And see what flow'rs the weather Has render'd fit to gather; And, when we home must jog, you Your hat adorned with fine leaves, And so, with green o'erhead, John, Shall whistle home to bed, John. THE NUN. SUGGESTED BY PART OF THE ITALIAN SONG, BEGINNING "SE MONECA TI FAI." What! you become a nun, my dear! I'll not believe it, no. If II. you become a nun, dear, The bishop Love will be; The Cupids every one, dear, Will chaunt "We trust in thee: " The incense will go sighing, The candles fall a dying, The water turn to wine: What! you go take the vows, my dear! You may-but they'll be mine. ARIADNE WAKING. A FRAGMENT. THE moist and quiet morn was scarcely breaking, Her eyelids still were closing, and she heard That in the leaves o'erhead, waiting the sun, ON POMFRET'S "CHOICE." I HAVE been reading Pomfret's" Choice" this spring, A pretty kind of sort of kind of thing, Not much a verse, and poem none at all, Yet, as they say, extremely natural. And yet I know not. There's a skill in pies, And he's the poet, more or less, who knows The charm that hallows the least truth from prose, And dresses it in its mild singing clothes. Not oaks alone are trees, nor roses flowers; Much humble wealth makes rich this world of ours. Nature from some sweet energy throws up Alike the pine-mount and the buttercup, |