And the good Nokomis answered:
"That is but the owl and owlet,
Talking in their native language,
Talking, scolding at each other."

Then the little Hiawatha

Learned of every bird its language,

Learned their names and all their secrets,
How they built their nests in summer,
Where they hid themselves in winter,
Talked with them whene'er he met them,
Called them "Hiawatha's Chickens."

Of all beasts he learned the language,
Learned their names and all their secrets,
How the beavers built their lodges,
Where the squirrels hid their acorns,
How the reindeer ran so swiftly,
Why the rabbit was so timid.

Talked with them whene'er he met them,
Called them "Hiawatha's Brothers."

HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud.

"The Daffodil" is here out of compliment to a splendid school and a splendid teacher at Poughkeepsie. I found the pupils learning the poem, the teacher having placed a bunch of daffodils in a vase before them. It was a charming lesson. (1770-96.)

I WANDERED lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of golden daffodils:
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Outdid the sparkling waves in glee:-
A poet could not but be gay

In such a jocund company;

I gazed-and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought.

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

John Barleycorn.

"John Barleycorn" is a favourite with boys because it pictures a successful struggle. One editor has made a temperance poem of it, mistaking its true intent. The poem is a strong expression of a plow. man's love for a hardy, food-giving grain which has sprung to life through his efforts (1759-96.)

THERE were three kings into the East,
Three kings both great and high;

And they ha'e sworn a solemn oath
John Barleycorn should die.

They took a plow and plowed him down,
Put clods upon his head;

And they ha'e sworn a solemn oath
John Barleycorn was dead.

But the cheerful spring came kindly on,
And showers began to fall;
John Barleycorn got up again,
And sore surprised them all.

The sultry suns of summer came,
And he grew thick and strong;

His head well arm'd wi' pointed spears,
That no one should him wrong.

The sober autumn entered mild,
And he grew wan and pale;

His bending joints and drooping head
Showed he began to fail.

His colour sickened more and more,

He faded into age;

And then his enemies began

To show their deadly rage.

They took a weapon long and sharp,
And cut him by the knee,
Then tied him fast upon a cart,

Like a rogue for forgery.

They laid him down upon his back,
And cudgelled him full sore;
They hung him up before the storm,
And turn'd him o'er and o'er.

They filled up then a darksome pit
With water to the brim,

And heaved in poor John Barleycorn,
To let him sink or swim.

They laid him out upon the floor,
To work him further woe;
And still as signs of life appeared,
They tossed him to and fro.

They wasted o'er a scorching flame
The marrow of his bones;

But a miller used him worst of all—
He crushed him 'tween two stones.

And they have taken his very heart's blood,
And drunk it round and round;

And still the more and more they drank,
Their joy did more abound.

ROBERT Burns.

A Life on the Ocean Wave.

"A Life on the Ocean Wave," by Epes Sargent (1813-80), gives the swing and motion of the water of the great ocean. Childrer remember it almost unconsciously after hearing it read several times A LIFE on the ocean wave, A home on the rolling deep, Where the scattered waters rave, And the winds their revels keep! Like an eagle caged, I pine

On this dull, unchanging shore:
Oh! give me the flashing brine,

The spray and the tempest's roar!

Once more on the deck I stand
Of my own swift-gliding craft:
Set sail! farewell to the land!

The gale follows fair abaft.

We shoot through the sparkling foam
Like an ocean-bird set free;-
Like the ocean-bird, our home
We'll find far out on the sea.

The land is no longer in view,

The clouds have begun to frown;
But with a stout vessel and crew,
We'll say, Let the storm come down!
And the song of our hearts shall be,
While the winds and the waters rave,

A home on the rolling sea!

A life on the ocean wave!

EPES SARGENT.

The Death of the Old Year.

It is customary, every New Year's eve in America, to ring bells, fire guns, send up rockets, and, in many other ways, to show joy and gratitude that the old year has been so kind, and that the new year is so auspicious. The emphasis in Tennyson's poem is laid on gratitude for past benefits so easily forgotten rather than upon the possible advantages of the unknown and untried future.

FULL knee-deep lies the winter snow,
And the winter winds are wearily sighing:
Toll ye the church-bell sad and slow,
And tread softly and speak low,

For the old year lies a-dying.

Old year, you must not die;
You came to us so readily,