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ON LATE SPRING.

THOU lingerest, Spring! still wintry is the scene,
The fields their dead and sapless russet wear;
Scarce does the glossy celandine appear
Starring the sunny bank, or early green

The elder yet its circling tufts put forth;
The sparrow tenants still the eaves-built nest,
When we should see our martin's snowy breast

Oft darting forth. The blasts from the bleak North
And from the keener East still frequent blow.
Sweet Spring, thou lingerest! and it should be so,—
Late let the fields and gardens blossom out!
Like man when most with smiles thy face is dress'd,
'Tis to deceive, and he who knows ye best,

When most ye promise, ever most must doubt.

THE GOLDFINCH.

GOLDFINCH, pride of woodland glade,

In thy jet and gold array'd;

Gentle bird, that lov'st to feed
On the thistle's downy seed;
Freely frolic, lightly sing,

In the sunbeam spread thy wing!
Spread thy plumage, trim and gay,
Glittering in the noontide ray !
As upon the thorn-tree's stem
Perch'd thou sipp'st the dewy gem.
Fickle bird, for ever roving,

Endless changes ever loving;

SOUTHEY.

Now in orchards gaily sporting,
Now to flowery fields resorting;
Chasing now the thistle's down,
By the gentle zephyr blown :
Lightly on thou wing'st thy way,

Always happy, always gay.

Time's Telescope, 1829.

"The brilliant colours, and elegant form of this beautiful bird, (Fringilla carduelis,) make it universally noticed and prized by every lover of animated Nature. The Goldfinch is serviceable to man, in choosing as food the seeds of some of the worst weeds: and, as if relying on this piece of service, fearlessly trusts to his protection by nestling in some fruit or other tree, near his dwellings."-Main.

I love to see the Goldfinch twit and twit,
And pick the groundsel's feather'd seeds;
And then, in bower of apple-blossom perch'd,
Trim his gay suit, and pay us with a song.

Hurdis.

The Goldfinch, sometimes called the sheriff's-man, or seven coloured linnet, builds a very elegant nest, which is formed of bents and moss, interwoven with wool, and is generally lined with thistle-down, or willow cotton. Grahame has well sketched it in his Birds of Scotland:

The Goldfinch weaves with willow down inlaid,
And cannach tufts, his wonderful abode ;
Sometimes suspended at the limber end

Of plane-tree spray, among the broad-leav'd shoots,
The tiny hammock swings to every gale;
Sometimes in closest thickets 'tis conceal'd,
Sometimes in hedge luxuriant, where the brier,
The bramble, and the plum-tree branch,

Warp through the thorn, surmounted by the flowers

Of climbing vetch and honey-suckle wild.

The Cannach tufts mentioned in these lines are the spikes of the Cotton

grass, Eriophorum, a native of boggy pastures.

[graphic]

THE BRITISH OAK.

LET India boast its spicy trees,
Whose fruit and gorgeous bloom,
Give to each faint and languid breeze
A rich and rare perfume.

Let Portugal and haughty Spain,
Display their orange groves;
And France exult her vines to train
Around her trim alcoves.

Let Norway vaunt its hardy pine,
And Araby its palm ;
Libanus for its cedars shine,

And Gilead for its balm.

Old England has a tree as strong,
As stately as them all;
As worthy of a minstrel's song,
In cottage or in hall.

'Tis not the yew-tree, though it lends

Its greenness to the grave;
Nor willow, though it fondly bends
Its branches o'er the wave.

Nor birch, although its slender trees

Be beautifully fair,

As graceful in its loveliness,

As maiden's flowing hair.

'Tis not the poplar, though its height

May from afar be seen;

Nor beech, although its boughs bedight

With leaves of glossy green.

All these are fair, but they may fling
Their shade unsung by me;

My favourite, and the Forest's King,
The British Oak shall be.

Its stem, though rough, is stout and sound,
Its giant branches throw

Their arms, in shady blessing, round
O'er man and beast below.

Its leaf, though late in Spring it shares
The zephyr's gentle sigh;

As late and long in Autumn wears
A deeper, richer dye.

Type of an honest English Heart,
It opes not on a breath;
And having open'd, plays its part,

Until it sinks in death.

Not early won by gleam of sun,
Its beauties to unfold,
One of the last, in skies o'ercast,
To lose its faithful hold.

Its acorns, graceful to the sight,
Are toys, to childhood dear;
Its misseltoe, with berries white,
Adds mirth to Christmas cheer.

And when we reach life's closing stage,
Worn out with care or ill,

For childhood, youth, or hoary age,
Its arms are open still.

But prouder yet its glories shine,
When in a nobler form,

It floats upon the heaving brine,
And braves the bursting storm.

Or when, to aid the work of love,
To some benighted clime,
It bears glad-tidings from above,
Of gospel-truths sublime.

Oh! then triumphant in its might,
O'er waters dim and dark

It seems, in Heaven's approving sight,
A second glorious Ark.

On Earth, the Forest's honour'd King!
Man's Castle on the Sea!

Who will, another tree may sing,

Old England's Oak for me!

C. F. EDGAR.

The first mention of the Oak is that of ancient times, the "Oak of Mamre," under which Abraham sat in the heat of the day; and we find it was under the shade of this tree, that Joshua renewed the covenant with the Israelites. It has ever been esteemed by Britons, and was highly venerated by the ancient Druids. In different parts of this country, Oaks have long been celebrated as memorials of historical events. In an Oak at Boscobel, Charles II. concealed himself after the defeat at Worcester; and under a spreading oak at Torwood, in Stirlingshire, the Scottish patriot, Wallace, assembled his followers, that they might free their country from the thraldom of Edward. Besides these, we might mention others, renowned for their venerable and gigantic appearance, as well as local interest: as the Chaucer Oak, at Newbury,-the Gospel Oak, at Stoneleigh,-the Cawthorpe Oak, near Wetherby,- the Skyrack Oak, near Leeds, the Bull Oak, at Wedgenock Park,-and the Yardley Oak, celebrated by our Poet, Cowper, &c.

Time made thee what thou wert,-king of the woods!
And time hath made thee what thou art,-a cave
For owls to roost in! Once thy spreading boughs
O'erhung the champaign, and the numerous flock
That graz'd it stood beneath that ample cope
Uncrowded, yet safe shelter'd from the storm.

On account of its strength and durability, "the unwedgeable and gnarled Oak," (as Shakspeare expressively terms it, Meas. for Meas. ii. 2.) is preferred to all other 'timber, as the material of the wooden walls of our native isle. Hence the Oak has been styled, "the shipwright's darling treasure." It would be difficult to enumerate all the uses of this well-known tree;-the saw-dust is used in dying; its bark in tanning; its gall-nuts in making ink; and it is said, that its leaves support a greater number of insects than those of any other tree.

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