THE MELODIES OF MORNING.

Behold! as with a gushing impulse heaves
That downy prow, and softly cleaves
The mirror of the crystal flood,

Vanish inverted hill, and shadowy wood,

And pendant rocks, where'er, in gliding state,
Winds the mute creature, without visible mate
Or rival, save the Queen of night,
Showering down a silver light

From heaven upon her chosen favourite.

WORDSWORTH.

THE MELODIES OF MORNING.

UT who the melodies of morn can tell ?

The wild brook babbling down the mountain

side;

The lowing herd; the sheepfold's simple bell;
The pipe of early shepherd, dim descried
In the lone valley; echoing far and wide,
The clamorous horn along the cliffs above;
The hollow murmur of the ocean-tide;
The hum of bees, the linnet's lay of love,
And the full choir that wakes the universal

grove.

THE VILLAGE BOY.

The cottage curs at early pilgrim bark ;
Crown'd with her pail the tripping milkmaid sings;
The whistling ploughman stalks afield; and hark!
Down the rough slope the ponderous waggon rings;
Through rustling corn the hare astonish'd springs;
Slow tolls the village-clock the drowsy hour;
The partridge bursts away on whirring wings;
Deep mourns the turtle in sequester'd bower,
And shrill lark carols clear from her aërial tour.

THE VILLAGE BOY.

BEATTIE.

REE from the cottage corner, see how wild
The village boy along the pasture hies,

With every smell, and sound, and sight beguiled,
That round the prospect meets his wondering

eyes;

Now, stooping, eager for the cowslip peeps,

As though he'd get them all,-now, tired of

these,

Across the flaggy brook he eager leaps,

For some new flower his happy rapture sees ;

Now, leering 'mid the bushes on his knees

On woodland banks, for blue-bell flowers he creeps ;

THE VILLAGE BOY.

And now, while looking up among the trees,

He spies a nest, and down he throws his flowers,