WITH fluttering start, in silence, from her nest To earth, in hues of full-flushed summer drest; Till, fondly lured, she turns her faithful breast And chants her three wild notes to welcome home. MRS. J. CONDER. "The sky-lark, Alauda arvensis, is justly celebrated for its song. Though monotonous, it is cheerful, and imparts gaiety to the mind of even the most serious. Its joyous matins and heavenward flight have been aptly compared to hymns, and acts of adoration and praise.-After descending half way, it ceases to sing, and drops with the velocity of an arrow to the ground." Of this familiar fact, Gay has made a beautiful application in his popular ballad of "Black-eyed Susan." See Mr. Main's papers on British Song Birds. Mag. of Nat. Hist. vol. 4. They abound in interesting matter, and are written with the feelings of a true lover of nature. THE CUCKOO. HAIL! beauteous stranger of the grove ! What time the daisy decks the green, Thy certain voice we hear; Delightful visitant! with thee I hail the time of flowers, The schoolboy wandering through the wood, Starts-the new voice of Spring to hear, And imitates thy lay. What time the pea puts on the bloom, Thou fliest thy vocal vale: Sweet bird! thy bower is ever green, Thy sky is ever clear; Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, O could I fly, I'd fly with thee! JOHN LOGAN. The eminent statesman, Burke, was so pleased with this beautiful poem, that when he was at Edinburgh, he made himself acquainted with its author. THE WALL-FLOWER. THE Wall-flower-the Wall-flower, It gleams above the tower, Like sun-light over tombs; It sheds a halo of repose Around the wrecks of Time :To beauty give the flaunting rose, The Wall-flower is sublime. Flower of the solitary place! Time's canker-tooth hath made. Thy roots outspread the ramparts o'er, In battle's grim array: The beacon on the hill No more through midnight blazes red,— Whither hath fled the choral band Yon dark sepulchral yew-trees stand F In the belfry's crevices the dove Her young brood nurseth well, Whilst thou, lone flower! dost shed above 'A sweet decaying smell.' In the season of the tulip-cup, And on the hawthorn by the road Sweet Wall-flower-sweet Wall-flower! Thou conjurest up to me Of boyhood's thoughtless glee; Now Autumn's pensive voice is heard And Robin is the regal bird, And thou, the queen of Flowers! He sings on the laburnum trees Amid the twilight dim, And Araby ne'er gave the breeze Such scents, as thou to him. Rich is the pink, the lily gay; The rose is Summer's guest; Bland are thy charms when these decay,Of flowers-first, last, and best! There may be gaudier on the bower, But Wall-flower-loved Wall-flower! Thou art the flower for me! MOIR. THE VIOLET. I LOVE all things the seasons bring, All the sweet words that summer sends, I love, how much I love the rose, The lily paler than the moon, The odorous wonderous month of June, She comes, the first, the fairest thing, She dwells behind her leafy screen, What modest thoughts the Violet teaches, Bright maiden, ne'er forget! But learn, and love, and so depart, B. CORNWALL. |