40

THE RHODORA.

When with the jacinthi

Coy fountains are tressed,
And for the mournful bird

Greenwoods are dressed,

That did for Tereus pine,
Then shall our songs be thine,

To whom our hearts incline :

May, be thou blessed!

LORD THURLOW

THE RHODORA.

IN May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes,
I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods,
Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook,
To please the desert and the sluggish brook:
The purple petals, fallen in the pool,

Made the black waters with their beauty gay ;
Here might the red-bird come his plumes to cool,
And court the flower that cheapens his array.
Rhodora! if the sages ask thee why

This charm is wasted on the marsh and sky,
Dear, tell them that if eyes were made for seeing,
Then beauty is its own excuse for being.

Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose!

I never thought to ask, I never knew;

But in my simple ignorance suppose

The selfsame Power that brought me there, brought you.

RALPH WALDO EMERSON.

THE FAIRIES.

Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,
We daren't go a hunting,
For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk,

Trooping all together;

Green jacket, red cap,

And white owl's feather!

Down along the rocky shore
Some make their home:
They live on crispy pancakes
Of yellow tide-foam ;

Some in the reeds

Of the black mountain-lake, With frogs for their watch-dogs,

All night awake.

High on the hill-top

The old king sits;

He is now so old and gray

He's nigh lost his wits. With a bridge of white mist

Columbkill he crosses,

42

THE FAIRIES.

On his stately journeys

From Slieveleague to Rosses;
Or going up with music,

On cold, starry nights,
To sup with the queen

Of the gay Northern Lights.

They stole little Bridget
For seven years long;
When she came down again

Her friends were all gone.

They took her lightly back,
Between the night and morrow ;
They thought that she was fast asleep
But she was dead with sorrow.
They have kept her ever since
Deep within the lakes,
On a bed of flag-leaves,
Watching till she wakes.

By the craggy hill-side,
Through the mosses bare,
They have planted thorn-trees
For pleasure here and there;

Is any man so daring

To dig one up in spite,

He shall find the thornies set
In his bed at night.

Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,

SUMMER DAYS.

IN Summer, when the days were long,
We walked together in the wood:
Our heart was light, our step was strong;
Sweet flutterings were there in our blood,
In Summer, when the days were long.

We strayed from morn till evening came;
We gathered flowers, and wove us crowns;
We walked 'mid poppies red as flame,
Or sat upon the yellow downs,
And always wished our life the same.

In Summer, when the days were long,
We leaped the hedgerow, crossed the brook;
And still her voice flowed forth in song,
Or else she read some graceful book,
In Summer, when the days were long.

And then we sat beneath the trees,
With shadows lessening in the noon;
And, in the sunlight and the breeze,
We feasted, many a gorgeous June,
While larks were singing o'er the leas.