"And some they played with the water, And rolled it down the hill;
'And this,' they said, 'shall speedily turn
The poor old miller's mill;
"For there has been no water
Ever since the first of May;
And a busy man shall the miller be
By the dawning of the day!
"Oh, the miller, how he will laugh,
When he sees the mill-dam rise!
The jolly old miller, how he will laugh,
Till the tears fill both his eyes!'
"And some they seized the little winds,
That sounded over the hill,
And each put a horn into his mouth,
And blew so sharp and shrill :-
"And there,' said they, 'the merry winds go, Away from every horn;
And those shall clear the mildew dank
From the blind old widow's corn:
"Oh, the poor, blind old widow—
Though she has been blind so long, She'll be merry enough when the mildew's gone, And the corn stands stiff and strong!'
"And some they brought the brown lintseed, And flung it down from the Low'And this,' said they, 'by the sunrise, In the weaver's croft shall grow!
poor, lame weaver,
How he will laugh outright,
When he sees his dwindling flax-field
All full of flowers by night!'
"And then upspoke a brownie,
With a long beard on his chin-
'I have spun up all the tow,' said he,
'And I want some more to spin.
"I've spun a piece of hempen cloth,
And I want to spin another-
A little sheet for Mary's bed,
And an apron for her mother!'
"And with that I could not help but laugh,
And I laughed out loud and free;
And then on the top of the Caldon-Low
There was no one left but me.
"And all, on the top of the Caldon-Low,
The mists were cold and grey,
And nothing I saw but the mossy stones
That round about me lay.
"But, as I came down from the hill-top,
I heard, afar below,
How busy the jolly miller was,
And how merry the wheel did go!
"And I peeped into the widow's field;
And, sure enough, was seen
The yellow ears of the mildewed corn
All standing stiff and green.
"And down by the weaver's croft I stole,
To see if the flax were high ;
But I saw the weaver at his gate
With the good news in his eye!
"Now, this is all I heard, mother,
And all that I did see;
So, prithee, make my bed, mother,
For I'm tired as I can be!"
ODE TO THE CUCKOO.—(Logan).
Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove!
Thou messenger of Spring!
Now Heaven repairs thy rural seat,
And woods thy welcome sing.
What time the daisy decks the green,
Thy certain voice we hear;
Hast thou a star to guide thy path,
Or mark the rolling year?
Delightful visitant! with thee
I hail the time of flowers,
And hear the sound of music sweet
From birds among the bowers.
The schoolboy wandering through the wood
To pull the primrose gay,
Starts, the new voice of Spring to hear,
And imitates thy lay.
What time the pea puts on the bloom,
Thou fliest thy vocal vale,
An annual guest in other lands,
Another spring to hail.
Sweet bird! thy bower is ever green,
Thy sky is ever clear;
Thou hast no sorrow in thy song,
No Winter in thy year.
O could I fly, I'd fly with thee!
We'd make, with joyful wing,
Our annual visit o'er the globe,
Companions of the Spring.
THE SUMMER SHOWER.
(Thomas Buchanan Read.)
Before the stout harvesters falleth the grain,
As when the strong storm-wind is reaping the
plain,
And loiters the boy in the briery lane ;
But yonder aslant comes the silvery rain, Like a long line of spears brightly burnished and tall.
Adown the white highway, like cavalry fleet,
It dashes the dust with its numberless feet;
Like a murmurless school, in their leafy retreat,
The wild birds sit listening the drops round them
beat,
And the boy crouches close to the blackberry wall.
The swallows alone take the storm on their wing, And, taunting the tree-sheltered labourer, sing; Like pebbles the rain breaks the face of the spring,
While a bubble darts up from each widening ring,
And the boy in dismay hears the loud shower fall.
But soon are the harvesters tossing the sheaves; The robin darts out from its bower of leaves; The wren peereth forth from the moss-covered
And the rain-spattered urchin now gladly per
That the beautiful bow bendeth over them all.
THE DEATH OF ABSALOM.—(N. P. Willis.)
The waters slept. Night's silvery veil hung low
On Jordan's bosom, and the eddies curled
Their glassy rings beneath it, like the still,
Unbroken beating of the sleeper's pulse.
The reeds bent down the stream; the willow leaves,
With a soft cheek upon the lulling tide,
Forgot the lifting winds; and the long stems,
Whose flowers the water, like a gentle nurse,
Bears on its bosom, quietly gave way,
And leaned, in graceful attitudes, to rest.
How strikingly the course of nature tells,
By its light heed of human suffering,
That it was fashioned for a happier world!
King David's limbs were weary.
He had fled
From far Jerusalem; and now he stood,
With his faint people, for a little rest
Upon the shores of Jordan. The light wind.
Of morn was stirring, and he bared his brow
To its refreshing breath; for he had worn.
The mourner's covering, and he had not felt
That he could see his people until now.
They gathered round him on the fresh green bank,
And spoke their kindly words; and, as the sun
Rose up in heaven, he knelt among them there,
And bowed his head upon his hands to pray.
Oh! when the heart is full-when bitter thoughts
Come crowding thickly up for utterance,
And the poor common words of courtesy
Are such an empty mockery-how much
The bursting heart may pour itself in prayer!
He prayed for Israel—and his voice went up
Strongly and fervently. He prayed for those
Whose love had been his shield-and his deep tones
Grew tremulous. But oh! for Absalom-
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