Volume Iii Part 50 (1/2)

THE HAWKBIT

How sweetly on the autumn scene, When haws are red amid the green, The hawkbit s.h.i.+nes with face of cheer, The favorite of the faltering year!

When days grow short and nights grow cold, How fairly gleams its eye of gold On pastured field and gra.s.sy hill, Along the roadside and the rill!

It seems the spirit of a flower, This offspring of the autumn hour, Wandering back to earth to bring Some kindly afterthought of spring.

A dandelion's ghost might so Amid Elysian meadows blow, Become more fragile and more fine Breathing the atmosphere divine.

Charles G. D. Roberts [1860-

THE HERON

O melancholy bird, a winter's day Thou standest by the margin of the pool, And, taught by G.o.d, dost thy whole being school To Patience, which all evil can allay.

G.o.d has appointed thee the Fish thy prey; And given thyself a lesson to the Fool Unthrifty, to submit to moral rule, And his unthinking course by thee to weigh.

There need not schools, nor the Professor's chair, Though these be good, true wisdom to impart; He, who has not enough for these to spare Of time, or gold, may yet amend his heart, And teach his soul, by brooks and rivers fair: Nature is always wise in every part.

Edward Hovell-Thurlow [1781-1829]

THE JACKDAW

There is a bird, who by his coat, And by the hoa.r.s.eness of his note, Might be supposed a crow; A great frequenter of the church, Where bishop-like he finds a perch, And dormitory too.

Above the steeple s.h.i.+nes a plate, That turns and turns, to indicate From what point blows the weather; Look up--your brains begin to swim, 'Tis in the clouds--that pleases him, He chooses it the rather.

Fond of the speculative height, Thither he wings his airy flight, And thence securely sees The bustle and the raree-show, That occupy mankind below, Secure and at his ease.

You think, no doubt, he sits and muses On future broken bones and bruises, If he should chance to fall.

No: not a single thought like that Employs his philosophic pate, Or troubles it at all.

He sees that this great roundabout, The world, with all its medley rout, Church, army, physic, law, Its customs, and its businesses Is no concern at all of his, And says--what says he?--”Caw.”

Thrice happy bird! I too have seen Much of the vanities of men; And, sick of having seen 'em, Would cheerfully these limbs resign For such a pair of wings as thine, And such a head between 'em.

From the Latin of Vincent Bourne, by William Cowper [1731-1800]

THE GREEN LINNET

Beneath these fruit-tree boughs that shed Their snow-white blossoms on my head, With brightest suns.h.i.+ne round me spread Of Spring's unclouded weather, In this sequestered nook how sweet To sit upon my orchard-seat!

And flowers and birds once more to greet, My last year's friends together.