M THE SHEPHERD'S HOME WILLIAM SHENSTONE Y banks they are furnished with bees, Whose murmur invites one to sleep; My grottos are shaded with trees, And my hills are white over with sheep. I seldom have met with a loss, Such health do my fountains bestow; My fountains all bordered with moss, Where the harebells and violets blow. Not a pine in the grove is there seen, But a sweet-brier entwines it around. I have found out a gift for my fair, I have found where the wood-pigeons breed; But let me such plunder forbear, She will say 'twas a barbarous deed; For he ne'er could be true, she averred, Who would rob a poor bird of its young; And I loved her the more when I heard Such tenderness fall from her tongue. HOW SLEEP THE BRAVE WILLIAM COLLINS OW sleep the brave, who sink to rest By all their country's wishes blessed! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. By fairy hands their knell is rung; SPRING From ODE ON THE PLEASURE ARISING FROM VICISSITUDE N THOMAS GRAY OW the golden morn aloft Waves her dew-bespangled wing, With vermeil cheek and whisper soft Till April starts, and calls around The sleeping fragrance from the ground, And lightly o'er the living scene Scatters his freshest, tenderest green. New-born flocks, in rustic dance, The birds his presence greet: And lessening from the dazzled sight, THE SCHOOLMASTER From THE DESERTED VILLAGE OLIVER GOLDSMITH BESIDE yon straggling fence that skirts the way With blossomed furze unprofitably gay, There in his noisy mansion skilled to rule, The village master taught his little school. A man severe he was, and stern to view; I knew him well, and every truant knew: Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace The day's disasters in his morning face; Full well they laughed with counterfeited glee At all his jokes, for many a joke had he; Full well the busy whisper, circling round, Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned. Yet he was kind, or if severe in aught, The love he bore to learning was in fault. The village all declared how much he knew, 'Twas certain he could write, and cipher, too; Lands he could measure, times and tides presage, And e'en the story ran that he could gauge. In arguing too, the parson owned his skill; For e'en though vanquished, he could argue still; While words of learned length, and thund'ring sound, Amazed the gazing rustics ranged aroundAnd still they gazed, and still the wonder grew, That one small head could carry all he knew. THE CRICKET WILLIAM COWPER ITTLE inmate, full of mirth, LITTLE Chirping on my kitchen hearth, Thus thy praise shall be expressed, And the mouse with curious snout, Thou hast all thy heart's desire. Though in voice and shape they be |