109.-TO THE BLACKBIRD. IN THE MORNING [1] Golden Bill! Golden Bill! All the air is cool and still, From the elm tree on the hill Chant away; While the moon drops down the west, Melt, like snow-flakes, one by one, Let thy loud and welcome lay Few notes, but strong. IN THE EVENING. Jet-bright wing! Jet-bright wing! Keeping time with twinkling eye, Strain the throat, [1] The Blackbird's is the earliest note heard in the morning. In the evening he takes his part with his minstrel brethren, chiming in at intervals. Claims brief interludes from thee; Montgomery. 110. THE AFFECTION OF A DOG. When wise Ulysses [1] from his native coast Long kept by wars, and long by tempests tost, Arrived at last, poor, old, disguised, alone, To all his friends, and e'en his queen, unknown; Changed as he was, with age, and toils, and cares, Furrowed his reverend face, and white his hairs, In his own palace forced to ask his bread, Scorned by those slaves his former bounty fed; Forgot of all his own domestic crew, The faithful dog alone his master knew! Unfed, unhoused, neglected, on the clay, Like an old servant, now cashiered, [2] he lay; And though e'en then expiring on the plain, Touched with resentment of ungrateful man, And longing to behold his ancient lord again, Him when he saw, he rose, and crawl'd to meet; 'Twas all he could-and fawned, and kissed his feet, Seized with dumb joy-then falling by his side, Owned his returning lord, looked up, and died! Pope. [1] Ulysses-king of Ithaca, (an island in the Mediterranean Sea,) and celebrated as a leader in the Trojan war [2] Cashiered-discarded, turned off. 111. THE MORNING MIST. Look, William, how the morning mists Nor house, nor hill, canst thou behold, The distant spire across the vale But seest thou, William, where the mists Soon shall that glorious orb of day Then shall we see across the vale So, William, from the moral world The clouds shall pass away, The light that struggles through them now Shall beam eternal day. Southey. 112.-THE MOTHER AND HER CHILD. * * * * As to her lips she lifts the lovely boy, When rosy sleep comes on with sweet surprise. But soon a nobler task demands her care, Released, he chases the bright butterfly, A dangerous voyage! or if now he can, Flings off the coat, so long his pride and pleasure, His tiny spade in his own garden plies, She looks, and looks, and still with new delight! Rogers. 113. THE DAISY, ON FINDING ONE IN BLOOM ON CHRISTMAS-DAY. There is a flower, a little flower, The prouder beauties of the field, But this small flower, to Nature dear, While moons and stars their courses run, Wreathes the whole circle of the year, Companion of the sun. It smiles upon the lap of May, To sultry August spreads its charms, And twines December's arms, |