The Tree bore its fruit in the midsummer glow:

Said the girl, "May I gather thy sweet berries now?"
Yes, all thou canst see:

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Take them; all are for thee,"

Said the Tree, while it bent down its laden boughs low. - Björnstjerne Björnson.

THE TREE.

I

LOVE thee when thy swelling buds appear,

And one by one their tender leaves unfold,
As if they knew that warmer suns were near,
Nor longer sought to hide from winter's cold;
And when with darker growth thy leaves are seen
To veil from view the early robin's nest,

I love to lie beneath thy waving screen,

With limbs by summer's heat and toil oppressed,
And when the autumn winds have stripped thee bare,
And round thee lies the smooth, untrodden snow,
When naught is thine that made thee once so fair,
I love to watch thy shadowy form below,

And through thy leafless arms to look above

On stars that brighter beam when most we need their love.

-Jones Very.

THE WEATHER-COCK'S COMPLAINT.

O wonder he creaks as the winds go by,

No wonder he turns with a misty sigh; How would you like a living earning

By turning-turning — turning — turning?

Or to stand all your life with a pole for a base
And the winds of all weathers to blow in your face?

"Creak, creak, creak," we hear him say,
"To-morrow will be like yesterday,—

Now to the east, now to the west-
One never has any quiet or rest;

An hour of sunshine, another of rain,

It's nothing but turning and turning again."

"Creak, creak, creak," the tin bird cries,

"In quite a few signs the secret lies;

When the wind's from the west, there's nothing to fear; When the wind's from the east, a storm is near:

Can't every one tell when the day is clear

Without keeping me turning and twisting here?"

"Creak, creak, creak," the weather-cock growls,
"I think I'm the most ill used of fowls;
I never foretold bad weather yet

But you went in while I got wet;

Say what you may, I don't think it's right

To keep me twisting from morning to night."

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D

THE LEAFLETS.

ANCE, little leaflets, dance,

'Neath the tender sky of Spring; Dance in the golden sun,

To the tune that the robins sing.
Now you are light and young,
Just fit for a baby play;

So dance, little leaflets, dance,
And welcome the merry May.

Sway, little leaflets, sway,
In the ardent sunlight's glow;
Oh, what a sleepy world!
For August has come, you know.
Many a drowsy bird

Is drooping its golden crest,
So sway, little leaves, and rock
The orioles in their nests.

Swing, little leaflets, swing;
The quail pipes in the corn;
Under the harvest sun,
The cardinal flow'r is born.
Russet and gold and red,
Little leaves are gayly dress'd;
Is it holiday time with you

That you have put on your best?

Fall, little leaflets, fall,

Your mission is not sped;

Shrill pipes the Winter wind,

And the happy Summer's dead.

Make now a blanket warm,

For the leaves till the Spring-winds call;
You must carpet the waiting earth,

So fall, little leaflets, fall.

And when they can fly In the bright blue sky, They'll warble a song to me; And then if I'm sad

It will make me glad

To think they are happy and free.

-Lydia Maria Child.

LITTLE RAIN-DROPS.

OH, where do you come from,

You little drops of rain,

Pitter-patter, pitter-patter,
Down the window-pane?
They say I'm very naughty,
But I've nothing else to do,
But sit here at the window;
I should like to play with you.

Tell me, little rain-drops,
Is that the way you play,
Pitter-patter, pitter-patter,
All the rainy day?

The little rain-drops cannot speak,

But "pitter-patter, pat"

Means, "We can play on this side;

Why can't you play on that?

RAIN.

"Rain, rain, go away,

Come again another day!"

H, the dancing leaves are merry,
And the bloss'ming grass is glad,
But the river's too rough for the ferry
And the sky is low and sad.

Yet the daisies shake with laughter
As the surly wind goes by,

- Selected.