A SUMMER WISH.

LIVE all thy sweet life thro',

Sweet rose, dew-sprent, Drop down thine evening dew To gather it anew

When day is bright:

I fancy thou wast meant

Chiefly to give delight.

Sing in the silent sky,

Glad soaring bird;

Sing out thy notes on high

To sunbeam straying by

Or passing cloud;

Heedless if thou art heard

Sing thy full song aloud.

Oh, that it were with me

As with the flower; Blooming on its own tree

For butterfly and bee

Its summer morns:

That I might bloom mine hour

A rose in spite of thorns.

Oh that my work were done
As birds' that soar

Rejoicing in the sun;
That when my time is run
And daylight too,

I so might rest once more

Cool with refreshing dew.

CHRISTINA ROSSETTI.

TO A SKYLARK.

ETHEREAL minstrel ! pilgrim of the sky!

Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound ?
Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye
Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground?

Thy nest which thou canst drop into at will,
Those quivering wings composed, that music still !

Leave to the nightingale her shady wood;

A privacy of glorious light is thine;

Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood
Of harmony, with instinct more divine;

Type of the wise who soar, but never roam ;

True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home!

WORDSWORTH.

IN THE SHADOWS.

DIE down, O dismal day! and let me live;
And come, blue deeps! magnificently strewn
With coloured clouds-large, light, and fugitive—
By upper winds through pompous motions blown.
Now it is death in life-a vapour dense

Creeps round my window till I cannot see
The far snow-shining mountains, and the glens
Shagging the mountain tops. O God! make free
This barren, shackled earth, so deadly cold.
Breathe gently forth thy Spring, till Winter flies
In rude amazement, fearful and yet bold,
While she performs her custom'd charities.

I weigh the loaded hours till life is bare

O God! for one clear day, a snowdrop, and sweet air!

DAVID GRAY.

FLOWER AND FRUIT.

A LITTLE child lay on its mother's knee

In shade of Summer boughs; and that fond mother Waved in one hand the flowers of a wild tree, And a fair branch of fruitage in the other.

Longing he lay, and glancing his blue eyes
From one to other-for his will was loth
To fix its choice-he sigh'd his first-born sighs,
Stretch'd out both arms, and would have clutch'd
them both.

A gray old man peep'd thro' the leaves, and bless'd That lovely child-then sadly turn'd apart,

And, sitting down a little from the rest,

Sigh'd, as he communed thus to his own heart :

Within the Violet's cup no nectar flows,

r;

Tho' its rich breath fills the delighted air When the ripe fruit is glistening on the boughs The lovely blossom is no longer there :

When the young Sun is arming him at morn,
His beauty makes sweet rainbows in the sky;
But, when his wheels are up the Zenith borne,
He hath no power for such soft magist'ry :

When the swift heart of the enchanted boy

Speaks through his downy cheeks and starry eyes,

An hour of love is worth eternal joy,

And beauty all the treasures of the wise ;

But when the time-worn heart begins to bud
With leaves of Truth, like the Autumnal green,

No pulse of rapture stirs the drowsy blood,
Scarce stirring with the pulses that have been.

Ah me! in what immortal hour of Time,

Under what star, in what enchanted weather,
In what new Eden, in what fairy clime,
Nature, shall thy perfections meet together?

When youthful hearts, rejoicing in their May,
Shall bide in cheerful faith the unborn hour,

And the wise spirit not regret the day

That brings the fruit, but takes away the flower!

When Hope and Love, so lavish of delight,

Shall laugh and sing, yet crown their early years With those rare buds, more odorous than bright, And that wise spirit, now the growth of tears?