Come, O my friend! and share our festal month! OME SUMMER WOODS. ye into the summer woods; There entereth no annoy ! COM All greenly wave the chestnut leaves, There, lightly swung, on bowery glades And the dark blue columbine. There grows the four-leaved plant "True Love" In some dusk woodland spot, There grows the enchanter's nightshade, And the wood forget-me-not. And many a merry bird is there, The blue-winged jay, the woodpecker, Come down, and ye shall see them all, For their sweet life of pleasantness And far within that summer wood There come the little gentle birds, Down to the murmuring water's edge, And freely drink their fill! And dash about and splash about, The merry little things; And look askance with bright black eyes, And flirt their dripping wings. I've seen the freakish squirrels drop Down from their leafy tree, The little squirrels with the old, Great joy it was to me! And down unto the running brook, I've seen them nimbly go; And the bright water seemed to speak The nodding plants they bowed their heads They spake unto these little things, Oh, how my heart ran o'er with joy! And many a wood-mouse dwelleth there Nor is of aught afraid. The green shoots grow above their heads, Beneath their feet; nor is there strife There is enough for every one, We might learn a lesson, all of us, Beneath the green-wood tree. Mary Howitt. UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE. NDER the greenwood tree UN Who loves to lie with me, And tune his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat, Come hither, come hither, come hither: No enemy, But winter and rough weather. Who doth ambition shun, And pleased with what he gets, Come hither, come hither, come hither! No enemy, But winter and rough weather. Shakspeare I IN THE WOOD. N the wood where shadows are deepest Where the wild wood-strawberries cluster, And the softest moss is spread, I met to-day with a fairy, And I followed her where she led. Some magical words she uttered, For the sky grew bluer and brighter; And I stood in a strange enchantment; In my heart of hearts was the magic The magic of joy departed, That Time can never restore. That never, ah, never, never, Shall I tell you what powerful fairy Adelaide A. Procter. A THE RECLUSE. FOUNTAIN issuing into light |