FORESIGHT,

COMPANION.

THAT is work of waste and ruin—
Do as Charles and I are doing!
Strawberry-blossoms, one and all,
We must spare them-here are many:
Look at it-the Flower is small,
Small and low, though fair as any:
Do not touch it! summers two
I am older, Anne, than you.

Pull the Primrose, Sister Anne!
Pull as many as you can.
-Here are Daisies, take your fill;
Pansies, and the Cuckow-flower:
Of the lofty Daffodil

Make your bed, and make your bower;
Fill your lap, and fill your bosom ;
Only spare the Strawberry-blossom!

Primroses, the spring may love them-
Summer knows but little of them:
Violets, a barren kind,
Withered on the ground must lie;
Daisies leave no fruit behind
When the pretty flowerets die;
Pluck them, and another year
As many will be blowing here.

God has given a kindlier power
To the favoured Strawberry-flower.
When the months of Spring are fled
Hither led us bend our walk;
Lurking berries, ripe and red,
Then will hang on every stalk,
Each within its leafy bower;

And for that promise spare the flower!

Mock-chastisement and partnership in play.
And, as a faggot sparkles on the hearth,
Not less if unattended and alone
Than when both young and old sit gathered
round

And take delight in its activity,
Even so this happy Creature of herself
Is all sufficient: solitude to her

Is blithe society, who fills the air
With gladness and involuntary songs.
Light are her sallies as the tripping Fawn's
Forth-startled from the fern where she lay
couched ;

Unthought-of, unexpected, as the stir
Of the soft breeze ruffling the meadow-
flowers;

Or from before it chasing wantonly
The many-coloured images impressed
Upon the bosom of a placid lake.

WE ARE SEVEN.
A SIMPLE child

That lightly draws its breath
And feels its life in every limb,
What should it know of death?

I met a little cottage-girl:

She was eight years old, she said; Her hair was thick with many a curl That clustered round her head.

She had a rustic woodland-air

And she was wildly clad;

Her eyes were fair, and very fair; Her beauty made me glad.

Sisters and brothers, little Maid,
How many may you be?
How many? Seven in all, she said
And wondering looked at me.

And where are they? I pray you tell.
She answered: Seven are we;
And two of us at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea.

Two of us in the church-yard lie,
My sister and my brother;
And, in the church-yard-cottage, I
Dwell near them with my mother.

You say that two at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea,
Yet ye are seven!-I pray you tell,
Sweet Maid, how this may be?

Then did the little Maid reply:
Seven boys and girls are we;
Two of us in the church-yard lie,
Beneath the church-yard-tree.

You run about, my little Maid,
Your limbs they are alive;

If two are in the church-yard laid,
Then ye are only five.

Their graves are green, they may be seen,
The little maid replied,

Twelve steps or more from my mother's door,
And they are side by side.

My stockings there I often knit,
My kerchief there I hem;

And there upon the ground I sit-
I sit and sing to them.

And often after sunset, Sir,
When it is light and fair,
I take my little porringer,
And eat my supper there.

The first that died was little Jane;
In bed she moaning lay,
Till God released her of her pain;
And then she went away.

So in the church-yard she was laid;
And all the summer dry
Together round her grave we played,
My brother John and I.

And when the ground was white with snow,
And I could run and slide,

My brother John was forced to go,
And he lies by her side.

How many are you then, said I,
If they two are in Heaven?
The little Maiden did reply:
O Master we are seven.

But they are dead; those two are dead!
Their spirits are in Heaven!
"Twas throwing words away: for still
The little Maid would have her will,
And said: Nay, we are seven!

TO H. C.

SIX YEARS OLD.

O THOU! whose fancies from afar are brought; Who of thy words dost make a mock-apparel, And fittest to unutterable thought The breeze-like motion and the self-born carol; Thou faery Voyager! that dost float In such clear water, that thy Boat May rather seem

To brood on air than on an earthly stream;
Suspended in a stream as clear as sky,
Where earth and heaven do make one
imagery;

O blessed Vision! happy Child!
That art so exquisitely wild,

I think of thee with many fears
For what may be thy lot in future years.

I thought of times when Pain might be
thy guest,
Lord of thy house and hospitality;
And Grief, uneasy Lover! never rest
But when she sate within the touch of thee.
Oh! too industrious folly!

Oh! vain and causeless melancholy!
Nature will either end thee quite;

Or, lengthening out thy season of delight,
Preserve for thee, by individual right,
A young Lamb's heart among the full-grown
flocks.

What hast Thou to do with sorrow,
Or the injuries of to-morrow?

Thou art a Dew-drop, which the morn brings forth,

Not doom'd to jostle with unkindly shocks;
Or to be trail'd along the soiling earth;
A Gem that glitters while it lives,
And no forewarning gives;

But, at the touch of wrong, without a strife
Slips in a moment out of life.

THE BLIND, HIGHLAND BOY.

(A TALE TOLD BY THE FIRE-SIDE.)

Now we are tired of boisterous joy, We've romp'd enough, my little Boy! Jane hangs her head upon my breast, And you shall bring your stool and rest, This corner is your own.

There! take your seat, and let me see
That you can listen quietly;
And as I promised I will tell
That strange adventure which befel
A poor blind Highland-Boy.

'Twas even the largest of its kind,
Large, thin, and light as birch-tree-rind ;
So light a shell that it would swim
And gaily lift its fearless brim

Above the tossing waves.

And this the little blind Boy knew:
And he a story strange, yet true,
Had heard, how in a shell like this
An English boy, oh thought of bliss!
Had stoutly launched from shore;

Launched from the margin of a bay
Among the Indian isles, where lay
His father's ship, and had sailed far,
To join that gallant Ship of war
In his delightful shell.

Our Highland-Boy oft visited

The house which held this prize; and, led
By choice or chance, did thither come
One day when no one was at home,
And found the door unbarred.

While there he sate alone and blind
That story flashed upon his mind;—
A bold thought rouzed him, and he took
The shell from out its secret nook
And bore it in his arms.

And with the happy burthen hied,
And pushed it from Loch Levin's side,-
Stepped into it; and without dread,
Following the fancies in his head,

He paddled up and down.

A while he stood upon his feet;
He felt the motion-took his seat;
And dallied thus, till from the shore
The tide retreating more and more

Had sucked, and sucked him in.

And there he is in face of Heaven! How rapidly the Child is driven! The fourth part of a mile I ween He thus had gone, ere he was seen

By any human eye.

But when he was first seen, oh me!
What shrieking and what misery!
For many saw; among the rest
His Mother, she who loved him best,
She saw her poor blind Boy.

But for the Child, the sightless Boy,
It is the triumph of his joy!
The bravest Traveller in balloon,
Mounting as if to reach the moon,

Was never half so bless'd.

And let him, let him go his way, Alone, and innocent, and gay! For, if good Angels love to wait On the forlorn unfortunate,

This Child will take no harm.

But now the passionate lament,
Which from the crowd on shore was sent,
The cries which broke from old and young
In Gaelic, or the English tongue,

Are stifled-all is still.

And quickly with a silent crew
A Boat is ready to pursue;

And from the shore their course they take,
And swiftly down the running Lake
They follow the blind Boy.

But soon they move with softer pace:
So have you seen the fowler chase
On Grasmere's clear unruffled breast
A youngling of the wild-duck's nest
With deftly-lifted oar.

Or as the wily sailors crept
To seize (while on the Deep it slept)
The hapless Creature which did dwell
Erewhile within the dancing shell,

They steal upon their prey.

With sound the least that can be made
They follow, more and more afraid,
More cautious as they draw more near;
But in his darkness he can hear,

And guesses their intent.

Lei-gha-Lei-gha-then did he cry Lei-gha-Lei-gha-most eagerly; Thus did he cry, and thus did pray, And what he meant was: Keep away, And leave me to myself!

Alas! and when he felt their hands-
You've often heard of magic Wands,
That with a motion overthrow
A palace of the proudest show,
Or melt it into air:

So all his dreams, that inward light
With which his soul had shone so bright,
All vanish'd,-'twas a heartfelt cross
To him, a heavy, bitter loss,
As he had ever known.

But hark! a gratulating voice
With which the very hills rejoice:
"Tis from the crowd, who tremblingly
Had watch'd the event, and now can see
That he is safe at last.

And then, when he was brought to land, Full sure they were a happy band, Which gathering round did on the banks Of that great Water give God thanks, And welcom'd the poor Child.

And in the general joy of heart
The blind Boy's little Dog took part;
He leapt about, and oft did kiss
His master's hands in sign of bliss,
With sound like lamentation.