SECTION VI.

THE lark is soaring free as air

To sing his matin song;

All Nature seems uncurst by care,

The fields are fresh, the flowers are fair

The hills and vales among.

Sing on, O bird! swell high thy note,

Prolong thy tuneful lay,

As through the sky we watch thee float, And catch each sound from out thy throat, At early dawn of day.

Thy melody is not more rare,
Just as the day's begun,

Than when thou lingerest on the air
To plaintive pour thy evening prayer,
As sinks the setting sun.

The sweetest strain e'er trilled by tongue,
The poet's glowing line,

The sweetest chime that e'er was rung,

The sweetest carol ever sung,

Can never equal thine.

Then ceaseless let thy songlets flow,

Nor feeble thy endeavour,'

Though clouds arise and harsh winds blow,
Though birds may come and birds may go,
Do thou sing on for ever.

J. PITT.

THE BREATH OF WHIN.

I SMELT the whins in passing up the lane,

And years of childhood, crowded into minutes, Swept through my bosom in a sweet sad train Of butterflies and linnets.

I saw the fairies in the haunted dell,

The woodlands with their shadows bright and mazy; I heard, on sunny banks, the sweet blue bell

Tinkling unto the daisy.

A thousand images arose within

Forgotten images, in childhood noted ; And all awaken'd by a breath of whin That in the loaning floated.

SUMMER EVENING.

Forgetting is no losing; and if death
Be higher life, the life that lay before it
May easily be restored, if thus a breath

Can faithfully restore it.

ROBERT LEIGHTON.

SUMMER EVENING.

SOFT is Summer's evening hour,
With a mild and soothing power;
Lengthening shadows, golden dun,
Radiance from the setting sun,
Tender brightness, mellowing slow,
All commingling, smile and glow.

Gentle influence, like a psalm,
Breathing peace and utter calm;
While the flickering sunshine weaves
Light and shadow through the leaves
And the doves, their sweet refrains
Plaintive coo in mellow strains.

Slowly round upon the hill,
Swing the sails of yonder mill;
And the tinkling sheep-bell rings
While the happy blackbird sings;
And the bees, with cheery hum,
Honey-laden, go and come.

Light declines and melts away;
Evening comes in robe of grey;

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