BY THE REV. J. BERESFORD.
UNDERNEATH the greenwood tree,
There we dwell right merrily,
Lurking in the grassy lane,
Here this hour-then gone again.
You may see where we have been,
By the burned spot on the green;
By the oak's branch drooping low,
Withered in our faggot's glow;
By the grass and hedge-row cropped,
Where our asses have been grazing;
By some old torn rag we dropped,
When our crazy tents were raising;—
You may see where we have been;
Where we are that is not seen.
Where we are, it is no place
For a lazy foot to trace.
Over heath and over field,
He must scramble who would find us;
In the copse-wood close concealed,
With a running brook behind us.
Here we list no village clocks;
Livelier sound the farm-yard cocks,
Crowing, crowing round about,
As if to point their roostings out;
And many a cock shall cease to crow,
Or ere we from the copse-wood go.
On the stream the trout are leaping;
Midway there the pike is sleeping,—
Motionless, self-poised he lies-
Stir but the water-on he flies,
E'en as an arrow through the skies!
We could tie the noose to snare him,
But by day we wisely spare him ;—
Nets shall scour the stream at night,
By the cold moon's trusty light;—
Scores of fish will not surprise her,
Writhing with their glittering scale;
She'll look on, none else the wiser,
Give us light, and tell no tales;
And next day the sporting squire
Of his own trout shall be the buyer.
Till the farmer catch us out,
Prowling his rich barns about ;—
Till the squire suspect the fish;
Till the keeper find his hares,
Struggling in our nightly snares;
Till the girls have ceased to wish,
Heedless what young lad shall be
Theirs in glad futurity;
Till the boors no longer hold
Awkwardly their rough hands out,
All to have their fortunes told
By the cross lines thereabout;—
Till these warnings, all or some,
Raise us (not by beat of drum—!)
On our careless march to roam,
The copse shall be our leafy home.
ADDRESSED TO THE BEAUTIFUL AND ACCOMPLISHED LADY C.
BY THE REV. C. COLTON.
By Nature formed, at all points, to excel,
All things to do,—write, speak, and all things well,
Transcendent with thy pencil as thy pen,
With this you've conquered women, that the men ;
Both sexes, thus, thy full dominion prove
O'er each ;-by envy this, and this by love;
Both titles too thou'st won, then deign to wear,
We see a Venus, but a Pallas hear!
JEMIMA, ROSE, AND ELEANORE.
THREE CELEBRATED SCOTTISH BEAUTIES.
ADIEU! Romance's heroines !
Give me the nymphs who this good hour
May charm me, not in fiction's scenes,
But teach me beauty's living power ;—
My harp, that has been mute too long,
Shall sleep at beauty's name no more,
So but your smiles reward my song,
Jemima, Rose, and Eleanore,—
In whose benignant eyes are beaming
The rays of purity and truth,
Such as we fancy woman's seeming,
In the creation's golden youth.
The more I look upon thy grace,
Rosina, I could look the more,
But for Jemima's witching face,
And the sweet voice of Eleanore.
Had I been Lawrence, kings had wanted
Their portraits, till I'd painted yours,
And these had future hearts enchanted,
When this poor verse no more endures;
I would have left the Congress faces,
A dull-eyed diplomatic corps,
Till I had grouped you as the Graces,
Jemima, Rose, and Eleanore.
The Catholic bids fair saints befriend him ;
Your poet's heart is catholic too;
His rosary shall be flowers ye send him,
His saint-days when he visits you;
And my sere laurels for my duty,
Miraculous, at your touch would rise,
Could I give verse one trait of beauty,
Like that which glads me from your eyes.
Unsealed by you, these lips have spoken,
Disused to song for many a day;
Ye've tuned a harp whose strings were broken,
And warmed a heart of callous clay;
So when my fancy next refuses,
To twine for you a garland more, Come back again and be my Muses, Jemima, Rose, and Eleanore. Constable's Edinburgh Magazine.
THE fountains mingle with the river,
And the river with the ocean;
The winds of heaven mix for ever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single;
All things, by a law divine,
In one another's being mingle ;-
Why not I with thine?
See the mountains kiss high heaven,
And the waves clasp one another!
No leaf or flower would be forgiven,
If it disdained to kiss its brother;
And the sunlight clasps the earth,
And the moonbeams kiss the sea:
What are all these kissings worth,
If thou kiss not me?
THE sun went down in beauty ;—not a cloud
Darkened its radiance,-yet there might be seen
A few fantastic vapours scattered o'er
The face of the blue heavens; some fair and slight
As the pure lawn that shields the maiden's breast,—
Some shone like silver, some did stream afar
Faint and dispersed-like the Pale Horse's mane,
Which Death shall stride hereafter, some were glittering
Like dolphin's scales, touched out with varying hues
Of beautiful light-outvying some the rose,
And some the violet, yellow, white, and blue,
Scarlet and purpling red.-One small lone ship
Was seen with outstretched sails, keeping its way
In quiet o'er the deep; all nature seemed
Fond of tranquillity; the glassy sea
Scarce rippled the halcyon slept upon the wave;
The winds were all at rest,-and in the east
The crescent moon-then seen imperfectly-
Came onwards, with the vesper star, to see
A summer day's decline.
The sun went down in beauty;—but the eyes
Of ancient seamen trembled, when they saw
A small black ominous spot far in the distance :-
It spread, and spread-larger and dark-and came
O'ershadowing the skies;—the ocean rose;
The gathering waves grew large, and broke in hoarse
And hollow sounds;-the mighty winds awoke,
And screamed and whistled through the cordage ;-birds,
That seemed to have no home, flocked there in terror,
And sat with quivering plumage on the mast.
Flashes were seen, and distant sounds were heard-
Presages of a storm.-
The sun went down in beauty-but the skies
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