(I speak of one from many singled out),
One of those heavenly days that cannot die;
When, in the eagerness of boyish hope,
I left our cottage threshold, sallying forth
With a huge wallet o'er my shoulders slung,
A nutting-crook in hand, and turned my steps
Toward some far-distant wood,—a figure quaint,
Tricked out in proud disguise of cast-off weeds,
Which for that service had been husbanded
By exhortation of my frugal dame:

Motley accoutrement,-of power to smile

At thorns, and brakes, and brambles, and, in truth,
More ragged than need was. Among the woods,
And o'er the pathless rocks, I forced my way
Until, at length, I came to one dear nook
Unvisited, where not a broken bough

Drooped with its withered leaves-ungracious sign
Of devastation; but the hazels rose

Tall and erect, with milk-white clusters hung,—
A virgin scene! A little while I stood,
Breathing with such suppression of the heart
As joy delights in; and, with wise restraint
Voluptuous, fearless of a rival, eyed

The banquet; or beneath the trees I sate
Among the flowers, and with the flowers I played;
A temper known to those who, after long

The Sailor's Mother.

ONE morning (raw it was and wet,

A foggy day in winter-time)

A woman on the road I met,

Not old, though something past her prime; Majestic in her person, tall and straight,

And like a Roman matron's was her mien and gait.

The ancient spirit is not dead;

Old times, thought I, are breathing there:
Proud was I that my country bred

Such strength, a dignity so fair.

She begged an alms, like one in poor estate;
I looked at her again, nor did my pride abate.

When from these lofty thoughts I woke,-
"What treasure," said I," do you bear
Beneath the covert of your cloak,

Protected from the cold damp air ?" She answered, soon as she the question heard, "A simple burden, sir; a little singing-bird."

And thus continuing, she said :-
:-
"I had a son, who many a day
Sailed on the seas, but he is dead;

In Denmark he was cast away:

And I have travelled weary miles to see

If aught which he had owned might still remain for me.

"The bird and cage they both were his:

'Twas my son's bird, and neat and trim He kept it; many voyages

This singing-bird had gone with him: When last he sailed he left the bird behind,

From bodings, as might be, that hung upon his mind.

"He to a fellow-lodger's care

Had left it, to be watched and fed,

And pipe its song in safety: there
I found it when my son was dead;

And now, God help me for my little wit!

I bear it with me, sir; he took so much delight in it."