Hark, where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge Leans to the field and scatters on the clover Blossoms and dewdrops--at the bent spray's edge-- That's the wise thrush: he sings each song twice over Lest you should think he never could recapture The first fine careless rapture!

And though the fields look rough with h.o.a.ry dew, All will be gay when noontide wakes anew The b.u.t.tercups, the little children's dower --Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!

EOBEBT BKOWNING.

LOCHINVAR.

I.

Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the West,-- Through all the wide border his steed was the best!

And, save his good broadsword, he weapon had none,-- He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone.

So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.

II.

He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone; He swam the Eske river where ford there was none.

But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate, The bride had consented, the gallant came late; For a laggard in love and a dastard in war Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.

III.

So boldly he entered the Netherby hall, 'Mong bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all: Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword (For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word), "Oh, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?"

IV.

"I long wooed your daughter--my suit you denied; Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide; And now am I come, with this lost love of mine, To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.

There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar."

V.

The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up; He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup.

She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh, With a smile on her lip, and a tear in her eye.

He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar; "Now tread we a measure?" said young Lochinvar.

VI.

So stately his form, and so lovely her face, That never a hall such a galliard did grace; While her mother did fret and her father did fume, And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume, And the bride-maidens whispered, "'Twere better by far To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar."

VII.

One touch to her hand and one word in her ear, When they reached the hall door, and the charger stood near; So light to the croup the fair lady he swung, So light to the saddle before her he sprung: "She is won! we are gone! over bank, bush, and scar; They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar.

VIII.

There was mounting'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan; Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran; There was racing and chasing on Cann.o.bie Lee; But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see.

So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

POLISH WAR SONG.

I.

Freedom calls you! Quick, be ready,-- Rouse ye in the name of G.o.d,-- Onward, onward, strong and steady,-- Dash to earth the oppressor's rod.

Freedom calls, ye brave!

Rise and spurn the name of slave.

II.

Grasp the sword!--its edge is keen, Seize the gun!--its ball is true: Sweep your land from tyrant clean,-- Haste, and scour it through and through!

Onward, onward! Freedom cries, Rush to arms,--the tyrant flies.

III.

By the souls of patriots gone, Wake,--arise,--your fetters break, Koscius...o...b..ds you on,-- Sobieski cries awake!

Rise, and front the despot czar, Rise, and dare the unequal war.

IV.

Freedom calls you! Quick, be ready,-- Think of what your sires have been, Onward, onward! strong and steady, Drive the tyrant to his den.

On, and let the watchword be, Country, home, and liberty!

JAMES G. PERCIVAL.

CHAPTER II.

SMOOTHNESS.

THE VILLAGE PREACHER.

I.

Sweet was the sound, when oft, at evening's close, Up yonder hill the village murmur rose; There, as I pa.s.sed with careless steps and slow, The mingled notes came softened from below; The swain responsive as the milkmaid sung, The sober herd that lowed to meet their young; The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool, The playful children just let loose from school; The watchdog's voice that bayed the whispering wind, And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind,-- These all in sweet confusion sought the shade, And filled each pause the nightingale had made.

II.

Near yonder copse where once the garden smiled, And still where many a garden flower grows wild, There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose.

A man he was to all the country dear, And pa.s.sing rich with forty pounds a year; Remote from towns he ran his G.o.dly race, Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change, his place.

Unskilful he to fawn, or seek for power, By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour; Far other aims his heart had learned to prize, More bent to raise the wretched than to rise.

III.

His house was known to all the vagrant train; He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain; The long-remembered beggar was his guest, Whose beard, descending, swept his aged breast; The ruined spendthrift, now no longer proud, Claimed kindred there, and had his claims allowed; The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, Sat by his fire and talked the night away; Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done, Shouldered his crutch, and showed how fields were won.

Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow, And quite forgot their vices in their woe; Careless their merits or their faults to scan, His pity gave ere charity began.

IV.