To seek thee did I often rove Through woods and on the green; And thou wert still a hope, a love; Still longed for, never seen.

And I can listen to thee yet; Can lie upon the plain And listen, till I do beget That golden time again.

O blessed bird! the earth we pace Again appears to be An unsubstantial, fairy place: That is fit home for thee!

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

A GREEN CORNFIELD.

"And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest."

The earth was green, the sky was blue: I saw and heard one sunny morn A skylark hang between the two, A singing speck above the corn;

A stage below, in gay accord, White b.u.t.terflies danced on the wing, And still the singing skylark soared And silent sank, and soared to sing.

The cornfield stretched a tender green To right and left beside my walks; I knew he had a nest unseen Somewhere among the million stalks:

And as I paused to hear his song While swift the sunny moments slid, Perhaps his mate sat listening long, And listened longer than I did.

CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

MARCH.

The stormy March is come at last With wind, and cloud, and changing skies; I hear the rushing of the blast, That through the snowy valley flies.

Ah, pa.s.sing few are those who speak, Wild, stormy month! in praise of thee; Yet, though thy winds are loud and bleak, Thou art a welcome month to me.

For thou, to northern lands, again The glad and glorious sun dost bring, And thou hast joined the gentle train And wear'st the gentle name of spring.

And, in thy reign of blast and storm, Smiles many a long, bright, sunny day, When the changed winds are soft and warm, And Heaven puts on the blue of May.

Then sing aloud the gushing rills In joy that they again are free, And, brightly leaping down the hills, Begin their journey to the sea.

The year's departing beauty hides Of wintry storms the sullen threat; But in thy sternest frown abides A look of kindly promise yet.

Thou bring'st the hope of those calm skies, And that soft time of sunny showers, When the wide bloom, on earth that lies, Seems of a brighter world than ours.

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

THE INCHCAPE ROCK.

No stir in the air, no stir in the sea, The ship was still as she could be; Her sails from heaven received no motion, Her keel was steady in the ocean.

Without either sign or sound of their shock The waves flowed over the Inchcape Rock; So little they rose, so little they fell, They did not move the Inchcape bell.

The good old Abbot of Aberbrothok Had placed that bell on the Inchcape Rock; On a buoy in the storm it floated and swung, And over the waves its warning rung.

When the Rock was hid by the surges' swell, The mariners heard the warning bell; And then they knew the perilous Rock, And blest the Abbot of Aberbrothok.

The sun in heaven was shining gay, All things were joyful on that day; The seabirds screamed as they wheeled around, And there was joyance in their sound.

The buoy of the Inchcape bell was seen A darker speck on the ocean green; Sir Ralph the Rover walked his deck, And he fixed his eye on the darker speck.

He felt the cheering power of spring, It made him whistle, it made him sing; His heart was mirthful to excess, But the Rover's mirth was wickedness.

His eye was on the Inchcape float; Quoth he, "My men, put out the boat, And row me to the Inchcape Rock, And I'll plague the priest of Aberbrothok."

The boat is lowered, the boatmen row, And to the Inchcape Rock they go; Sir Ralph bent over from the boat, And he cut the bell from the Inchcape float.

Down sunk the bell, with a gurgling sound, The bubbles rose and burst around; Quoth Sir Ralph, "The next who comes to the Rock Won't bless the Abbot of Aberbrothok."

Sir Ralph the Rover sailed away; He scoured the seas for many a day; And now grown rich with plunder's store, He steers his course for Scotland's sh.o.r.e.

So thick a haze o'erspreads the sky, They cannot see the sun on high; The wind hath blown a gale all day, At evening it hath died away.

On the deck the Rover takes his stand; So dark it is they see no land.

Quoth Sir Ralph, "It will be lighter soon, For there is the dawn of the rising moon."

"Can'st hear," said one, "the breakers roar?

For methinks we should be near the sh.o.r.e; Now where we are I cannot tell, But I wish I could hear the Inchcape bell."

They hear no sound, the swell is strong; Though the wind hath fallen, they drift along, Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock; Cried they, "It is the Inchcape Rock!"

Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair, And curst himself in his despair; The waves rush in on every side, The ship is sinking beneath the tide.

But even in his dying fear One dreadful sound could the Rover hear, A sound as if with the Inchcape bell The fiends below were ringing his knell.

ROBERT SOUTHEY.

THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN.