SPRING AND SUMMER.

ANONYMOUS.

SPRING is growing up,

Isn't it a pity ?
She was such a little thing,

And so very pretty !
Summer is extremely grand,

We must pay her duty; (But it is to little Spring

That she owes her beauty !)

All the buds are blown,

Trees are dark and shady, (It was Spring who dress'd them, though,

Such a little lady!)
And the birds sing loud and sweet

Their enchanting hist'ries. (It was Spring who taught them, though,

Such a singing mistress !)

From the glowing sky

Summer shines above us; Spring was such a little dear,

But will Summer love us? She is very beautiful,

With her grown-up blisses, Summer we must bow before;

Spring we coaxed with kisses !

Spring is growing up,

Leaving us so lonely,
In the place of little Spring

We have Summer only!
Summer, with her lofty airs,

And her stately paces,
In the place of little Spring,

With her childish graces !

A MIDSUMMER SONG.

R. W. GILDER.

Oh, father's gone to market-town: he was up before

the day,

And Jamie's after robins, and the man is making hay, And whistling down the hollow goes the boy that

minds the mill, While mother from the kitchen-door is calling with a

will,
“Polly ! - Polly!— The cows are in the corn!

Oh, where's Polly ?”

From all the misty morning air there comes a summer

sound, A murmur as of waters, from skies and trees and ground. The birds they sing upon the wing, the pigeons bill and

COO; And over hill and hollow rings again the loud halloo : “Polly!- Polly!— The cows are in the corn!

Oh, where's Polly ?”

Above the trees, the honey-bees swarm by with buzz

and boom, And in the field and garden a thousand blossoms bloom. Within the farmer's meadow a brown-eyed daisy blows, And down at the edge of the hollow a red and thorny

rose.

But Polly!— Polly! — The cows are in the corn!

Oh, where's Polly ? How strange at such a time of day the mill should stop

its clatter! The farmer's wife is listening now, and wonders what's

the matter. Oh, wild the birds are singing in the wood and on the

hill, While whistling up the hollow goes the boy that minds

the mill. But Polly!— Polly!—The cows are in the corn!

Oh, where's Polly!

THE WAY FOR BILLY AND ME.

James Hogg.

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 lies the deepest,
Where the clustering nuts fall free,
That's the way for Billy and me.
Why the boys should drive away
Little maidens from their 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, along the hay;
Up the water and o'er the lea,
That's the way for Billy and me.

A CHILD TO A ROSE.

ANONYMOUS.

WHITE Rose, talk to me!

I don't know what to do.
Why do you say no word to me,

Who say so much to you?
I'm bringing you a little rain,

may catch

And I shall be so proud If, when you feel it on your face,

You take me for a cloud. Here I come so softly,

You cannot hear me walking; If I take you by surprise, I

you talking Tell all your thoughts to me,

Whisper in my ear; Talk against the winter,

He shall never hear. I can keep a secret

Since I was five years old. Tell if you were frighten'd

When first you felt the cold; And, in the splendid summer,

While you flush and grow, Are you ever out of heart

Thinking of the snow? Did it feel like dying

When first your blossoms fell ? Did you know about the spring ?

Did the daisies tell ? If you

had no notion, Only fear and doubt, How I should have liked to see

When you found it out! Such a beautiful surprise !

What must you have felt,