There need not schools, nor the Professor's chair,
Though these be good, true wisdom to impart ;
He, who has not enough for these to spare,
Of time, or gold, may yet amend his heart,

And teach his soul, by brooks and rivers fair :
Nature is always wise in every part.

EDWARD, LORD THURLOW.

CCXXXIII

SNOWDROPS

O DARLING Spirits of the snow,

Who hide within your heart the green,
Howe'er the wintry wind may blow,
The secret of the summer sheen
Ye smile to know!

By frozen rills, in woods and mead,
A mild pure sisterhood ye grow,
Who bend the meek and quiet head,
And are a token from below

From our dear dead.

As in their turf ye softly shine

Of innocent white lives they lead, With healing influence Divine

For souls who on their memory feed,

World-worn like mine.

CCXXXIV

RODEN NOEL.

SONG TO MAY

MAY, queen of blossoms,

And fulfilling flowers,
With what pretty music.

Shall we charm the hours?
Wilt thou have pipe and reed,

Blown in the open mead?

Or to the lute give heed
In the green bowers?

Thou hast no need of us,
Or pipe or wire,
That hast the golden bee
Ripened with fire;
And many thousand more
Songsters, that thee adore
Filling earth's grassy floor
With new desire.

Thou hast thy mighty herds,

Tame, and free-livers;
Doubt not, thy music too
In the deep rivers ;
And the whole plumy flight,
Warbling the day and night—
Up at the gates of light,

See, the lark quivers !

EDWARD, LORD THURLOW.

CCXXXV

OSME'S SONG

HITHER! hither!

O come hither!

Lads and lasses come and see!

Trip it neatly,

Foot it featly,

O'er the grassy turf to me!

Here are bowers

Hung with flowers, Richly curtain'd halls for you!

Meads for rovers,

Shades for lovers,

Violet beds, and pillows too!

Purple heather

You may gather,
Sandal-deep in seas of bloom!
Pale-faced lily,

Proud Sweet-Willy,
Gorgeous rose, and golden broom!

Odorous blossoms

For sweet bosoms,

Garlands green to bind the hair ;

Crowns and kirtles

Weft of myrtles,

You may choose, and Beauty wear!

Brightsome glasses
For bright faces

Shine in ev'ry rill that flows;

Every minute

You look in it

Still more bright your beauty grows!

Banks for sleeping,

Nooks for peeping,

Glades for dancing, smooth and fine!

Fruits delicious

For who wishes,

Nectar, dew, and honey wine!

I'm a volatile thing, with an exquisite wing,
Sprinkled o'er with the tints of the rainbow;
All the Butterflies swarm to behold my sweet form,
Though the Grubs may all vote me a vain beau.
I my toilet go through, with my rose-water dew,
And each blossom contributes its essence;
Then all fragrance and grace, not a plume out of place,
I adorn the gay world with my presence—
In short, you must know,

I'm the Butterfly Beau.

At first I enchant a fair Sensitive plant,

Then I flirt with the Pink of perfection:

Then I seek a sweet Pea, and I whisper, "For thee

I have long felt a fond predilection."