THE MONTHS.

JANUARY brings the snow,
Makes our feet and fingers glow.

February brings the rain,

Thaws the frozen lake again.

March brings breezes loud and shrill,

Stirs the dancing daffodil.

April brings the primrose sweet,
Scatters daisies at our feet.

May brings flocks of pretty lambs,
Skipping by their fleecy dams.

June brings tulips, lilies, roses,
Fills the children's hands with posies.

Hot July brings cooling showers,
Apricots, and gilliflowers.

August brings the sheaves of corn;
Then the harvest home is borne.

Warm September brings the fruit;
Sportsmen then begin to shoot.

Fresh October brings the pheasant;
Then to gather nuts is pleasant.

Dull November brings the blast;
Then the leaves are whirling fast.

Chill December brings the sleet,
Blazing fire, and Christmas treat.

Coleridge.

A CERTAIN wandering wily fox, Famish'd with want, high in an arbour saw Grapes that seem'd ripe and ready for his maw; But still the height his utmost effort mocks. Skins dyed with a vermilion stain,

Gladly the rogue had suck'd them; but in vain. "They 're sour," he said; "such grapes as these, The dogs may eat them if they please!"

THE BEGGAR MAN.

AROUND the fire, one wintry night,
The farmer's rosy children sat;
The faggot lent its blazing light,

And jokes went round and careless chat.

When, hark! a gentle hand they hear,
Low tapping at the bolted door;
And thus, to gain their willing ear,

A feeble voice was heard t' implore:
"Cold blows the blast across the moor,
The sleet drives hissing in the wind;
Yon toilsome mountain lies before,
A dreary treeless waste behind.
My eyes are weak and dim with age,
No road, no path can I descry;
And these poor rags ill stand the rage
Of such a keen inclement sky.
Open your hospitable door,

And shield me from the biting blast;
Cold, cold it blows across the moor,-
The weary moor that I have past."
With hasty steps the farmer ran;
And close beside the fire they place
The poor half-frozen beggar-man,
With shaking limbs and pallid face.
The little children flocking came,

And warm'd his stiffening hands in theirs; And busily the good old dame

A comfortable mess prepares.

Their kindness cheer'd his drooping soul;
And slowly down his wrinkled cheek

The big round tear was seen to roll,

And told the thanks he could not speak.

The children too began to sigh,

And all their merry chat was o'er; And yet they felt, they knew not why, More glad than they had done before.

G

Aikin.

THE MORNING MIST.

LOOK, William, how the morning mists
Have cover'd all the scene;

Nor house, nor hill, canst thou behold,
Gray wood or meadow
green.

The distant spire across the vale
These floating vapours shroud;
Scarce are the neighbouring poplars seen,
Pale shadow'd in the cloud.

But see'st thou, William, where the mists
Sweep o'er the southern sky,-
The dim effulgence of the sun
That lights them as they fly?

Soon shall that glorious orb of day
In all his strength arise,
And roll along his azure way

Through clear and cloudless skies.

Then shall we see across the vale
The village spire so white,
And the gray wood and meadows green
Shall live again in light.

So, William, from the moral world

The clouds shall pass away;

The light that struggles through them now

Shall beam eternal day.

Southey.

THE BUTTERFLY'S BALL.

COME, take up your hats, and away let us haste
To the Butterfly's ball and the Grasshopper's feast;
The trumpeter Gadfly has summoned the crew,
And the revels are now only waiting for you.

On the smooth-shaven grass, by the side of the wood,
Beneath a broad oak that for ages has stood,
See the children of earth, and the tenants of air,
For an evening's amusement together repair.

And there came the Beetle, so blind and so black,
Who carried the Emmet, his friend, on his back;
And there was the Gnat and the Dragon-fly too,
With all their relations, green, orange, and blue.

And there came the Moth in his plumage of down, And the Hornet in jacket of yellow and brown, Who with him the Wasp his companion did bring, But they promised that evening to lay-by their sting.

And the sly little Dormouse crept out of his hole, And led to the feast his blind brother the Mole; And the Snail, with his horns peeping out from his shell,

Came from a great distance—the length of an ell.

A mushroom their table, and on it was laid
A waterdock-leaf, which a tablecloth made;
The viands were various, to each of their taste,
And the Bee brought his honey to crown the repast.

There, close on his haunches, so solemn and wise,
The Frog from a corner look'd up to the skies;
And the Squirrel, well pleased such diversion to see,
Sat cracking his nuts overhead in a tree.