The lambkin crops its crimson gem,
The wild bee murmurs on its breast,
The blue fly bends its pensile stem,
Lights o’er the skylark’s nest.
’Tis Flora’s page:—in every place
In every season fresh and fair
It opens with perennial grace,
And blossoms every where.
On waste and woodland, rock and plain,
Its humble buds unheeded rise;
The rose has but a summer reign,
The daisy never dies.
Montgomery.
The flower aptly described by Mr. Montgomery as “companion of the sun,” is not forgotten by a contemporary “child of song,” from whom, until now, no illustration has graced these pages: the absence may be apologized for, by opening one of his views of nature immediately.
Day Break in the Country.
Awake! awake! the flowers unfold,
And tremble bright in the sun,
And the river shines a lake of gold,—
For the young day has begun.
The air is blythe, the sky is blue,
And the lark, on lightsome wings,
From bushes that sparkle rich with dew,
To heaven her matin sings.
Then awake, awake, while music’s note,
Now bids thee sleep to shun,
Light zephyrs of fragrance round thee float
For the young day has begun.
I’ve wandered o’er yon field of light,
Where daisies wildly spring,
And traced the spot where fays of night
Flew round on elfin wing:
And I’ve watch’d the sudden darting beam
Make gold the field of grain,
Until clouds obscur’d the passing gleam
And all frown’d dark again.
Then awake, awake, each warbling bird,
Now hails the dawning sun,
Labour’s enlivening song is heard,—
For the young day has begun.
Is there to contemplation given
An hour like this one,
When twilight’s starless mantle’s riven
By the uprising sun?
When feather’d warblers fleet awake,
His breaking beams to see,
And hill and grove, and bush and brake,
Are fill’d with melody.
Then awake, awake, all seem to chide
Thy sleep, as round they run,
The glories of heaven lie far and wide,—
For the young day has begun.
R. Ryan.