I need not tell the snake's sad doom,
You may be sure he liv'd not long ;
Cork'd in a bottle, for a tomb,

Preserv'd in spirits and in song,
His skin in Tom's museum shines,
You read his story in these lines.

Montgomery.

86. THE INNOCENT THIEF.

FROM THE LATIN OF VINCENT BOURNE.

Not a flower can be found in the fields,

Or the spot that we till for our pleasure,
From the largest to least, but it yields
The bee, never wearied, a treasure.

Scarce any she quits unexplored,
With a diligence truly exact;
Yet steal what she may for her hoard,
Leaves evidence none of the fact.

Her lucrative task she pursues,

And pilfers with so much address, That none of their odour they lose, Nor charm by their beauty the less.

Not thus inoffensively preys

The canker-worm, in-dwelling foe! His voracity not thus allays,

The sparrow, the finch, or the crow.

The worm, more expensively fed,

The pride of the garden devours;
And birds peck the seed from the bed,
Still less to be spared than the flowers.

But she, with such delicate skill,
Her pillage so fits for her use,

That the chemist in vain with his still [1]
Would labour the like to produce.

Then grudge not her temperate meals,
Nor a benefit blame as a theft,
Since, stole she not all that she steals,
Neither honey nor wax would be left.

Cowper.

87.-THE WITHERED LEAF.

Oh! mark the wither'd leaves that fall,
In silence, to the ground;

Upon the human heart they call,

And preach without a sound.

They say,

To day his green leaves wave;

To morrow, chang'd by time, and sere, [2]

He drops into the grave."

[1] Still-a vessel used in distillation, or the process of extracting the spirit from liquids.

[2] Sere-dry and withered.

Let wisdom be our sole concern,
Since life's green days are brief,
And faith and heavenly hope shall learn
A lesson from the leaf.

W. L. Bowles.

88.-CHILDREN GATHERING FLOWERS IN THE CHURCHYARD OF SALISBURY CATHEDRAL.

When summer comes, the little children play
In the church-yard of our cathedral grey,
Busy as morning bees, and gathering flowers,
In the brief sunshine; they of coming hours
Reck not, intent upon their play, though Time
Speed like a spectre by them, and their prime
Bear on to sorrow-" Angel, cry aloud!
Tell them of life's long evening-of the shroud:"-
No! let them play; for age alone, and care,
Too soon will frown, to teach them what they are;
Then let them play; but come with aspect bland,
Come Charity, and lead them by the hand;
Come Faith, and point amidst life's saddest gloom
A light from heaven, that shines beyond the tomb.
When they look up, and in the clouds admire
The tapering shaft of that aërial spire,

So be their thoughts uplifted from the sod,
Where Time's brief flowers they gather-to their

God.

W. L. Bowles.

89.-QUESTIONS TO BIRDS, AND THEIR

ANSWERS.

CUCKOO.

Why art thou always welcome, lonely bird? -"The heart grows young again when I am heard; Not in my double note the magic lies,

But in the fields, the woods, the streams and skies."

KINGFISHER.

Why dost thou hide thy beauty from the sun?
-"The eye of men, but not of heaven, I shun;
Beneath the rushy bank, with alders crown'd,
I build and brood where running waters sound;
There, there, the halcyon peace may still be found."

PHEASANT.

Pheasant, forsake the country; come to town;
I'll warrant thee a place beneath the crown.

'No; not to roost upon the throne, would I Renounce the woods, the mountains, and the sky."

STORK.

Stork, why were human virtues given to thee?
That human beings might resemble me;
Kind to my offspring, to my partner true,
And duteous to my parents-what are you?”
Montgomery.

90. THE COTTAGER & HIS LANDLORD.

FROM THE LATIN OF MILTON.

A peasant to his lord paid yearly court,
Presenting pippins, of so rich a sort,
That he, displeased to have a part alone,
Removed the tree, that all might be his own.
The tree, too old to travel, though before
So fruitful, wither'd, and would yield no more.
The squire, perceiving all his labour void,
Curs'd his own pains, so foolishly employ'd.
And "oh!" he cried, "that I had liv'd content
With tribute, small indeed, but kindly meant!
My avarice has expensive prov'd to me,
Has cost me both my pippins and my tree."
Cowper.

91.-A FAIRY'S SONG. [1]

Come, follow, follow me,

Ye fairy elves that be;

Light tripping o'er the green,
Come, follow Mab, your queen!

Hand in hand we'll dance around,
For this place is fairy ground.

When mortals are at rest,

And snoring in their nest,

[1] This song, which is taken, with little alteration, from Percy's Reliques, appears to have been first published in the year 1658.