THE PAPER KITE. ONCE on a time, a Paper Kite "See, how yon crowds of gazing people It tugg'd and pull'd, while thus it spoke, In vain it tried to soar away; The winds soon plung'd it in the tide. How oft I've wish'd to break the lines For something more, or something higher! NEWTON. THE COUNTRY MAID AND THE PIMPERNEL FLOWER.* "I'LL go and peep at the Pimpernel, And 'tis like to be fine, I shall go to the fair, For my Lubin is there; So Pimpernel, what bode the clouds and the sky? If fair weather, no maiden so merry as I." The Pimpernel-flower had folded up Thus her warning said: "Though the sun smile down, There's a gathering frown O'er the checker'd blue of the clouded sky; The maid first look'd sad, and then look'd cross, You mean little weed? For the blue sky is bright; To more credulous people your warnings tell: I'll away to the fair Good day, Pimpernel." "Stay at home," quoth the flower. "In sooth, not I; I'll don my straw hat with a silken tie; *The Pimpernel, or " Poor man's weather-glass," closes in damp or rainy weather. O'er my neck so fair White, checker'd with pink; And then let me think, I'll consider my gown-for I'd fain look well:" So saying, she stepp'd o'er the Pimpernel. Now the wise little flower, wrapp'd safe from harm, Sat fearlessly waiting the coming storm; Just peeping between Her snug cloak of green, Lay folded up tight Her red robe so bright, Though broider'd with purple, and starr'd with gold, No eye might its bravery then behold. The fair maiden straight donn'd her best array, And forth to the festival hied away: But scarce had she gone Ere the storm came on, And, 'mid thunder and rain, She cried, oft and again, "Oh ! would I had minded yon boding flower, And were safe at home from the pelting shower. " Now, maiden, the tale that I tell would say, MRS. MEREDITH. HUMAN LIFE. PSALM XC. 6. I WALK'D the fields at morning's prime, "And thus,” I cried, "the ardent boy, I wander'd forth at noon : alas! And thus, I thought with many a sigh, Once more at eve abroad I stray'd, The perfum'd air, the hush of eve, O'er thoughts perchance too prone to grievė, For thus the actions of the just, When memory hath enshrin'd them, E'en from the dark and silent dust Their odour leave behind them. BARTON. THE SWALLOW. ALONG the surface of the winding stream, Hillock and fence with motion serpentine, WILCOX. ON PLANTING A TULIP-ROOT. HERE lies a bulb, the child of earth, Ere long to spring, by second birth, 'Tis said that microscopic pow'r Might through its swaddling folds descry Too exquisite to meet the eye. This, vernal suns and rains will swell, Two shapely leaves will first unfold, |