Sunshine and shower be with you, bud and bell! For two months now in vain we shall be sought; We leave you here in solitude to dwell

With these our latest gifts of tender thought; Thou, like the morning, in thy saffron coat Bright gowan, and marsh-marygold, farewell! Whom from the borders of the Lake we brought, And placed together near our rocky well.

We go for one to whom ye will be dear;
And she will prize this Bower, this Indian shed,
Our own contrivance, Building without peer!
- A gentle Maid, whose heart is lowly bred,
Whose pleasures are in wild fields gathered,
With joyousness, and with a thoughtful cheer,
Will come to you,
to you herself will wed,
And love the blessed life which we lead here.

Dear Spot! which we have watched with tender heed,

Bringing thee chosen plants and blossoms blown Among the distant mountains, flower and weed, Which thou hast taken to thee as thy own,

Making all kindness registered and known;

Thou for our sakes, though Nature's Child indeed, Fair in thyself and beautiful alone,

Hast taken gifts which thou dost little need.

And O most constant, yet most fickle Place,
That hast thy wayward moods, as thou dost shew
To them who look not daily in thy face;

Who, being loved, in love no bounds dost know,
And say'st when we forsake thee, "Let them go !"
Thou easy-hearted Thing, with thy wild race
Of weeds and flowers, till we return be slow,→→
And travel with the year at a soft pace.

Help us to tell her tales of years gone by,
And this sweet spring the best beloved and best.
Joy will be flown in its mortality;

Something must stay to tell us of the rest.

Here, thronged with primroses, the steep rock's

breast

Glittered at evening like a starry sky;

And in this Bush our Sparrow built her nest,

Of which I sung one Song that will not die.

O happy Garden! whose seclusion deep
Hath been so friendly to industrious hours;
And to soft slumbers, that did gently steep
Our spirits, carrying with them dreams of flowers,
And wild notes warbled among leafy bowers;
Two burning months let summer overleap,
And, coming back with Her who will be ours,
Into thy bosom we again shall creep.

ས.

STANZAS

WRITTEN IN MY POCKET-COPY OF THOMSON'S

CASTLE OF INDOLENCE.

WITHIN Our happy Castle there dwelt One
Whom without blame I may not overlook;
For never sun on living creature shone
Who more devout enjoyment with us took:
Here on his hours he hung as on a book;
On his own time here would he float away,
As doth a fly upon a summer brook;

But go to-morrow or belike to-day

Seek for him, he is fled; and whither none can

say.

Thus often would he leave our peaceful home,

And find elsewhere his business or delight;

Out of our Valley's limits did he roam :
Full many a time, upon a stormy night,

His voice came to us from the neighbouring height:

Oft did we see him driving full in view

At mid-day when the sun was shining bright;
What ill was on him, what he had to do,

A mighty wonder bred among our quiet crew.

Ah! piteous sight it was to see this man
When he came back to us, a withered flower, -
Or, like a sinful creature, pale and wan.

Down would he sit; and without strength or power
Look at the common grass from hour to hour:
And oftentimes, how long I fear to say,

Where apple-trees in blossom made a bower,
Retired in that sunshiny shade he lay;

And, like a naked Indian, slept himself away.

Great wonder to our gentle Tribe it was
Whenever from our Valley he withdrew;

For happier soul no living creature has
Than he had, being here the long day through.
Some thought he was a lover, and did woo:

Some thought far worse of him, and judged him

wrong:

But Verse was what he had been wedded to;