Now wanton'd, lost in flags and reeds,
Now starting into sight,

Pursued the swallow o'er the meads,
With scarce a slower flight.

It was the time when Ouse display'd
Her lilies newly blown;

Their beauties I intent survey'd
And one I wish'd my own.

With cane extended far, I sought
To steer it close to land:

But still the prize, though nearly caught,
Escaped my eager hand.

Beau mark'd my unsuccessful pains
With fix'd considerate face,

The floating wreath again discern'd,
And plunging left the shore.

I saw him, with that lily cropp'd,
Impatient swim to meet

My quick approach, and soon he dropp'd

The treasure at my feet.

Charm'd with the sight, "The world," I cried,

"Shall hear of this thy deed:

My dog shall mortify the pride
Of man's superior breed:

"But chief myself I will enjoin,
Awake at duty's call,

To show a love as prompt as thine
To Him who gives me all."

WILLIAM COWPER.

What plant we in this apple-tree?
Buds, which the breath of summer days
Shall lengthen into leafy sprays;
Boughs where the thrush with crimson breast
Shall haunt, and sing, and hide her nest;
We plant, upon the sunny lea,

A shadow for the noontide hour,
A shelter from the summer shower,
When we plant the apple-tree.
What plant we in this apple-tree?
Sweets for a hundred flowery springs
To load the May-wind's restless wings,
When, from the orchard row,
he pours
Its fragrance through our open doors;

That fan the blue September sky,

While children come, with cries of glee,
And seek them where the fragrant grass
Betrays their bed to those who pass,
At the foot of the apple-tree.

And when, above this apple-tree,
The winter stars are quivering bright,
And winds go howling through the night,
Girls, whose young eyes o'erflow with mirth,
Shall peel its fruit by cottage hearth,

And guests in prouder homes shall see,
Heaped with the grape of Cintra's vine
And golden orange of the Line,
The fruit of the apple-tree.