She hath cross'd, and without heed When, lo! the ice, so thinly spread, Breaks-and the greyhound, Dart, is overhead! Better fate have Prince and Swallow See them cleaving to the sport! Music has no heart to follow, Little Music, she stops short. She hath neither wish nor heart, Hers is now another part: A loving creature she, and brave! And fondly strives her struggling friend to save. From the brink her paws she stretches, Very hands as you would say! And afflicting moans she fetches, For herself she hath no fears, Him alone she sees and hears, Makes efforts with complainings; nor gives o'er Until her fellow sinks to reappear no more. W. Wordsworth. WATER-FOWL. MARK how the feathered tenants of the flood, With grace of motion that might scarcely seem Inferior to angelical, prolong Their curious pastime! shaping in mid air (And sometimes with ambitious wing that soars Hundreds of curves and circlets, to and fro, Ascending; they approach-I hear their wings, Faint, faint at first; and then an eager sound, To show them a fair image; 'tis themselves, As if they scorned both resting-place and rest! W. Wordsworth. THE WILD FOWL'S VOICE. IT chanced upon the merry merry Christmas eve, I went sighing past the church across the moorlands dreary— O! never sin and want and woe this earth will leave, And the bells but mock the wailing sound, they sing so cheery. How long, O Lord! how long, before Thou come again? Still in cellar, and in garret, and on mountain dreary, The orphans moan, and widows weep, and poor men toil in vain, Then arose a joyous clamour, from the wild fowl on the mere, Blind!—I live, I love, I reign; and all the nations through, With the thunder of My judgments even now are ringing; Do thou fulfil thy work, but as yon wild fowl do, Thou wilt heed no less the wailing, yet hear through it angels singing." C. Kingsley. THE BIRDS IN WINTER. Now from the roost, or from the neighbouring pale, |