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Your robes are green and purple

There's a crest upon your head ; Your eyes are like the diamond bright,

But mine are dull as lead !”
Alas, alas ! how very soon

This silly little Fly,
Hearing his wily, flattering words,

Came slowly flitting by;
With buzzing wings she hung aloft,

Then near and nearer drew,
Thinking only of her brilliant eyes,

And green and purple hueThinking only of her crested head

Poor foolish thing! At last,
Up jump'd the cunning Spider,

And fiercely held her fast.
He dragg’d her up his winding stair,

Into his dismal den,
Within his little parlour-

But she ne'er came out again! And now, dear little children,

Who may this story read, To idle, silly, hattering words,

I pray you ne'er give heed : Unto an evil counsellor

Close heart and ear and eye, And take a lesson, from this tale

Of the Spider and the Fly.

CHICKEN. SEE the chicken, round the gate, For their morning portion wait; Fill the basket from the store, Open wide the cottage door : Throw out crumbs, and scatter seed, Let the hungry chicken feed. Call them, see how fast they run! Gladly, quickly, every one; Eager, busy; hen and chick, Every little morsel pick. See the hen, with callow brood, To her young how kind and good ; With what care their steps she leads ! Them, and not herself, she feeds; Picking here, and picking there, Where the nicest morsels are. As she calls, they flock around, Bustling all along the ground. When their daily labours cease, And, at night, they rest in peace, All the little tiny things Nestle close beneath her wings; There she keeps them, safe and warm, Free from fear, and free from harm.

EPITAPH ON A HARE. HERE lies whom hound did ne'er pursue,

Nor swifter greyhound follow; Whose foot ne'er tainted morning dew,

Nor ear heard huntsman's hallo. Old Tiney, surliest of his kind,

Who, nursed with tender care, And to domestic bounds confined,

Was still a wild Jack-hare. Though duly from my hand he took

His pittance every night, He did it with a jealous look,

And, when he could, would bite. His diet was of wheaten bread,

And milk, and oats, and straw, Thistles, or lettuces instead,

With sand to scour his maw.
On twigs of hawthorn he regaled,

On pippin's russet peel;
And, when his juicy salads fail'd,

Sliced carrot pleased him well.
A Turkey carpet was his lawn,

Whereon he loved to bound,
To skip and gambol like a fawn,

And swing his tail around.

His frisking was at evening hours,

For then he lost his fear, But most before approaching showers,

Or when a storin drew near. Eight years and five round-rolling moons

He thus saw steal away,
Dozing out all his idle noons,

And every night at play.
I kept him for his humour's sake,

For he would oft beguile
My heart of thoughts that made it ache,

And force me to a smile.
But now beneath his walnut shade

He finds his long last home,
And waits, in snug concealment laid,

Till gentler Puss shall come.

THE SAILOR BOY. I AM a little sailor boy,

And would you know my story?
I've been across the ocean blue,

And seen it in its glory :
I've seen it in its summer play,

As gentle as a child,
I've seen it in a tempest,

Like a giant fierce and wild.

I was a little child,

When first I went to sea; I left the hills and valleys

That were so dear to me : With many, many tears,

I bade them all adieu ; My quiet little home,

And the rivulet so blue, The meadow and its flowers,

The forest and the dell, The old clock that told the hours,

I bade them all farewell. And now the ship was ready,

And was anchored in the bay, And soon the sails we hoisted,

And swiftly went away. Away upon the waters,

Like a proud bird she flew, And soon the distant shore

All faded from our view; My home among the hills

Seem'd to sink behind the sca, And I fancied it was lost,

For ever lost to me; And then I look'd around

On the far-spreading deep,

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