The ground-pine curled its pretty wreath, Running over the club-moss burrs;

I inhaled the violet's breath;

Around me stood the oaks and firs;

Pine-cones and acorns lay on the ground;
Over me soared the eternal sky,
Full of light and of deity;

Again I saw, again I heard,

The rolling river, the morning bird;
Beauty through my senses stole-
I yielded myself to the perfect whole.

INE humble-bee! fine humble-bee!

FINE

Where thou art is clime for me;

Let them sail for Porto Rique,
Far-off heats through seas to seek,—
I will follow thee alone,

Thou animated torrid zone!
Zig-zag steerer, desert cheerer,

Let me chase thy waving lines;
Keep me nearer, me thy hearer,
Singing over shrubs and vines.
Flower-bells,

Honeyed cells,

These the tents

Which he frequents.

Insect lover of the sun,
Joy of thy dominion!

Sailor of the atmosphere,

Swimmer through the waves of air,
Voyager of light and noon,
Epicurean of June!

Wait, I prithee, till I come

Within earshot of thy hum,—
All without is martyrdom.

When the south wind, in May days

With a net of shining haze

Silvers the horizon wall;

And, with softness touching all,

Tints the human countenance
With a colour of romance;
And, infusing subtle heats,
Turns the sod to violets,—
Thou in sunny solitudes,
Rover of the underwoods,
The green. silence dost displace
With thy mellow breezy bass.

Hot Midsummer's petted crone,
Sweet to me thy drowsy tune,
Telling of countless sunny hours,
Long days, and solid banks of flows;
Of gulfs of sweetness without bound,
In Indian wildernesses found;

Of Syrian peace, immortal leisure,
Firmest cheer, and bird-like pleasure.

Aught unsavory or unclean

Hath my insect never seen;

But violets, and bilberry-bells,
Maple-sap, and daffodels,

Clover, catchfly, adder's-tongue,
And brier-roses, dwelt among:
All beside was unknown waste,
All was picture as he passed.

Wiser far than human seer,
Yellow-breeched philosopher,
Seeing only what is fair,

Sipping only what is sweet,

Thou dost mock at Fate and Care,
Leave the chaff and take the wheat.
When the fierce northwestern blast
Cools sea and land so far and fast,
Thou already slumberest deep;
Woe and want thou canst outsleep;
Want and woe, which torture us,
Thy sleep makes ridiculous.

GOOD-BY, PROUD WORLD!

OOD-BY, proud world! I'm going home:

Thou'rt not my friend, and I'm not thine. Long through thy weary crowds I roam,

A river-ark on the ocean's brine;
Long I've been tossed like the driven foam;
But now, proud world! I'm going home.

Good-by to Flattery's fawning face;
To Grandeur, with his wise grimace;

To upstart Wealth's averted eye;
To supple Office, low and high;
To crowded halls, to court and street;
To frozen hearts and hasting feet;
To those who go, and those who come;
Good-by, proud world! I'm going home.

I am going to my own hearth-stone,
Bosomed in yon green hills alonė—
A secret nook in a pleasant land,
Whose groves the frolic fairies planned;
Where arches green, the livelong day,
Echo the blackbird's roundelay,

And vulgar feet have never trod

A spot that is sacred to thought and GOD.
Oh, when I am safe in my sylvan home,
I tread on the pride of Greece and Rome;
And when I am stretched beneath the pines,
Where the evening star so holy shines,

I laugh at the lore and the pride of man;
At the sophist schools, and the learned clan;
For what are they all in their high conceit,
When man in the bush with God may meet!

Rev. Ralph Hopt.

THE WORLD FOR SALE.

THE WORLD FOR SALE! Hang out the sign;

THE

Call every traveller here to me;

Who'll buy this brave estate of mine,

And set me from earth's bondage free?

"Tis going!-Yes, I mean to fling The bawble from my soul away; I'll sell it, whatsoe'er it bring,—

The World at Auction here to-day!

It is a glorious thing to see

Ah, it has cheated me so sore!
It is not what it seems to be:

For sale! it shall be mine no more.
Come, turn it o'er, and view it well;
I would not have you purchase dear;
'Tis going-going !—I must sell!

Who bids ?Who'll buy the Splendid Tear?

Here's WEALTH in glittering heaps of gold—
Who bids?-But let me tell you fair,

A baser lot was never sold ;

Who'll buy the heavy heaps of care?
And here, spread out in broad domain,
A goodly landscape all may trace;
Hall, cottage, tree, field, hill, and plain :
Who'll buy himself a burial-place?

Here's Love, the dreamy, potent spell
That Beauty flings around the heart;
I know its power, alas! too well;—

"Tis going-Love and I must part! Must part! What can I more with Love? All over the enchanter's reign;

Who'll buy the plumeless, dying dove?— of pain!

An hour of bliss, an age

And FRIENDSHIP-rarest gem of earth-
(Who e'er hath found the jewel his ?)