"The blackbird in the summer trees, The lark upon the hill,

Let loose their carols when they please, Are quiet when they will.

"With Nature never do they wage
A foolish strife; they see
A happy youth, and their old age
Is beautiful and free.

"But we are pressed by heavy laws;
And often, glad no more,
We wear a face of joy, because
We have been glad of yore.

"If there is one who need bemoan

His kindred laid in earth,

The household hearts that were his own,

It is the man of mirth.

"My days, my friend, are almost gone; My life has been approved,

"Now both himself and me he wrongs,

The man who thus complains!

I live and sing my idle songs
Upon these happy plains;

"And, Matthew, for thy children dead, I'll be a son to thee!"

At this, he grasped my hand, and said, "Alas! that cannot be!"

We rose up from the fountain-side;
And down the smooth descent

Of the green sheep-track did we glide,
And through the wood we went.

And ere we came to Leonard's Rock,
He sang those witty rhymes
About the crazy old church-clock,
And the bewildered chimes.

A POET'S BLESSING.

FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND.

As I wandered the fields along,
Listening to the lark's sweet song,
I saw an old man working there,
A laborer with hoary hair.

66

Blessings upon this field!" I said;
"Fruitful by faithful labor made.
And blessings on thy wrinkled hand,
Thus scattering seed along the land!"

He answered me, with earnest face,
"A poet's blessing's out of place;
Likely enough that Heaven, in scorn,
Will send us flowers instead of corn."

"Nay, friend," said I, "my tuneful powers Wake not to life too many flowers; Only enough to grace the land,

And fill thy little grandson's hand."

BERNARD PALISSY.*

"Call him not old, whose visionary brain
Holds o'er the past its undivided reign.
For him in vain the envious seasons roll,
Who bears eternal summer in his soul.
If yet the minstrel's song, the poet's lay,
Spring with her birds, or children with their play,
Or maiden's smile, or heavenly dream of Art,
Stir the few life-drops creeping round his heart, –
Turn to the record where his years are told, —
Count his gray hairs, — they cannot make him old!”

B

ERNARD PALISSY was born in one of the southwestern districts of France, in 1509; more than three hundred and fifty years ago, and more than a century before our forefathers landed on Plymouth Rock. The art of making colored glass, and of painting on glass, had been for centuries in great requisition, for the windows of castles and cathedrals. It was considered an occupation so honorable, that poor nobles sometimes resorted to it with

*These facts are gleaned from Morley's Life of Palissy the Potter.

out losing caste; though the prejudices concerning rank were at that time very strong. The manufacture was generally carried on in the depths of forests, partly for the convenience of gathering fuel for the furnaces, and partly to avoid the danger of fire in towns. Around these manufactories the workmen erected their cabins, and night and day the red flames of the furnaces lighted up trees and shrubbery with a lurid glow. It is supposed that Bernard was born and reared in one of these hamlets, secluded from the world. The immense forests furnished a vast amount of chestnuts, which constituted the principal food of the peasantry. Constant labor in the open air, combined with this extreme simplicity of diet, formed healthy, vigorous men, free-hearted, simple, and brave. Whether Bernard's father, who is supposed to have been a modeller of glass, was a decayed gentleman, or simply a peasant, is not known. Bernard, by some means, learned to read and write, which was not an ordinary accomplishment at that period. He also had a great talent for drawing, which he improved, either by practice or instruction. In other respects his education was simply that of the peasantry around him. In his own account of his early days he says, "I had no other books than heaven and earth, which are open to all." These volumes, however, he studied with lively interest and the closest observation. He took notice of the growth of plants and the habits of animals.

He soon began to paint on paper the likenesses of birds, lizards, and trees. As his skill increased, he made portraits of his mother and the neighbors, and landscapes containing the houses they lived in. The preparation of colors for glass early awakened an interest in chemical combinations; but there were then no books on the subject, and he could only increase his stock of knowledge by repeated experiments. His skill in drawing enabled him to produce a variety of new patterns for glass-work, and this, combined with his knowledge of colors, rendered his services much more important than those of a common workman. But the once profitable business was now in its decline. People began to find out that the exclusion of sunshine was unwholesome, and that the obstruction of light rendered their dwellings gloomy. Moreover, windows in those days, being opened on hinges, were much more exposed to be shattered by storms. To repair stained or painted glass was an expensive process; and in order to avoid the frequent necessity of it, people fastened their windows into the wall, so that they could not be opened. This excluded air, as well as light and sun-warmth; and gradually colored windows fell into disuse.

Bernard's father was poor, and the profits of his business were too scanty to yield a comfortable support for his family. Therefore, the young man, when he was eighteen years old, strapped