But, O, thou slanderer false and vile!
Dare but to cross that garden-stile;
Dare but to touch that lowly thatch;-
Dare but to force that peasant's latch ;-

And thy craven soul shall wildly quake
At the thunder-peal the deed shall wake;
For myriad tongues of fire shall sound,
As if every stone cried from the ground.

The indignant thrill like flame shall spread,
Till the isle itself rock 'neath thy tread:
And a voice from people, peer, and throne,
Ring in thine ears- "Atone! Atone!"

For Freedom here is common guest,
In princely hall, and peasant's nest;
The palace is filled with her living light,
And she watches the hamlet day and night.

Then the land for me! the land for me!
Where every living soul is free!

Where winter may come, where storms may rave, But the tyrant dare not bring his slave!

M. HOWITT.

The Ase of Flowers.

GOD might have bade the earth bring forth Enough for great and small,

The oak-tree and the cedar-tree,

Without a flower at all.

We might have had enough, enough
For every want of ours,

For luxury, medicine, and toil,

And yet have had no flowers.

The ore within the mountain mine
Requireth none to grow,
Nor doth it need the lotus flower
To make the river flow.

The clouds might give abundant rain,
The nightly dews might fall,
And the herb that keepeth life in man,
Might yet have drunk them all.

Then wherefore, wherefore were they made,
All dyed with rain-bow light,
All fashioned with supremest grace
Up-springing day and night :-

Springing in valleys green and low,
And on the mountains high,
And in the silent wilderness
Where no man passes by?

Our outward life requires them not--
Then wherefore had they birth?
To minister delight to man,
To beautify the earth;

To comfort man-to whisper hope,
Whene'er his faith is dim,

For who so careth for the flowers
Will much more care for him!

Buttercups and Daisies.

BUTTERCUPS and Daisies-
Oh the pretty flowers,
Coming ere the spring-time
To tell of sunny hours.
While the trees are leafless,
While the fields are bare,
Buttercups and Daisies

Spring up here and there.

Ere the snow-drop peepeth;
Ere the crocus bold;
Ere the early primrose
Opes its paly gold

Somewhere on a sunny bank
Buttercups are bright!

Somewhere 'mong the frozen grass
Peeps the Daisy white.

Little hardy flowers

Like to children poor,
Playing in their sturdy health,
By their mother's door :
Purple with the north-wind
Yet alert and bold,
Fearing not and caring not,
Though they be a-cold!

What to them is weather!
What are stormy showers!
Buttercups and Daisies

Are these human flowers!
He who gave them hardship
And a life of care,

Gave them likewise hardy strength,

And patient hearts to bear.

Welcome yellow Buttercups,
Welcome Daisies white,
Ye are in my spirit

Visioned a delight!

Coming ere the spring-time
Of sunny hours to tell

Speaking to our hearts of Him
Who doeth all things well.

The Wild Spring Crarus.

АH, though it is an English Flower,
It only groweth here and there:
Through merry England you might ride;
Through all its length, from side to side
Through fifty counties, nor have spied
This flower so passing fair.

But in our meadows it is growing,
And now it is the early spring;
And see from out the kindly earth
How thousands thousands issue forth,
As if it gloried to give birth
To such a lovely thing.

Like lilac-flame its colour glows,
Tender, and yet so clearly bright,
That all for miles and miles about,
The splendid meadow shineth out;
And far-off village children shout
To see the welcome sight.

I love the odorous Hawthorn flower;
I love the Wilding's bloom to see;
I love the light Anemonies,

That tremble to the faintest breeze;
And hyacinth-like Orchises,

Are

very dear to me!

The Star-wort is a fairy flower;
The Violet is a thing to prize;

;

E