There's not an object on this earth' LESSON LIV. THE MOCKING-BIRD IN THE CITY. BIRD of the South', is this a scene to waken While stranger-throngs roll by, thy song is lending And I will sing', though dear ones, loved and loving', Though from that nest, with backward yearnings moving', And with heart-music shall my feeble aiding LESSON LV. SOLITUDE. IT is not that my lot is low', In woods and glens I love to roam', Yet when the silent evening sighs, The Autumn leaf is sere and dead'; I would not be a leaf, to dié The woods and winds, with sudden wail', I've none to smile when I am freé, Yet, in my dreams, a form I view', LESSON LVI. THE OAK AND THE BROOM. His simple truths did Andrew glean A careful student he had been Among the woods and hills. One winter's night', when through the trees * Broom, a plant, of which there are several species. "I saw a crag', a lofty stone As ever tempest beat'; Out of its head' an Oak had grown', The time was March', a cheerful noon- This Oak, a giant', and a sage', "Eight weary weeks, through rock and clay', The Frost hath wrought both night and day', Look up! and think', above your head', "You are preparing, as before', -no more Down from yon cliff a fragment broke`; This ponderous block was caught by mě; "The thing had better been asleep', Whatever thing it were', Or Breezé, or Bird', or Dog', or Sheep', For you', and your green twigs', decoy Both you and he', Heaven knows how soon', "From me this friendly warning takè”– The Broom began to dozè, And thus, to keep herself awake', 66 My thanks for your discourse are duè; That more than what you say is trué, I know', and I have known it long'; Frail is the bond by which we hold Our being', whether young or old', Wise', foolish', weak', or strong'. "Disasters, do the best we can', For me, why should I wish to roam'? This spot is my paternal home', It is my pleasant heritage'; My Father', many a happy year', Here spread his careless blossoms', here' Attained a good old age. "Even such as his may be my lot': What cause have I to haunt My heart with terrors'? In truth', a favored plant'? Am I not', On me such bounty Summer pours', That I am covered o'er with flowers'; And, when the Frost is in the sky', My branches are so fresh and gay' That you might look at me', and say'This plant can never die. "The butterfly, all green and gold', Here in my blossoms to behold When grass is chill with rain or dew', Her voice was blithe', her heart was light'; Her speech', until the stars of night' Their journey had renewed'; One night, my children', from the North At break of day I ventured forth', The storm had fallen upon the Oak', The little careless Broom was left' LESSON LVII. THE DRUNKEN PASSENGER. A Real Incident. ABOUT the middle of January, while transacting business in the city of New York, I found by a notice in one of the morning papers that the last trip of the New-Haven steamboat', (for the season',) would be made on the following Tuesday. As no other means of leaving the city would soon occur, except by the stages, (and that with twice the expense',) I resolved to bring my business to a speedy close', to forego several friendly visits', and to leave the city by the steamboat'; not altogether because it would be pleasanter than stage riding', but because it would better accord with those rigid principles of economy which I was early taught', and had ever found necessary to practice among the rugged hills of Vermont. |