Then, settling into fond discourse,
We rested in the garden bower;
While sweetly shone the evening sun
In his departing hour.

We told o'er all that we had done,-
Our rambles by the swift brook's side
Far as the willow-skirted pool,
Where two fair swans together glide.

We talked of change, of winter gone,
Of green leaves on the hawthorn spray,
Of birds that build their nests and sing,
And all since mother went away."

To her these tales they will repeat,
To her our new-born tribes will show,
The goslings green, the ass's colt,
The lambs that in the meadow go.

-But, see, the evening star comes forth!
To bed the children must depart;
A moment's heaviness they feel,
A sadness at the heart:

'Tis gone-and in a merry fit

They run up stairs in gamesome race;
I, too, infected by their mood,

I could have joined the wanton chase.

Five minutes past-and, oh, the change!
Asleep upon their beds they lie;
Their busy limbs in perfect rest,
And closed the sparkling eye.

Then downward from the steep hill's edge
They track the footmarks small;
And through the broken hawthorn hedge,
And by the long stone-wall;

And then an open field they crossed;
The marks were still the same;
They tracked them on, nor ever lost;
And to the bridge they came.

They followed from the snowy bank
Those footmarks, one by one,
Into the middle of the plank;
And further there were none!

Yet some maintain that to this day She is a living child;

That you may see sweet Lucy Gray Upon the lonesome wild.

O'er rough and smooth she trips along,"
And never looks behind;
And sings a solitary song

That whistles in the wind.

ALICE FELL; OR, POVERTY.

THE post-boy drove with fierce career,
For threatening clouds the moon had
drowned;

When suddenly I seemed to hear
A moan, a lamentable sound.

As if the wind blew many ways,

I heard the sound-and more and more :
It seemed to follow with the chaise,
And still I heard it as before.

At length I to the boy called out;
He stopped his horses at the word;
But neither cry, nor voice, nor shout,
Nor aught else like it, could be heard.

The boy then smacked his whip, and fast
The horses scampered through the rain;
And soon I heard upon the blast.
The voice, and bade him halt again.

Said I, alighting on the ground,
"What can it be, this piteous moan ?"
And there a little girl I found,

Sitting behind the chaise, alone.

I met a little cottage girl:

She was eight years old, she said; Her hair was thick with many a curl That clustered round her head.

At this my boy hung down his head,
He blushed with shame, nor made reply;
And five times to the child I said,
"Why, Edward, tell me why?"

His head he raised-there was in sight,
It caught his eye, he saw it plain-
Upon the housetop, glittering bright,
A broad and gilded vane.

Then did the boy his tongue unlock;
And thus to me he made reply,
"At Kilve there was no weathercock,
And that's the reason why."

O dearest, dearest boy! my heart
For better lore would seldom yearn,
Could I but teach the hundredth part
Of what from thee I learn.

RURAL ARCHITECTURE.

THERE'S George Fisher, Charles Fleming, and Reginald Shore, Three rosy-cheeked school-boys, the high

est not more

Than the height of a counsellor's bag; To the top of Great How* were once tempted to climb;

* Great How is a single and conspicuous hill, which rises towards the foot of Thirlmere, on

And there they built up, without mortar or lime,

A man on the peak of the crag.

They built him of stones gathered up as they lay;

They built him and christened him all in one day,

An urchin both vigorous and hale;

And so without scruple they called him
Ralph Jones.
[his bones;
Now Ralph is renowned for the length of
The Magog of Legberthwaite dale.

Just half a week after, the wind sallied

forth, [north And, in anger or merriment, out of the Coming on with a terrible pother, From the peak of the crag blew the giant away. [next day And what did these school-boys?-The very They went and they built up another. Some little I've seen of blind boisterous works [Turks, By Christian disturbers more savage than Spirits busy to do and undo:

At remembrance whereof my blood sometimes will flag; [crag, Then, light-hearted boys, to the top of the And I'll build up a giant with you.

Towards the lamb she looked; and from that shady place [her face: I unobserved could see the workings of If nature to her tongue could measured numbers bring,

"

Thus, thought I, to her lamb that little maid might sing:

"What ails thee, young one? what? Why pull so at thy cord? [and board? Is it not well with thee? well both for bed Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as grass can be; [aileth thee? Rest, little young one, rest; what is't that

"What is it thou would'st seek? What is wanting to thy heart?

Thy limbs, are they not strong? And beautiful thou art:

This grass is tender grass; these flowers they have no peers; [thy ears! And that green corn all day is rustling in

"If the sun be shining hot, do but stretch thy woollen chain, [canst gain; This beech is standing by, its covert thou For rain and mountain storms? the like thou need'st not fear

Thy limbs will shortly be twice as stout as they are now, [in the plough;、 Then I'll yoke thee to my cart like a pony My playmate thou shalt be; and when the wind is cold [be thy fold. Our hearth shall be thy bed, our house shall "It will not, will not rest!-poor creature, can it be [ing so in thee? That 'tis thy mother's heart which is workThings that I know not of belike to thee are dear, [neither see nor hear. And dreams of things which thou canst 'Alas, the mountain tops that look so

green and fair!

I've heard of fearful winds and darkness that come there; [and all play, The little brooks that seem all pastime When they are angry, roar like lions for their prey.

"Here thou need'st not the sky; Night and day thou art Why bleat so after me? Why pull so at thy chain? [thee again!" Sleep-and at break of day I will come to As homeward through the lane I went with lazy feet,

This song to myself did I oftentimes repeat; And it seemed, as I retraced the ballad line by line, [of it was mine.

Again, and once again, did I repeat the song; [damsel must belong, Nay," said I, "more than half to the For she looked with such a look, and she spake with such a tone, [my own.' That I almost received her heart into

"

THE IDLE SHEPHERD-BOYS; OR, DUNGEON-GHYLL-FORCE."

A PASTORAL..

THE valley rings with mirth and joy; Among the hills the echoes play

* Ghyll, in the dialect of Cumberland and