I come from haunts of coot and hern,

I make a sudden sally,
And sparkle out among the fern,

To bicker down a valley.

By thirty mills I hurry down,

Or slip between the ridges; By twenty thorps, a little town,

And half a hundred bridges.

I chatter over stony ways,

In little sharps and trebles, I bubble into eddying bays,

I babble on the pebbles.

I chatter, chatter, as I flow

To join the brimming river; For men may come and men may go,

But I go on for ever.

I wind about and in and out,

With here a blossom sailing, And here and there a lusty trout,

And here and there a grayling.

And here and there a foamy flake

Upon me, as I travel,
With many a silvery water-break

Above the golden gravel.

I steal by lawns and grassy plots,

I slide by hazel covers,
I move the sweet forget-me-nots

That grow for happy lovers.

I murmur under moon and stars

In brambly wildernesses,
I linger by my shingly bars,

I loiter round my cresses.
And out again I come and flow

To join the brimming river;
For men may come and men may go,

But I go on for ever.---Tennyson.

LESSON XCVI.-RAIN IN SUMMER. How beautiful is the rain ! After the dust and heat, In the broad and fiery street, In the narrow lane, How beautiful is the rain ! How it clatters along the roofs, Like the tramp of hoofs ! How it gushes and struggles out From the throat of the overflowing spout! Across the window pane It pours and pours; And swift and wide, With a muddy tide, Like a river down the gutter roars The rain, the welcome rain ! The sick man from his chamber looks At the twisted brooks ; He can feel the cool Breath of each little pool ; His fevered brain Grows calm again, And he breathes a blessing on the rain.

From the neighbouring school

Come the boys,

With more than their wonted noise

And commotion;

And down the wet streets

Sail their mimic fleets,

Till the treacherous pool

Engulfs them in its whirling

And turbulent ocean.

In the country on every side,

Where far and wide,

Like a leopard's tawny and spotted hide,

Stretches the plain,

To the dry grass and the drier grain

How welcome is the rain!

In the furrowed land

The toilsome and patient oxen stand;

Lifting the yoke-encumbered head,

With their dilated nostrils spread,

They silently inhale

The clover-scented gale,

And the vapours that arise

From the well-watered and smoking soil.

For this rest in the furrow after toil

Their large and lustrous eyes

Seem to thank the Lord,

More than man's spoken word.

Near at hand,

From under the sheltering trees,

The farmer sees

His pastures and his fields of grain,

As they bend their tops

To the numberless beating drops

Of the incessant rain.

He counts it as no sin

That he sees therein

Only his own thrift and gain.—Longfellow.


The leaf-tongues of the forest, and the flower-lips of the

sod, The birds that hymn their raptures in the ear of God, The summer-wind that bringeth music o'er land and

sea, Have each a voice that singeth this sweet song of songs

to me: "This world is full of beauty, as angel-worlds above, And if we did our duty it might be full of love."

Night's starry tendernesses dower with glory evermore, Morn's budding-bright melodious hour comes sweetly as

of yore; But there be million hearts accurst, where no sweet sunbeams shine, And there be million hearts athirst for love's immortal

wine. This world is full of beauty, as angel-worlds above, And if we did our duty it might be full of love.

Gerald Massey.


The breaking waves dashed high

On a stern and rock-bound coast,
And the woods against a stormy sky

Their giant branches tossed,



And the heavy night hung dark

The hills and waters o'er,
When a band of exiles moored their bark

On the wild New England shore.

Not as the conqueror comes,

They, the true hearted, came,
Not with the roll of stirring drums,

And the trumpet that sings of fame;
Not as the flying come,

In silence and in fear-
They shook the depths of the desert's gloom

With their hymns of lofty cheer.

Amidst the storm they sang,

And the stars heard and the sea !
And the sounding aisles of the dim wood rang

To the anthems of the free !
The ocean-eagle soared

From his nest by the white waves' foam,
And the rocking pines of the forest roared,

This was their welcome home!

There were men with hoary hair

Amidst that pilgrim band;
Why had they come to wither there,

Away from their childhood's land ?
There was woman's fearless eye,

Lit by her deep love's truth ;
There was manhood's brow, serenely high,

And the fiery heart of youth.

What sought they thus afar ?

Bright jewels of the mine ?

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