III.
Her hair—what mind I the tint of her hair,
When her eyes are the tenderest blue;
And her loving face bears many a grace
Lit up with a sunny hue?
When I find—O I find, that her heart is kind—
That she goes not abroad to see
The World—or be seen. Her love, I ween,
Is the love that was made for me.
THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER.
Where now is the Summer's last Rose,
That reigned like a queen on the briar?
'T is faded! and o'er its grave glows
The glad warmth of Winter's first fire.
We welcome the Flame with delight,
As we welcomed the Rose in the Spring:
But the blossom's as nought in our sight
'Mid pleasures which Firesides bring.
And so with life's swallow-winged friends:
The Rose is adored in its day;
But when its prosperity ends
'T is cast like a puppet away.
THE STARLING AND THE GOOSE.
A FABLE.
A silly bird of waddling gait
On a common once was bred,
And brainless was his addle pate
As the stubble on which he fed;
Ambition-fired once on a day
He took himself to flight,
And in a castle all decay
He nestled out of sight.
"O why," said he, "should mind like mine
"Midst gosling-flock be lost?
"In learning I was meant to shine!"
And up his bill he tossed.
"I'll hide," said he, "and in the dark
"I'll like an owl cry out
("In wisdom owls are birds of mark),
"And none shall find me out!"
And so from turret hooted he
At all he saw and heard;
Hoo-hoo! Hoo-hoo! What melody!
And what a silly bird!
At length a Starling which had flown
Down on the Castle wall
Thus spake: "Why what a simple drone
"You are to sit and bawl!
"Though you presume an Owl to be,
"It's not a bit of use!
"Your body though folks cannot see
"They know the diff'rence—pardon me!
"Betwixt the screech of Owl up tree
"And the cackling of a Goose!"