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THE PAPER KITE.
ONCE on a time, a Paper Kite
"See, how yon crowds of gazing people
It tugg'd and pull'd, while thus it spoke,
The winds soon plung'd it in the tide.
How oft I've wish'd to break the lines
For something more, or something higher!
THE COUNTRY MAID AND THE PIMPERNEL FLOWER.*
"I'LL go and peep at the Pimpernel,
And 'tis like to be fine,
I shall go to the fair,
For my Lubin is there;
So Pimpernel, what bode the clouds and the sky? If fair weather, no maiden so merry as I."
The Pimpernel-flower had folded up
Thus her warning said:
Though the sun smile down,
O'er the checker'd blue of the clouded sky;
The maid first look'd sad, and then look'd cross, Gave her foot a fling, and her head a toss ;
Say you so, indeed,
You mean little weed?
You're shut up for spite,
For the blue sky is bright;
To more credulous people your warnings tell: I'll away to the fair Good day, Pimpernel."
"Stay at home," quoth the flower.
I'll don my straw hat with a silken tie;
*The Pimpernel, or "Poor man's weather-glass," closes in damp or rainy weather.
neck so fair
I'll a kerchief wear,
White, checker'd with pink;
And then - let me think,
I'll consider my gown-for I'd fain look well:" So saying, she stepp'd o'er the Pimpernel.
Now the wise little flower, wrapp'd safe from harm,
Sat fearlessly waiting the coming storm;
Just peeping between
Her snug cloak of green,
Lay folded up tight
Her red robe so bright,
Though broider'd with purple, and starr'd with
No eye might its bravery then behold.
The fair maiden straight donn'd her best array, And forth to the festival hied away:
But scarce had she gone
Ere the storm came on,
And, 'mid thunder and rain,
She cried, oft and again,
"Oh ! would I had minded yon boding flower, And were safe at home from the pelting shower. "
Now, maiden, the tale that I tell would say,
. HUMAN LIFE.
PSALM XC. 6.
I WALK'D the fields at morning's prime,
"And thus,” I cried, "the ardent boy,
I wander'd forth at noon : alas!
The scythe had left the with'ring grass,
And thus, I thought with many a sigh,
Once more at eve abroad I stray'd,
The perfum'd air, the hush of eve,
O'er thoughts perchance too prone to grievė,
For thus the actions of the just,
When memory hath enshrin'd them, E'en from the dark and silent dust
Their odour leave behind them.
ALONG the surface of the winding stream,
Hillock and fence with motion serpentine,
ON PLANTING A TULIP-ROOT.
HERE lies a bulb, the child of earth,
'Tis said that microscopic pow'r
Might through its swaddling folds descry
Too exquisite to meet the eye.
This, vernal suns and rains will swell,
Two shapely leaves will first unfold,