When her kings, with standard of Led the Red-Branch Knights to Ere the emerald gem of the wester Was set in the crown of a strang

On Lough Neagh's bank as the fish When the clear cold eve 's decli He sees the round towers of other In the wave beneath him shining Thus shall memory often, in dream Catch a glimpse of the days tha Thus, sighing, look through the wa For the long-faded glories they

BEHOLD the young, the ros

Gives to the breeze her sce While virgin graces, warm with Fling roses o'er her dewy way. The murmuring billows of the d Have languished into silent slee And mark! the flitting sea-birds Their plumes in the reflecting w While cranes from hoary winter To flutter in a kinder sky.

Now the genial star of day

Dissolves the murky clouds away,
And cultured field and winding stream
Are freshly glittering in his beam.
Now the earth prolific swells
With leafy buds and flowery bells;
Gemming shoots the olive twine;
Clusters bright festoon the vine;
All along the branches creeping,
Through the velvet foliage peeping,
Little infant fruits we see
Nursing into luxury.

Ex. 93. THE BIRDS' PICNIC.

TH

HE birds gave a picnic; the morning was fine; They all came in couples to chat and to dine. Miss Robin, Miss Wren, and the two Misses Jay, Were dressed in a manner decidedly gay.

And Bluebird, who looks like a handful of sky, Dropped in with her mate as the morning wore by. The Yellow-birds, too, those were bundles of sun,With the brave Chickadees, came along to the fun.

Miss Phebe was there in her prim suit of brown;
In fact, all the birds in the fair, leafy town.
The neighbors, of course, were politely invited;
Not even the Ants nor the Crickets were slighted.

The Grasshoppers came, some in gray, some in green,
And covered with dust, hardly fit to be seen.
Miss Miller flew in, with her gown white as milk,
And Lady-Bug flourished a new crimson silk.

SELECTIONS IN POETRY.

The Bees turned out lively, the young and the old,
And proud as could be in their spencers of gold.
But Miss Caterpillar, - how funny of her!—
She hurried along in a mantle of fur.

93

There were big bugs in plenty, and gnats great and small,—
A very hard matter to mention them all.

And what did they do? Why, they sported and sang,
Till all the greenwood with their melody rang.

Who e'er gave a picnic so grand and so gay?
They had n't a shower, I'm happy to say;
And when the sun fell, like a cherry, ripe red,
The fireflies lighted them all home to bed!

Ex. 94.

S

WARREN'S ADDRESS. - John Pierpont.

TAND! the ground 's your own, my braves!
Will ye give it up to slaves?
Will ye look for greener graves?
Hope ye mercy still?

What's the mercy despots feel?
Hear it in that battle-peal!
Read it on yon bristling steel!

Ask it,

- ye who will.

Fear ye foes who kill for hire?
Will ye to your homes retire?
Look behind you!-they 're afire!
And, before you, see

'Who have done it! From the vale
On they come !- and will ye quail ?
Leaden rain and iron hail

Let their welcome be!

In the God of battles trust!

Die we may,

- and die we must;

But, O, where can dust to dust

Be consigned so well,

As where heaven its dews shall shed
On the martyred patriot's bed,

And the rocks shall raise their head,
Of his deeds to tell?

Ex. 95.—THE SAILOR'S SONG. — Cunningham.

A

A wind that follows fast,
And fills the white and rustling sail,
And bends the gallant mast,-
And bends the gallant mast, my boys,

While, like the eagle free,
Away the good ship flies, and leaves
Old England on the lee.

"O for a soft and gentle wind!"

I heard a fair one cry;

But give to me the snoring breeze

And white waves heaving high,

And white waves heaving high, my boys,

The good ship tight and free; The world of water is our home, And merry men are we.

There's tempest in yon hornéd moon,

And lightning in yon cloud;

And hark the music, mariners !

The wind is piping loud, —

SELECTIONS IN POETRY.

The wind is piping loud, my boys,
The lightning flashing free;
While the hollow oak our palace is,
Our heritage is the sea.

95

A

TRAVELER through a dusty road strewed acorns on the lea;

And one took root and sprouted up, and grew into a tree. Love sought its shade at evening time, to breathe its early vows;

And age was pleased, in heats of noon, to bask beneath its boughs;

The dormouse loved its dangling twigs, the birds sweet music bore;

It stood a glory in its place, a blessing evermore.

A little spring had lost its way amid the grass and fern, A passing stranger scooped a well, where weary men might turn;

He walled it in, and hung with care a ladle at the brink ; He thought not of the deed he did, but judged that toil might drink.

He passed again, and lo! the well, by summers never dried, Had cooled ten thousand parching tongues, and saved a life beside.

A dreamer dropped a random thought; 't was old, and yet

't was new;

A simple fancy of the brain, but strong in being true. It shone upon a genial mind, and lo! its light became A lamp of life, a beacon ray, a monitory flame.