And when they hoot and when they shout, 'Tis woe to the wood-mice all about, And when the fires of their eyes appear, The weak little birds they quake for fear, For they know that the owls, with a fierce delight, Riot and feast, like lords, at night. Oh bush, of ivy-trees the prime, From the distant town through frost and snow "Twere well for us, thou rare old tree, MORNING THOUGHTS. THE summer sun is shining Upon a world so bright! The dew upon each grassy blade; From giant trees, strong branched, I think of angel voices When the birds' songs I hear; The morning doth appear! I think of that great River That from the Throne flows free; Of weary pilgrims on its brink, Who, thirsting, have come down to drink; Of that unfailing Stream I think, When earthly streams I see! I think of pain and dying, As that which is but nought, When glorious morning, warm and bright, I think of human sorrow But as of clouds that brood Upon the bosom of the day, And the next moment pass away; And with a trusting heart I say Thank God, all things are good! THE PHEASANT. THE stock-dove builds in the old oak wood, Away to the woods with the silvery rind, The streams run on in music low, And the wind through the waving reeds to hear. Then on through hazelly lanes away To the light green fields all clear of hay, Tall purple vetch and meadow-sweet; Where the great colt's-foot grows wild at will; And pike bask in the deep mill-pool. So on and away to the mossy moor, Yet on and on, o'er the springy moss,— To the sunny breeze, are the birch-woods seen,- Oh! beautiful bird, in thy stately pride, HARVEST-FIELD FLOWERS. COME down into the harvest-fields This autumn morn with me; For in the pleasant autumn-fields There's much to hear and see; On yellow slopes of waving corn The autumn sun shines clearly; And 't is joy to walk, on days like this, Among the bearded barley. Within the sunny harvest-fields We'll gather flowers enow; The poppy red, the marigold, The bugles brightly blue; We'll gather the white convolvulus That opes in the morning early; With a cluster of nuts, an ear of wheat, And an ear of the bearded barley. Bright over the golden fields of corn Doth shine the autumn sky; So let's be merry while we may, For time goes hurrying by. They took down the sickle from the wall When morning dews shone pearly; And the mower whets the ringing scythe To cut the bearded barley. Come then into the harvest-fields; The robin sings his song; The corn stands yellow on the hills, They'll carry the sheaves of corn away; THE SEA-GULL. On the white sea-gull, the wild sea-gull, As he lies like a cradled thing at rest, And the white gull lies asleep, As the fisher's bark, with breeze and tide, The ship, with her fair sails set, goes by, And he loves with the storm to sail; Like a sea-weed, to and fro; The tall ship reels like a drunken man, As the gusty tempests blow. But the sea-gull laughs at the pride of man, On the torn-up breast of the night-black sea, Oh the white sea-gull, the bold sea-gull ! And away from land, a thousand leagues What matter to him is land or shore, For the sea is his truest home! And away to the north 'mong ice-rocks stern, And among the frozen snow, To a sea that is lone and desolate, Will the wanton sea-gull go. For he careth not for the winter wild, Nor those desert-regions chill; In the midst of the cold, as on calm, blue seas, And the dead whale lies on the northern shores, As he screams in his wheeling flight: All cometh to him as he liketh best; And he rides on the waves like a bold, young king, The Gull, notwithstanding the gormandizing and rather disgusting character given of it by Bewick, figures beautifully in his inimitable wood-cuts; giving the very spirit of wildness and freshness to his seaside sketches. The Gull may occasionally be found far inland, domesticated in old-fashioned gardens, where it is an indulged and amusing habitant, feeding on slugs and worms, and becoming thus a useful assistant to the gardener. In this state it seems entirely to throw off its wild native character, and assumes a sort of mockheroic style, which is often quite ludicrous. We have seen one strutting about the straight alleys of such a garden, with the most formal, yet conscious air imaginable, glancing first to one side, then to the other, evidently aware of your notice, yet pretending to be busied about his own concerns. It was impossible to conceive that this bird, walking "in his dignified way," upon his two stiff little legs, and so full of self-importance, had ever been a free, wild, winged creature, wheeling about and screaming in the storm, or riding gracefully upon the sunshiny waters. His nature had undergone a land-change; he was transformed into the patron of poodles, and the condescending companion of an old black cat. With these creatures, belonging to the same place, he was on very friendly terms, maintaining, nevertheless, an air of superiority over them, which they permitted, either out of pure good-nature, or because their simplicity was imposed upon. They were all frequently fed from the same plate, but the quadrupeds never presumed to put in their noses till the Gull was satisfied, and to his credit it may be told, that he was not insatiable, although a reasonably voracious bird on ordinary occasions. We saw last summer, also, a Gull well known to northern tourists, which for twenty years has inhabited one of the inner green-courts at Alnwick Castle, and has outlived two or three companions. It is an interesting bird, of a venerable appearance; but, as it has been described in books, more need not be said of it. In one of the towers of this same Castle, also, we were shown a pair of perfect bird-skeletons, under a glass shade, the history of which is mysterious. They are the skeletons of a pair of jackdaws, which had built in one of the upper towers of the Castle, and had been found in their present state, apparently nestled together. From the account given us by the porter, an intelligent old man, they appeared not to have been discovered in any confined place, where they might have died from starvation, but by their own tower, on the open roof, as if they had been death-stricken side by side. SUMMER WOODS. COME ye into the summer-woods; There entereth no annoy; All greenly wave the chestnut leaves, And the earth is full of joy. I cannot tell you half the sights Of beauty you may see, The bursts of golden sunshine, And many a shady tree. There, lightly swung, in bowery glades, And the dark-blue columbine. There grows the four-leaved plant "true love," Unscared by lawless men; Come down and ye shall see them all, For their sweet life of pleasantness, And far within that summer-wood, Among the leaves so green, Without a fear of ill; And dash about and splash about, Down from their leafy tree, ""Tis merry living here!" Oh, how my heart ran o'er with joy! And many a wood-mouse dwelleth there, And all day long has work to do, Nor is, of aught, afraid. The green shoots grow above their heads, Beneath their feet, nor is there strife 'Mong them for mine and thine. There is enough for every one, And they lovingly agree; We might learn a lesson, all of us, Beneath the green-wood tree! THE MANDRAKE. THERE once was a garden grand and old, Its stately walks were trodden by few; And there, in its driest and deepest mould, The dark-green, poisonous mandrake grew. That garden's lord was a learned man,— It is of an ancient time we tell, – He was grim and stern, with a visage wan, He was come to study in privacy. And the depth of its lake no line had found. Some said that the springs of the lake lay deep Under the fierce volcano's root; For the water would oft-times curl and leap, When the summer air was calm and mute. And all along o'er its margin dank Hung massy branches of evergreen; And among the pebbles upon the bank The playful water-snakes were seen. And yew-trees old, in the alleys dim, Were cut into dragon-shapes of dread; And in midst of shadow, grotesque and grim, Stood goat-limbed statues of sullen lead. The garden-beds they were long, and all With a tangle of flowers were overgrown; And each was screened with an ancient wall, Or parapet low of mossy stone. And from every crevice and broken ledge The harebell blue and the wall-flower sprung; And from the wall, to the water's edge, Wild masses of tendrilled creepers hung; For there was a moat outside where slept Deep waters with slimy moss grown o'er, And a wall and a tower securely kept By a ban-dog fierce at a grated door. This garden's lord was a scholar wise, A scholar wise, with a learned look; He studied by night the starry skies, And all day long some ancient book. There were lords hard by who lived by spoil, But he did the men of war eschew; There were lowly serfs who tilled the soil, But with toiling serfs he had nought to do. But now and then might with him be seen, For the king was sick and of help had need; And at night when the moon was at the full, Oh, the mandrake-root! and they listened all three, And carried with them the mandrake root. They all were scholars of high degree, So they took the root of the mandrake fell, And cut it and carved it hideously, And muttered it into a charmèd spell. Then who had been there, by dawn of day, Might have seen the two from the grated door Speed forth; and as sure as they went away, The charmed mandrake root they bore. And the old lord up in his chamber sat, Blessing himself, sedate and mute, The reverence attached to the mandrake may be classed among the very oldest of superstitions, for the Hebrews of the patriarchial ages regarded it as a plant of potent influence. The Greeks, who held it in the same estimation, called it after Circe, their celebrated witch, and also after Atropos, the eldest of the three Fates. The Romans adopted the same opinions respecting it, and Pliny relates the ceremonies which were used in obtaining the root. In the middle ages, when the traditional superstitions of the ancients were grafted upon the popular ignorance, the mandrake was a powerful engine in the hands of the crafty. It was believed that when the mandrake was taken from the earth, it uttered a dreadful shriek; and that any human being who was presumptuous enough to remove it, was suddenly struck dead. Dogs, therefore, were used for this purpose. The earth was carefully lightened, and the plant fastened to the ani. mal's tail; he was then made to draw it forth, and pay whatever penalty the demon of the plant thought fit to impose upon the disturber of his rest. The pretenders to medical skill in those days made great profit by the little hideous images which they fashioned out of the mandrake root, and sold as charms against every kind of sickness and misfortune. They were brought over from Germany in the reign of Henry the VIII, under the name of Abrunes, and by the help of certain pretended magical words, the knowledge of which the credulous obtained at a great price, were said to increase whatever money was placed near them. It was believed, also, at that time, that the mandrake was produced from the decaying flesh of malefactors hung upon the gibbet, and was to be found only in such situations. Dr. Turner, who lived in the time of Queen Elizabeth, declares, that he had divers times taken up the roots of the mandrake, but had never found them under the gallows; nor of the form which the pedlars, who sold them in boxes, pretended them to have been. This form was that of an ugly little man, with a long beard hanging down to his feet. Gerard, the herbalist, also, who wrote thirty years later, used many endeavours to convince the world of the impositions practised upon them, and states, that he and his servant frequently dug up the roots without receiving harm, or hearing any shrieks whatever. The mandrake grows naturally in Spain, Portugal, Italy, and the Levant, and it is also indigenous to China. It was introduced into this country about 1564. It is a handsome plant, and would, in particular situations, be ornamental to our gardens, independent of the strange, old associations connected with it, which would always make it an interesting object. I have seen it, however, only in one garden, that of the King of the Belgians, at Claremont. "It is," says Mr. Phillips, in his pleasant garden companion, the Flora Historica, from which work the above historical notices of the mandrake have been principally taken, “a species of deadly nightshade, which grows with a long taper root like the parsnip, running three or four feet deep; these roots are frequently forked, which assisted to enable the old quacks to give it the shape of a monster. This plant does not send up a stalk, but, immediately from the crown of the root arises a circle of leaves, which at first stand erect, but when grown to their full size, which is about a foot in length and five inches broad, of an ovate-lanceolate shape, waved at the edges, these spread open and lie on the ground; they are of a dark-green, and give out a fetid smell. About the month of April the flowers come out among the leaves, each on a scape about three inches long; they are of a bell shape with a long tube, and spread out into a five-cleft corolla. The colour is of an herbaceous white, but frequently has a tinge of purple. The flower is succeeded by a globular soft berry, when full grown, as large as a common cherry, but of a yellowish-green colour, when ripe and full of pulp, intermixed with numerous reniform seeds." If any of my readers should wish to cultivate this plant of “old renown," they should do it by sowing the seed in autumn, soon after it is ripe; as the seed kept till spring seldom produces plants. It should be set in a light, dry soil, and of a good depth, so that the root may not be chilled or obstructed; and care should be taken not to disturb it when it has once obtained a considerable size. THE HEDGE.HOG. THOU poor little English porcupine, What a harassed and weary life is thine! And thou art a creature meek and mild, That wouldst not harm a sleeping child. Thou scarce can'st stir from thy tree-root, But thy foes are up in hot pursuit; Thou might'st be an asp, or horned snake, Thou poor little martyr of the brake! Thou scarce can'st put out that nose of thine; Thou can'st not show a single spine, But the urchin-rabble are in a rout, With terrier curs to hunt thee out. The poor Hedgehog! one would think he knew How unkind the world must seem to him, He's an innocent thing, living under the blame Oh, poor little English porcupine, THE CUCKOO. "PEE! pee! pee!" says the merry Pee-Bird; And as soon as the children hear it, "The Cuckoo's a-coming," they say, "for I heard, Up in his tree the merry Pee-Bird, And he'll come in three days, or near it!" The days go on, one, two, three; "Cuckoo," the Cuckoo doth cry, And the little boys mock him as they go by. The wood-pecker laughs to hear the strain, And says "the old fellow is come back again; He sitteth again on the very same tree, And he talks of himself again!-he! he! he!" 137 |