Summer wanes; the children are grown; Fun and frolic no more he knows; Robert of Lincoln's a hum-drum drone; Off he flies, and we sing as he goes, Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink, When you can pipe that merry old strain, Robert of Lincoln, come back again.

Chee, chee, chee.

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

OLD GRIMES.

"Old Grimes" is an heirloom, an antique gem. We learn it as a matter of course for its sparkle and glow.

Old Grimes is dead; that good old man, We ne'er shall see him more; He used to wear a long, black coat, All b.u.t.toned down before.

His heart was open as the day, His feelings all were true; His hair was some inclined to gray, He wore it in a queue.

He lived at peace with all mankind, In friendship he was true; His coat had pocket-holes behind, His pantaloons were blue.

He modest merit sought to find, And pay it its desert; He had no malice in his mind, No ruffles on his shirt.

His neighbours he did not abuse, Was sociable and gay; He wore large buckles on his shoes, And changed them every day.

His knowledge, hid from public gaze, He did not bring to view, Nor make a noise town-meeting days, As many people do.

His worldly goods he never threw In trust to fortune's chances, But lived (as all his brothers do) In easy circ.u.mstances.

Thus undisturbed by anxious cares His peaceful moments ran; And everybody said he was A fine old gentleman.

ALBERT GORTON GREENE.

SONG OF LIFE.

A traveller on a dusty road Strewed acorns on the lea; And one took root and sprouted up, And grew into a tree.

Love sought its shade at evening-time, To breathe its early vows; And Age was pleased, in heights of noon, To bask beneath its boughs.

The dormouse loved its dangling twigs, The birds sweet music bore-- It stood a glory in its place, A blessing evermore.

A little spring had lost its way Amid the gra.s.s and fern; A pa.s.sing stranger scooped a well Where weary men might turn.

He walled it in, and hung with care A ladle on the brink; He thought not of the deed he did, But judged that Toil might drink.

He pa.s.sed again; and lo! the well, By summer never dried, Had cooled ten thousand parched tongues, And saved a life beside.

A nameless man, amid the crowd That thronged the daily mart, Let fall a word of hope and love, Unstudied from the heart, A whisper on the tumult thrown, A transitory breath, It raised a brother from the dust, It saved a soul from death.

O germ! O fount! O word of love!

O thought at random cast!

Ye were but little at the first, But mighty at the last.

CHARLES MACKAY.

FAIRY SONG.

Shed no tear! O shed no tear!

The flower will bloom another year.

Weep no more! O, weep no more!

Young buds sleep in the root's white core.

Dry your eyes! Oh! dry your eyes!

For I was taught in Paradise To ease my breast of melodies-- Shed no tear.

Overhead! look overhead!

'Mong the blossoms white and red-- Look up, look up. I flutter now On this flush pomegranate bough.

See me! 'tis this silvery bell Ever cures the good man's ill.

Shed no tear! O, shed no tear!

The flowers will bloom another year.

Adieu, adieu--I fly, adieu, I vanish in the heaven's blue-- Adieu, adieu!

JOHN KEATS.

A BOY'S SONG

"A Boy's Song," by James Hogg (1770-1835), is a sparkling poem, very attractive to children.

Where the pools are bright and deep, Where the gray trout lies asleep, Up the river and o'er the lea, That's the way for Billy and me.

Where the blackbird sings the latest, Where the hawthorn blooms the sweetest, Where the nestlings chirp and flee, That's the way for Billy and me.

Where the mowers mow the cleanest, Where the hay lies thick and greenest, There to trace the homeward bee, That's the way for Billy and me.

Where the hazel bank is steepest, Where the shadow falls the deepest, Where the cl.u.s.tering nuts fall free.

That's the way for Billy and me.

Why the boys should drive away, Little sweet maidens from the play, Or love to banter and fight so well, That's the thing I never could tell.

But this I know, I love to play, Through the meadow, among the hay; Up the water and o'er the lea, That's the way for Billy and me.

JAMES HOGG.

b.u.t.tERCUPS AND DAISIES.

b.u.t.tercups and daisies, Oh, the pretty flowers, Coming ere the spring time, To tell of sunny hours.

While the tree are leafless, While the fields are bare, b.u.t.tercups and daisies Spring up here and there.

Ere the snowdrop peepeth, Ere the crocus bold, Ere the early primrose Opes its paly gold, Somewhere on the sunny bank b.u.t.tercups are bright; Somewhere 'mong the frozen gra.s.s Peeps the daisy white.

Little hardy flowers, Like to children poor, Playing in their st.u.r.dy health By their mother's door, Purple with the north wind, Yet alert and bold; Fearing not, and caring not, Though they be a-cold!

What to them is winter!

What are stormy showers!

b.u.t.tercups and daisies Are these human flowers!

He who gave them hardships And a life of care, Gave them likewise hardy strength And patient hearts to bear.