And over the pathway the brown fawn Oh, soothe him whose pleasures like thine

And naught but the nightingale's song in the I mourn, but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for grove

Perfumed with fresh fragrance and glittering THE Tulip called to the Eglantine:

But when shall spring visit the mouldering Till it seems as if through his raptured eyes

"'Twas thus, by the glare of false science And what is passing among the great

betrayedThat leads to bewilder and dazzles to But they speak of me as the flower of love,

Friends, shall we not bestow our charity? The chill increases doubly while we stand;

prayers,

And murmurs of low fountains that gush forth
I' the midst of roses.

EDWARD LYTTON BULWER.

LYING.

This hand would lead thee, listen! A deepIDO confess, in many a sigh,

vale

Shut out by Alpine hills from the rude world,
Near a clear lake margined by fruits of gold
And whispering myrtles, glassing softest
skies,

a

My lips have breathed you many a lie;
And who, with such delights in view,
Would lose them for a lie or two?

Nay! Look not thus, with brow reproving;
Lies are, my dear, the soul of loving.

As cloudless, save with rare and roseate If half we tell the girls were true,

shadows,

If half we swear to think and do,

Were aught but lying's bright illusion,
This world would be in strange confusion.
If ladies' eyes were every one,

As lovers swear, a radiant sun,
Astronomy must leave the skies
To learn her lore in ladies' eyes.

We'd sit beneath the arching vines and Oh no! believe me, lovely girl,

wonder

WOODS IN SPRING.

AIL, Source of being! Uni- When first the soul of Love is sent abroad
Warm through the vital air, and on the

versal Soul

Of heaven and earth, essen

tial Presence, hail!

heart

Harmonious seizes, the gay troops begin

To thee I bend the knee, to In gallant thought to plume the painted

thee my thoughts

master-hand

Hast the great whole into

wing,

Continual climb, who with a And try again the long-forgotten strain
At first faint-warbled. But no sooner grows
The soft infusion prevalent and wide
Than, all alive, at once their joy o'erflows
In music unconfined. Up springs the lark,
Shrill-voiced and loud, the messenger of
Morn;

perfection touched.

By thee the various vegeta-
tive tribes,
Wrapped in a filmy net and clad with leaves,
Draw the live ether and imbibe the dew;
By thee disposed into congenial soils
Stands each attractive plant, and sucks and
swells

The juicy tide, a twining mass of tubes;
At thy command the vernal sun awakes
The torpid sap, detruded to the root
By wintry winds, that, now in fluent dance.
And lively fermentation mounting, spreads
All this innumerous-colored scene of things.

As rising from the vegetable world

My theme ascends, with equal wing ascend,
My panting Muse; and hark! how loud the
woods

Invite you forth in all your gayest trim !
Lend me your song, ye nightingales! Oh, pour
The mazy-running soul of melody
Into my varied verse while I deduce
From the first note the hollow cuckoo sings
The symphony of spring, and touch a theme
Unknown to fame-The Passion of the Groves.

Ere yet the shadows fly, he, mounting, sings Amid the dawning clouds, and from their haunts

Calls the tuneful nations. Every copse

up

Deep-tangled, tree irregular, and bush
Bending with dewy moisture o'er the heads
Of the coy choristers that lodge within,
Are prodigal of harmony. The thrush
And woodlark, o'er the kind-contending
throng

Superior heard, run through the sweetest
length

Of notes when listening Philomela deigns
To let them joy, and purposes, in thought
Elate, to make her night excel their day.
The blackbird whistles from the thorny

brake;

The mellow bullfinch answers from the

grove;

Nor are the linnets, o'er the flowing furze
Poured out profusely, silent. Joined to these,
Innumerous songsters in the freshening shade