid,
Come and share with me!"

Down came Squirrel, eager for his fare,
Down came bonny Blackbird, I declare,
Little Bell gave each his honest share.
Ah, the merry three!

And the while those frolic playmates twain
Piped and frisked from bough to bough again,
'Neath the morning skies,
In the little childish heart below,
All the sweetness seemed to grow
And shine out, in happy overflow,
From the blue, bright eyes.

and grow,

By her snow-white cot, at close of day,
Knelt sweet Bell with folded palms, to pray -
Very calm and clear

-

Rose the praying voice to where, unseen
In blue heaven, an angel shape serene
Paused awhile to hear.

"What good child is this," the angel said,
"That with happy heart, beside her bed,
Prays so lovingly!"

Low and soft, O very low and soft,

Crooned the Blackbird in the orchard croft, "Bell, dear Bell!" crooned he.

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