37.-THE GARDEN OF ROSES.-Moore.

There's a garden of roses by Bendemeer's stream,

And the nightingale sings round it all the day long; In the time of my childhood, 'twas like a sweet dream To sit 'midst the roses, and hear the birds' song. That garden of roses I ne'er can forget;

But oft when alone, in the bloom of the year, I think " Is the nightingale singing there yet?

Are the roses still bright by the calm Bendemeer ?"

No! the roses soon withered that hung o'er the wave,

But some blossoms were gathered, while freshly they shone; And a dew was distilled from their flowers, that gave

All the fragrance of summer, when summer was gone. Thus Memory draws from Delight, ere it dies,

An essence that breathes of it many a year;

Thus bright to my soul, as 'twas then to my eyes,
Is that bower on the banks of the calm Bendemeer.

38.-TO A BEE.-Southey.

Thou wast out betimes, thou busy, busy Bee !---
As abroad I took my early way,

Before the cow from her resting-place
Had risen up, and left her trace

On the meadow, with dew so gray,

Saw I thee, thou busy, busy Bee!

Thou wast working late, thou busy, busy Bee!-
After the fall of the cistus-flower,

When the primrose of evening was ready to burst,
I heard thee last, as I saw thee first:

In the silence of the evening hour,

Heard I thee, thou busy, busy Bee!

Thou art a miser, thou busy, busy Bee.
Late and early at employ;

Still on thy golden stores intent,

Thy Summer in keeping and hoarding is spent
What thy Winter will never enjoy ;—

Wise lesson this for me, thou busy, busy Bee!

Little dost thou think, thou busy, busy Bee,
What is the end of thy toil.

When the latest flowers of the ivy are gone,
And all thy work for the year is done,

Thy master comes for the spoil;

Woe then for thee, thou busy, busy Bee!

39.-LITTLE CHILDREN.-Mary Howitt.

Sporting through the forest wide, playing by the waterside; wandering o'er the heathy fells, down within the woodland dells; all among the mountains wild dwelleth many a little child! 2 In the baron's hall of pride, by the poor man's dull fireside; 'mid the mighty, 'mid the mean, little children may be seen,-like the flowers that spring up fair, bright and countless, everywhere! 3 In the far isles of the main; in the desert's lone domain; in the savage mountain glen, 'mong the tribes of swarthy men ; wheresoe'er a foot hath gone; wheresoe'er the sun hath shone, on a league of peopled ground, little children may be found! Blessings on them! they in me move a kind of sympathy, with their wishes, hopes, and fears; with their laughter and their tears; with their wonder so intense, and their small experience! 5 Little children, not alone on the wide earth are ye known. Free from sorrow, free from strife, in the world of love and life, where no sinful thing hath trod, in the presence of your God,-spotless, blameless, glorified, little children, ye abide!

40.-THE ASS AND THE FLUTE.-Yriarte.

You must know that this ditty, this little romance,
Be it dull, be it witty, arose from-mere chance!
Near a certain enclosure, not far from our manse,
An ass with composure was passing-by chance!
As he went along prying, with sober advance,
A shepherd's flute lying, he found there-by chance!
Our amateur started, and eyed it askance,
Drew nearer, and snorted upon it—by chance!
The breath of the brute, sir, drew music for once,
It entered the flute, sir, and blew it-by chance!
"Ah!" cried he, in wonder," how comes this to pass?
Who will now dare to slander the skill of an ass?"
And asses in plenty I see at a glance,

Who, one time in twenty, succeed by--mere chance!

41.-THE FLY.-Bruce.

'Pr'ythee, little buzzing fly, eddying round my taper, why is it that its quivering light, dazzling, captivates your sight? Bright my taper is, 'tis true; trust me, 'tis too bright for you; 'tis a flame-vain thing, beware! 'tis a flame you cannot bear. 2 Touch it, and 'tis instant fate; take my counsel ere too late: buzz no longer round and round, settle on the wall or ground sleep till morn; at daybreak rise, danger then you may despise, enjoying, in the sunny air, the life your caution now may spare Lo! my counsel nought avails; round and round and round it sails; sails with idle unconcern,―pr'ythee, trifler, canst thou burn? Madly heedless as thou art, know thy danger and depart; why persist ?—I plead in vain! singed it falls, and writhes in pain!......Is not this,-deny who can,—is not this a type of man? Like the fly, he rashly tries pleasure's burning sphere, and dies. Vain the friendly caution, still he rebels, alas! and will. What I sing let all apply,-flies are weak, and man's a fly!

42.-REASONS FOR MIRTH.-Miss Mitford.

The sun is careering in glory and might

'Mid the deep blue sky and the clouds so bright;

The billow is tossing its foam on high,

And the summer breezes go lightly by;

The air and the water dance, glitter, and play,—
And why should not I be as merry as they?

The linnet is singing the wild wood through,
The fawn's bounding footsteps skim over the dew;
The butterfly flits round the blossoming tree,
And the cowslip and bluebell are bent by the bec:
All the creatures that dwell in the forest are gay,
And why should not I be as merry as they?

43.-THE MOUNTAIN AND THE SQUIRREL.-Emerson.

The Mountain and the Squirrel had a quarrel; and the former called the latter "Little prig !"-Bun replied, "You are doubtless very big; but all sorts of things and weather must be taken-in together to make up a year, and a sphere. And I think it no disgrace to occupy my place. If I'm not so large as you, you are not so small as I, and not half so spry: I'll not deny you make a very pretty squirrel-track. Talents differ; all is well and wisely put; if I cannot carry forests on my back, neither can you crack a nut."

44.-PRINCIPLE AND PRACTICE.-Cowper.

A youngster at school, more sedate than the rest,
Had once his integrity put to the test:

His comrades had plotted an orchard to rob,
And asked him to go and assist in the job.

He was very much shocked, and answered: "Oh no!
What! rob our good neighbour? I pray you, don't go;
Besides, the man's poor,-his orchard's his bread,-
Then think of his children, for they must be fed."

"You speak very fine, and you look very grave,
But apples we want, and apples we'll have;

If

you will go with us, we'll give you a share If not, you shall have neither apple nor pear."

;

They spoke, and Tom pondered: "I see they will go;
Poor man! what a pity to injure him so;

Poor man! I would save him his fruit if I could,

But staying behind will do him no good.

"If this matter depended alone upon me,

His apples might hang, till they dropped from the tree;
But since they will take them, I think I'll go too;
He will lose none by me, though I get a few.”
His scruples thus silenced, Tom felt more at ease,
And went with his comrades the apples to seize;
He blamed, and protested-but joined in the plan;
He shared in the plunder, but pitied the man!

Conscience slumbered a while, but soon woke in his breast,
And in language severe the delinquent addressed:
"With such empty and selfish pretences away !

By your actions you're judged, be your speech what it may."

45.-FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS.-Longfellow.

When the hours of day are numbered, and the voices of the night wake the better soul that slumbered, to a holy, calm delight: 2 then the forms of the Departed enter at the open door; the beloved, the true-hearted, come to visit us once more. He, the young and strong, who cherished noble longings for the strife, by the roadside fell and perished, weary with the march of life. They, the holy ones and weakly, who the cross of

D

no more.

suffering bore, folded their pale hands so meekly,—spake with us on earth 5 And with them the Being beauteous who unto my youth was given, more than all things else to love me,—and is now a saint in heaven. 6 With a slow and noiseless footstep comes that Messenger divine; takes the vacant chair beside me, lays her gentle hand in mine. 7And she sits and gazes at me, with those deep and tender eyes, like the stars so still and saint-like, looking downward from the skies. 8 Uttered not, yet comprehended, is the Spirit's voiceless prayer; soft rebukes, in blessings ended, breathing from her lips of air. 90, though oft depressed and lonely, all my tears are laid aside, if I but remember only, such as these have lived and died.

46.-ALL'S FOR THE BEST.-Tupper.

All's for the best! Be sanguine and cheerful;
Trouble and Sorrow are friends in disguise ;
Nothing but Folly grows faithless and fearful;
Courage for ever is happy and wise:

All's for the best!—if man would but know it,
Providence wishes us all to be blest;
This is no dream of the pundit or poet;

Heaven is gracious, and-All's for the best!
"All's for the best!" Set this on your standard,
Soldier of sadness, or pilgrim of love,
Who to the shores of Despair may have wander'd,
A way-wearied swallow, or heart-stricken dove!
"All's for the best!" Be the heart but confiding,
Providence tenderly governs the rest;

For He the frail bark of his creature is guiding
Wisely and warily-All for the best!

47.-MY NATIVE VALE.-Samuel Rogers.

2

Dear is my little native vale! The ring-dove builds and murmurs there; close to my cot she tells her tale to every passing villager. The squirrel leaps from tree to tree, and shells his nuts at liberty. In orange groves and myrtle bowers, that breathe a gale of fragrance round, I charm the fairy-footed hours with my loved lute's romantic sound; or crowns of living laurel weave, for those that win the race at eve. 3 The shepherd's horn at break of day, the ballet danced in twilight glade, the canzonet and roundelay sung in the silent green-wood shade,-these simple joys, that never fail, shall bind me to my native vale.