Where I cometh sleep?
To the béd ' that's poor :
Peasants ' must weep,
And kings / endure :
That ' is a fáte ' that none !

can cure.
Yet spring doth all she cắn | I trów :
She brings the bright hours,
She weaves the sweet flowers ;
She décketh her bówers | for àll' below.
O the spring, the bountiful spring !
She shineth and smileth | on èvery thing.

2. THE CUCK00.-—Logan. Born, 1748, died, 1788.

Hàil, beauteous stranger ! of the wood,
Attendant 'on the spring!
Now heaven' repairs 'thy rural séat,
And woods | thy welcome sing.
Şoon as the daisy 'decks the green,
Thy certain voice we hear :
Hast thou a stár | to guide thy path,
Or márk | the rolling year ?
Delightful visitant! with thée
I hail the time of flowers,
When heàven | is filled with music sweet
Of birds among the bowers.
The school bóy, wandering ' in the wood,
To pull the flowers so gáy,
Oft starts, thy curious voice to hear,
And imitates thy lay.

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Soon as the pea ' puts on the bloom,
Thou flyèst 'thy vocal vàle,
An annual guést, in other ' lànds,
Another spring' to hàil.
Sweet bìrd ! thy bower is éver 'gréen,
Thy ' sky ' is ever ' clear;
Thou hast nó " sorrow' in thy sóng,
Nó winter ' in thy yèar.
Oh'could I fly, I'd fly ' with thèe :
We'd máke, with social wing,
Our ánnual vísit 'o'er the globe,
Companions of the spring.

3. Hymn to GOD.Lord Brougham.

There is a God | all nature cries :
A thousand tongues procláim |
His arm' almighty, mind ' all wise,
And bid each voice ' in chórus rísel
To màgnify ' his name.
Thy 'náme, great Nature's sire divine,
Assiduous I we adore :
Rejecting gódheads | at whose shrine,
Benighted nations, blood ' and wine,
In vain libations pour.
Yon countless worlds, in boundless space
Myriads of miles each hour,
Their mighty orbs | as curious tráce,
As the blue circlet on the face
Of that I enamelled flower.

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But thôu ' too 'madest the floweret gáy
To glitter | in the dàwn.
The hand 'that fired the orb of dáy,
The blazing comet ' launched awáy,
Painted the velvet làwn.
As falls a sparrow | to the ground,
Obedient' to thy will,
By the same ' láw ' these globes wheel round;
Each drawing each, yet áll ' still found
In the eternal system bóund,
One order to fulfil.

4. Rural LIFE.-James Thomson. B. 1700, d. 1748.
Oh, knew he but his happiness, of men'
The háppiest hé ! who, far from public ráge,
Deep' in the vale, with a choice few retired,
Drinks the púre pleasures of the rural life.

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He, when young spring 'protrudes the bursting géms,
Marks the first bud, and sucks the healthful gále
Into his frèshened ' soul; her genial hours !
He full enjoys ; and not a beauty blows,
And not an opening blóssom bréathes in vàin.

Here ' too ! dwells simple Trùth ; plain Innocénce;
Unsullied Beauty; sound, unbroken Youth,'
Patient of lábor, with a little pleased ;
Health' ever blooming; unambitious toil;
Calm ' contemplation, and poétic ease.


I care not, fórtune, what you me deny;
You cannot rob me' of free náture's 'gráce ;
You cannot shut the windows' of the sky,
Through which ' Aurora shows her brightening fáce ;
You cannot bar my constant feet to tráce |
The woods ' and lawns, by living streams at éve;
Let health my nerves and firmier fibres bráce,
And I their tóys' to the great children leave :
Of fáncy, reáson, vírtue, ' náught I can me bereave.

6. GREEN RIVER.-W. C. Bryant.

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When breezes are soft and skies are fair,
I steal an hour' from study and cáre,
And hie me away' to the woodland scéne,
Where wanders the stream with waters of green,
As if the bright fringe' of herbs on its brink
Had given their stain 'to the wave' they drink ;
And they' whose meadows it murmurs through,
Have námed ' the stream ' from its own fair hùe.

Oh loveliest there the spring days come,
With blossoms, and bírds, and wild bees' húm;
The flowers of summer ' are fairest thére,
And freshest the breath' of the summer air ;
And sweetest' the golden aútumn dáy |
In silence and sunshine ' glides away.

Though forced to drudge' for the dregs of men, And scrawl strange words with the barbarous pén,

And mingle ' among the jostling crowd,
Where the sons of strife ' are subtle and loud
I often come to this quiet pláce,
To breathe ' the airs that ruffle thy fáce,
And gàze / upon thee / in silent dream, I
For ' in thy lonely and lovely stream
An image of that calm ' life appears,
That won' my heart ' in my greener years.




I trust you

Teacher.- We should always be on our guard against the thought that we know a thing, simply because we have studied it. You all had studied English Grammar, many of you Rhetoric, and some, the Latin and Greek poets : but when questioned on the figures of speech, the structure of verse, and poetic license, none of you were able to give clear and satisfactory answers. now come prepared to do full justice to these subjects : for it is certain you never can understand clearly what you read, unless you can determine whether the words are to be taken in a literal or figurative sense ; nor can you read poetry well, unless you know in what kind of measure it is composed; whether in lambic, Trochaic, or Anapæstic; and what words are exclusively poetic, and what common to both poetry and prose ; and wbat

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