SUMMER MOODS.

I LOVE at eventide to walk alone,

Down narrow lanes, o'erhung with dewy thorn, Where, from the long grass underneath,—the snail, Jet black, creeps out, and sprouts his timid horn. I love to muse o'er meadows newly mown,

Where withering grass perfumes the sultry air; Where bees search round with sad and weary drone,

In vain, for flowers that bloom'd but newly there; While in the juicy corn the hidden quail

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Cries, wet my foot," and, hid as thoughts unborn, The fairy-like and seldom-seen landrail

Utters, "craik-craik," like voices under ground, Right glad to meet the evening dewy veil,

And see the light, fade into gloom around.

TO THE BAT.

LITTLE Bat whose airy flight
Fills the evening with delight,
Flit, and flirt, and frisk along,
Subject of my youthful song.
When in dappled twilight grey,
Through the sombre grove I stray,
Whilst fair Philomela's throat
Warbles forth its varied note.
"Thwart my dusky footsteps fly,
Adding dance to minstrelsey.
Now along the glittering stream,
Now beneath pale Cynthia's beam,
Now amid the vista's shade,
Thou thy giddy circles lead;

Joyous elf! thy fairy play

Glads the gloom of parting day.

Gentleman's Magazine, 1799.

To ancient Naturalists, Bats were a subject of much perplexity. They were ranked by them as birds, under the denomination of aves non aves, birds, and yet not birds. Nor was it till the close of the seventeenth century, that they were decidedly placed among viviparous quadrupeds. Mankind, from the earliest ages of the world, have entertained an aversion to them. With several of the nocturnal birds, they have generally been considered as creatures of sad omen. In the Faerie Queen, we read of

The ill-facte owl, deathe's dreadful messenger;

The hoarse night raven, trompe of doleful dreere;
The leather-winged bat, day's enemie.

Homer also introduces these animals as objects of terror in his Odyssey, Book xxiv.

As in the cavern of some rifted den,

Where flock nocturnal bats, and birds obscene,
Cluster'd they hang, till at some sudden shock

They move, and murmurs ran through all the rock:

So cowering fled the sable heaps of ghosts,

And such a scream filled all the dismal coasts.

THE GENTIANELLA;

IN LEAF.

GREEN thou art, obscurely green,
Meanest plant among the mean!
-From the dust I took my birth;
Thou too art a child of earth.
I aspire not to be great;

Scorn not thou my low estate :
Wait the time, and thou shalt see
Honour crown humility,
Beauty set her seal on me.

IN FLOWER.

Blue thou art, intensely blue !
Flower, whence came that dazzling hue ?
· When I opened first mine eye,
Upwards glancing to the sky,
Straightway from the firmament
Was the sapphire brilliance sent ;
Brighter glory wouldst thou share?
Look to heaven, and seek it there

In the act of faith and prayer!

J. MONTGOMERY.

The Gentianella, Gentiana acaulis, is a native of the Alps, and was introduced into our gardens in 1629. It is highly prized by every votary of Flora on account of its exquisitely brilliant blue flowers.

THE SKY-LARK.

BIRD of the wilderness,

Blithsome and cumberless,

Light be thy matin o'er moorland and lea!

Emblem of happiness!

Bless'd is thy dwelling-place!

O, to abide in the desert with thee!

Wild is thy lay and loud,
Far in the downy cloud;

Love gives it energy, love gave it birth.
Where, on thy dewy wing,

Where art thou journeying?

Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth.

O'er fell and fountain sheen,

O'er moor and mountain green,

O'er the red streamer that heralds the day;
Over the cloudlet dim,

Over the rainbow's rim,
Musical cherub, hie, hie thee away!

Then when the gloaming comes,
Low in the heather blooms,

Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be!
Emblem of happiness !

Bless'd is thy dwelling-place!

O, to abide in the desert with thee!

HOGG.

SUMMER EVENING.

THE frog, half-fearful, jumps across the path, And little mouse, that leaves its hole at eve, Nimbles with timid dread beneath the swath; My rustling steps awhile their joys deceive, Till pass'd-and then the cricket sings more strong, And grasshoppers, in merry moods, still wear The short night weary, with the fretting song ; Up from behind the molehill jumps the hare, Cheat of its chosen bed-and from the bank The yellow-hammer flutters in short fears From off its nest, hid in the grasses rank,

And drops again, when no more noise it hears: Thus, Nature's human link and endless thrall, Proud man, still seems the enemy of all.

THE FURZE-BUSH.

LET Burns and old Chaucer unite
The praise of the Daisy to sing,-
Let Wordsworth of Celandine write,
And crown her the queen of the Spring;
The Hyacinth's classical fame

Let Milton embalm in his verse;
Be mine the glad task to proclaim
The charms of untrumpeted Furze.

Of all other bloom when bereft,
And Sol wears his wintry screen,
Thy sunshining blossoms are left
To light up the common and green.
O, why should they envy the peer
His perfume of spices and myrrhs,
When the poorest their senses may cheer
With incense diffused from the Furze?

It is bristled with thorns, I confess;
But so is the much-flattered Rose :
Is the Sweet-brier lauded the less

Because among prickles it grows?
"Twere to cut off an epigram's point,
Or disfurnish a knight of his spurs,
If we foolishly wished to disjoint

Its arms from the lance-bearing Furze. Ye dabblers in mines, who would clutch The wealth which their bowels enfold; See! Nature, with Midas-like touch, Here turns a whole common to gold. No niggard is she to the poor,

But distributes whatever is her's, And the wayfaring beggar is sure

Of a tribute of gold from the Furze.