Lies with her infant lamb: I see

The love they to each other make,

And the sweet joy, which they partake,
It is a joy to me.”

Her voice was blithe, her heart was light:
The Broom might have pursu'd

Her speech, until the stars of night
Their journey had renew'd;

But in the branches of the Oak
Two ravens now began to croak
Their nuptial song, a gladsome air;
And to her own green bower the breeze
That instant brought two stripling bees,
To rest and murmur there.

One night, my children! from the north
There came a furious blast;

At break of day I ventur'd forth,
And near the cliff I pass'd':

The storm had fallen upon the Oak,

And struck him with a mighty stroke,

And whirl'd and whirl'd him far away;

And in one hospitable cleft

The little careless Broom was left,

To live for many a day.

CHARACTERISTICS

OF A CHILD THREE YEARS OLD.

BY WORDSWORTH.

LOVING she is, and tractable, though wild;
And innocence hath privilege in her
To dignify arch looks and laughing eyes;
And feats of cunning; and the pretty round
Of trespasses, affected to provoke

Mock chastisement and partnership in play.

And, as a faggot sparkles on the hearth,

Not less, if unattended and alone,

Than when both young and old sit gather'd round,

And take delight in its activity,

Even so this happy creature of herself

Is all-sufficient; solitude to her

Is blithe society, who fills the air

With gladness and involuntary songs.

Light are her sallies as the tripping fawn's,

Forth-startled from the fern, where she lay couch'd;

Unthought-of, unexpected as the stir

Of the soft breeze ruffling the meadow flowers;
Or from before it chasing wantonly
The many-colour'd images impress'd
Upon the bosom of a placid lake.

THE GREEN LINNET.

BY WORDSWORTH.

BENEATH these fruit-tree boughs, that shed
Their snow-white blossoms on my head,
With brightest sunshine round me spread
Of spring's unclouded weather;

In this sequester'd nook how sweet
To sit upon my orchard-seat!

And flowers and birds once more to greet,
My last year's friends together.

One have I mark'd, the happiest guest
In all this covert of the blest:

Hail to thee, far above the rest

In joy of voice and pinion, Thou, Linnet! in thy green array,

Presiding spirit here to-day,

Dost lead the revels of the May,

And this is thy dominion.

While birds, and butterflies, and flowers
Make all one band of paramours,

Thou, ranging up and down the bowers,
Art sole in thy employment;

A life, a presence like the air,
Scattering thy gladness without care,
Too bless'd with any one to pair,
Thyself thy own enjoyment.

Upon yon tuft of hazel trees,
That twinkle to the gusty breeze,
Behold him perch'd in ecstasies,
Yet seeming still to hover;
There! where the flutter of his wings
Upon his back and body flings
Shadows and sunny glimmerings,
That cover him all over.

While thus before my eyes he gleams, A brother of the leaves he seems, When in a moment forth he teems His little song in gushes:

As if it pleas'd him to disdain

And mock the form which he did feign, While he was dancing with the train

Of leaves among the bushes.

THE RAINBOW.

BY J. HOLLAND.

THE evening was glorious, and light through the

trees

Play'd the sunshine and rain-drops, the birds and the breeze;

The landscape outstretching in loveliness lay
On the lap of the year, in the beauty of May;

For the queen of the spring, as she pass'd down the

vale,

Left her robe on the trees, and her breath on the "

gale;

And the smile of her promise gave joy to the hours, And flush in her footsteps sprang herbage and flowers.

The skies like a banner in sunset unroll'd,

O'er the west threw their splendour of azure and

gold;

But ONE cloud at a distance rose dense, and in

creas'd

Till its margin of black touch'd the zenith and east.