EARTH.

WHAT is it that's cover'd so richly with green,
And gives to the forest its birth?

A thousand plants bloom on its bosom serene,
Whose bosom? The bosom of earth.

Hidden deep in its bowels the emerald shines,
The ruby, and amethyst blue;

And silver and gold glitter bright in the mines
Of Mexico rich, and Peru.

Large quarries of granite and marble are spread
In its wonderful bosom, like bones;

Chalk, gravel, and coals; salt, sulphur, and lead; And thousands of beautiful stones.

Beasts, savage and tame, of all colours and forms, Either stalk in the deserts, or creep;

White bears sit and growl to the northerly storms, And shaggy goats bound from the steep.

The oak and the snow-drop, the cedar, and rose,
Alike on its surface are seen;

The tall fir of Norway, surrounded with snows,
And the mountain-ash, scarlet and green.

Fine grass and rich mosses creep over its hills,
Flow'rs breathe their perfumes to the gale;
Tall water-weeds dip in its murmuring rills,
And harvests wave bright in the vale.

And when this poor body is cold and decay'd,
And this warm, throbbing heart is at rest ;
My head upon thee, mother Earth, shall be laid,
To find a long home in thy breast.

A. T.

WATER.

WHAT is that glitters so clear and serene,
Or dances in billows so white?

Ships skimming along on its surface are seen.-
"Tis water that glitters so bright.

Sea-weeds wind about in its cavities wet,
The pearl-oyster quietly sleeps ;

A thousand fair shells, yellow, amber, and jet,
And coral glows red in its deeps.

Whales lash the white foam in their frolicsome wrath,
While hoarsely the winter-wind roars ;

And shoals of green mackerel stretch from the north, And wander along by our shores.

!

When tempests sweep over its bosom serene,
Like mountains its billows arise;

The ships now appear to be buried between,
And now carried up to the skies.

It gushes out clear from the sides of a hill,
And sparkles bright down from the steep:
Then waters the valley, and roars through the mill,
And wanders in many a sweep.

The trav❜ller, that crosses the desert so wide,

Hot, weary, and stifled with dust,
Longs often to stoop at some rivulet's side,
To quench in its waters his thirst.

The stately white swan glides along on its breast,
Nor ruffles its surface serene;

And the duckling unfledg'd waddles out of its nest,
To dabble in ditch-water green.

The clouds, blown about in the chilly blue sky,
Vast cisterns of water contain :

Like snowy-white feathers in winter they fly,
In summer, stream gently in rain.

When sun-beams so bright on the falling drops shine,
The rainbow enlivens the show'r,

And glows in the heavens, a beautiful sign,

That water shall drown us no more.

A. T.

THE PIEDMONTESE AND HIS MARMOT.

FROM my dear, native moorlands, for many a day,
Thro' fields and thro' cities I've wander'd away.
Tho' I merrily sing, yet forlorn is my lot;
I'm a poor Piedmontese, and I show a marmot.
This pretty marmot, in a mountain's steep side
Made a burrow, himself and his young ones to hide.

The bottom they cover'd with moss and with hay,
And stopp'd up the entrance, and snugly they lay.
They carelessly slept till the cold winter blast,
And the hail, and the deep drifting snow-shower, was
past;

But the warbling of April awak'd them again,

Το

crop the young plants and to frisk on the plain.

Then I caught this poor fellow and taught him to dance,

And we liv'd by his tricks as we rambled through France;

But he droops, and grows drowsy, as onward we roam, And he and his master both pine for their home.

Let your charity then hasten back to his cot

The

poor

Piedmontese with his harmless marmot.

LUCY AIKIN.

TO A HEDGE-SPARROW. ··

LITTLE flutt'rer! swiftly flying,

Here is none to harm thee near ;
Kite, nor hawk, nor school-boy prying;
Little flutt'rer! cease to fear.

One who would protect thee ever,
From the school-boy, kite, and hawk,
Musing, now obtrudes, but never
Dreamt of plunder in his walk.

He no weasel, stealing slyly,
Would permit thy eggs to take;
Nor the pole-cat, nor the wily
Adder, nor the writhed snake.

May no cuckoo, wandering near thee,
Lay her egg within thy nest;
Nor thy young ones, born to cheer thee,
Be destroy'd by such a guest!

Little flutt'rer! swiftly flying,

Here is none to harm thee near;

Kite, nor hawk, nor school-boy prying; Little flutt'rer! cease to fear.

ANTHOLOGY.