Still freely come, still freely go, And blessings crown thy vigorous wing, Delightful messenger of Spring! ROBERT FRANKLIN. In Britain there are four species of swallows:-1. The Chimney Swallow, Hirundo rustica, which may be distinguished by its deep forked tail and by reddish plumage on its forehead and under its chin. It builds in chimneys and not unfrequently on rafters in out-houses. It arrives about the middle of April, and disappears in September.-2. The Window Swallow or Martin, H. urbica, has its tail less forked than the preceding, no red spot on the head or chin, and the under part of the body a bright white. Its nest of clay is generally built under the eaves of a house, and has a small hole on one side for entrance. Shakspeare, with his usual happy mode of expression, calls it the " "templehaunting martlet."-Macbeth i., 6. This favourite arrives early in May and leaves us in October.-3. The Sand Martin, H. riparia, the smallest of our swallows, frequents the deep sandy banks of rivers, in the sides of which it makes its nest. It disappears about Michaelmas.-4. The Swift, H. apus, arrives later and departs sooner than any of the tribe. It builds in steeples and towers, under bridges, and sometimes under the tiles of farm-houses. See an admirable article "on the wanton destruction of Swallows," in Loudon's Magazine of Nat. Hist., vol. 3. Peeping from the East, she brings Now behold! the blushing sky Him the East, in crimson drest, Glory, beaming from on high, Bliss, to which sluggards ne'er were born. Waits the attendant of the morn. MARY M. COLLING. SPRING. "They shall spring up as among the grass, as willows by the water-courses." LESSONS Sweet of spring returning, Instinct pure, or heav'n-taught art? Soft as Memnon's harp at morning, Your transporting chords ring out. Every leaf in every nook, Every wave in every brook : Minds us of our better choice. Needs no show of mountain hoary, Teaches truth to wandering men. ISA. xliv. Tho' the rudest hand assail her, But when showers and breezes hail her, If, the quiet brooklet leaving, For the shades I leave behind. Where the thickest boughs are twining, Fearless of the passing hoof, So they live in modest ways, FIELD FLOWERS. YE Field Flowers! the gardens eclipse you, 'tis true, For ye waft me to Summers of old, When the earth teemed around me with fairy delight, I love you for lulling me back into dreams Of the blue Highland mountains and echoing streams, And of broken glades breathing their balm, While the deer was seen glancing in sunshine remote, And the deep mellow crush of the wood-pigeon's note, Made music that sweetened the calm. Not a pastoral song has a pleasanter tune Than ye speak to my heart, little wildlings of June; Where I thought it delightful your beauties to find, Ev'n now what affections the violet awakes! What landscapes I read in the primrose's looks, Earth's cultureless buds, to my heart ye were dear, Had scathed my existence's bloom; Once I welcome you more, in life's passionless stage, And I wish you to grow to my tomb. CAMPBELL. TO A BUTTERFLY. CHILD of the sun! pursue thy rapturous flight, -Yet wert thou once a worm; a thing, that crept To burst a seraph, in the blaze of day! ROGERS. It has been beautifully observed, that the Chrysalis is the cradle of the Butterfly, at the very moment it becomes the tomb of the Caterpillar. HYMN. THERE's not a leaf within the bower; Thy hand the varied leaf design'd, And gave the bird its thrilling tone; Yes: dewdrop, leaves, and buds, and all, |