A silvery sheet with spaces of soft blue;
A trembling veil of gauze is stretch'd athwart
The shadowy hill-sides and dark forest-flanks;
A soothing quiet broods upon the air,

And the faint sunshine winks with drowsiness.
Far sounds melt mellow on the ear: the bark-
The bleat-the tinkle-whistle-blast of horn-
The rattle of the waggon-wheel-the low-
The fowler's shot-the twitter of the bird,
And e'en the hum of converse from the road.
The grass, with its low insect-tones, appears
As murmuring in its sleep. This butterfly
Seems as if loth to stir, so lazily

It flutters by. In fitful starts, and stops,
The locust sings. The grasshopper breaks out
In brief, harsh strains, amid its pausing chirps.
The beetle, glistening in its sable mail,

Slow climbs the clover-tops, and e'en the ant
Darts round less eagerly.

STREET.

MAY.

AY, sweet May, again is come-
May, that frees the land from gloom;
Children, children, up and see

All her stores of jollity!

On the laughing hedgerow's side
She hath spread her treasures wide;
She is in the greenwood shade,
Where the nightingale hath made
Every branch and every tree
Ring with her sweet melody;

Hill and dale are May's own treasures.
Youths, rejoice! in sportive measures
Sing ye join the chorus gay!
Hail this merry, merry May!

Up, then, children! we will go
Where the blooming roses grow;
In a joyful company

We the bursting flowers will see :
Up; your festal dress prepare!
Where gay hearts are meeting-there
May hath pleasures most inviting,
Heart, and sight, and ear delighting.

Listen to the bird's sweet song;

Hark! how soft it floats along!

Courtly dames our pleasures share!
Never saw I May so fair;

Therefore dancing will we go.

Youths, rejoice! the flowerets blow!

Sing ye join the chorus gay!
Hail this merry, merry May!

Our manly youths, where are they now?
Bid them up and with us go,

To the sporters on the plain :
Bid adieu to care and pain,

Now, thou pale and wounded lover!
Thou thy peace shalt soon recover,
Many a laughing lip and eye
Speaks the light heart's gaiety;

Lovely flowers around we find,

In the smiling verdure twined;

Richly steep'd in May-dews glowing,
Youths, rejoice! the flowers are blowing!
Sing ye join the chorus gay!
Hail this merry, merry May!

Oh, if to my love restored-
To her, o'er all her sex adored—
What supreme delight were mine!
How would care her sway resign!
Merrily in the bloom of May
Would I weave a garland gay.
Better than the best is she,
Purer than all purity;

For her spotless self alone,

I will praise this changeless one:
Thankful, or unthankful, she

Shall my song, my idol be.

Youths, then join the chorus gay!
Hail this merry, merry May!

KIRCHBERG.

WILD FLOWERS.

STOOD tiptoe upon a little hill;

The air was cooling, and so very still,

That the sweet buds which with a modest pride
Fell droopingly in slanting curve aside,

Their scanty-leaved and finely-tapering stems

Had not yet lost their starry diadems,

Caught from the early sobbings of the morn.

The clouds were pure and white as flocks new shorn,
And fresh from the clear brook; sweetly they slept
On the blue fields of heaven, and then there crept
A little noiseless noise among the leaves,

Born of the very sigh that silence heaves;
For not the faintest motion could be seen
Of all the shades that slanted o'er the green.
There was wide wandering for the greediest eye,
To peer about upon variety;

Far round the horizon's crystal air to skim,
And trace the dwindled edgings of its brim ;

To picture out the quaint and curious bending
Of a fresh woodland alley never ending:

Or by the bowery clefts and leafy shelves,
Guess where the jaunty streams refresh themselves.

I gazed awhile, and felt as light and free

As though the fanning wings of Mercury

Had play'd upon my heels: I was light-hearted,
And many pleasures to my vision started;

So I straightway began to pluck a posy
Of luxuries bright, milky, soft, and rosy.

A bush of May-flowers with the bees about them;
Ah, sure no tasteful nook could be without them;

And let a lush laburnum oversweep them,

And let long grass grow round the roots, to keep them Moist, cool, and green; and shade the violets,

That they may bind the moss in leafy nets.

A filbert-hedge with wild-brier overtwined,
And clumps of woodbine taking the soft wind
Upon their summer thrones; there too should be
The frequent checker of a youngling tree,
That with a score of bright-green brethren shoots
From the quaint mossiness of aged roots:
Round which is heard a springhead of clear waters,
Prattling so wildly of its lovely daughters,
The spreading blue-bells: it may haply mourn
That such fair clusters should be rudely torn
From their fresh beds, and scatter'd thoughtlessly

By infant hands left on the path to die.
Open afresh your round of starry folds,

Ye ardent marigolds!

Dry up the moisture from your golden lids,

For great Apollo bids

That in these days your praises should be sung
On many harps, which he has lately strung;
And when again your dewiness he kisses,
Tell him, I have you in my world of blisses :
So haply when I rove in some far vale,
His mighty voice may come upon the gale.

Here are sweet-peas, on tiptoe for a flight,
With wings of gentle flush o'er delicate white,
And taper fingers catching at all things,
To bind them all about with tiny rings.
What next? A turf of evening primroses,
O'er which the mind may hover till it dozes ;
O'er which it well might take a pleasant sleep,
But that 'tis ever startled by the leap

Of buds into ripe flowers.

KEATS.