Ah! man of learning, you are wrong; THE KINGFISHER. FOR the handsome Kingfisher, go not to the tree, He lives where the fresh, sparkling waters are flowing, Where the tall, heavy Typha and Loosestrife are growing; By the bright little streams that all joyfully run He lives in a hole that is quite to his mind, He seeks for small fishes the shallows among; Then the brown Water-Rat from his burrow looks out, To see what his neighbour Kingfisher's about; O happy Kingfisher! what care should he know, THE MIGRATION OF THE GREY SQUIRRELS. WHEN in my youth I travelled Throughout each north countrie, I sate with small men in their huts, No fire had we but the seal-oil lamp, For far and wide the plains were lost And we heard the growl of the hungry Bear, But when the sun rose redly up Then on I went, with curious eyes, And came where sailed the lonely Swans Wild on their native flood; And the shy Elk grazed up the mossy hills, And the Wolf was in the wood. And the frosty plains like diamonds shone, And the iced rocks also, Like emeralds and like beryls clear, Till the soft south wind did blow. And then upsprang the grass and flowers, And the wild birds filled the solitude But nothing was there that pleased me more I came in the depths of the pathless woods, There were hundreds that in the hollow boles But soon the hungry wild Swine came, Then did they chatter in angry mood, Over hill and dale, over hill and dale, But the Hawk and Eagle, and peering Owl, And the farther the Grey Squirrels went, But then did each wondrous creature show With a piece of the Pine-bark in his mouth, And boldly his little bark he launched, His bushy tail was his upright sail, And he merrily steered away. Never was there a lovelier sight Soon had they reached the rough mid-stream, I grieved to behold some small bark wrecked, And its little steersman gone. But the main fleet stoutly held across; I saw them leap to shore; They entered the woods with a cry of joy, Your wondrous works were formed as true; W. H. THE BEAVER. UP in the north if thou sail with me, A wonderful creature I'll show to thee: Come down to this lonely river's bank, And yonder, the peaceable creatures dwell I know ye are but the Beavers small, A fact, THE TRUE STORY OF WEB-SPINNER. WEB-SPINNER was a miser old, Who came of low degree; His body was large, his legs were thin, And his visage had the evil look Of a black felon grim; When other homes were neat; And from the windows high Looked out in the dusky evening Upon the passers by. Most people thought he lived alone; Yet many have averred, That dismal cries from out his house Were often loudly heard; Although a few went in, And stripped him to the skin; Yet mercy ne'er was shown The miser cut his body up, And picked him bone from bone. Thus people said, and all believed The dismal story true; As it was told to me, in truth, I tell it so to you. A stranger to the man, or she Had not gone there, in troth; But she was poor, and wandered out To beg from rich men's tables Dry scraps of broken meat. So she knocked at old Web-Spinner's door, Like an arrow from a bow. And shut the door behind. She thought for such a gentleman, That he was wondrous kind; He had eaten the flesh from off her bones, Now after this fell deed was done, Was riding from the chase: The sport was dull, the day was hot, The sun was sinking down, When wearily the Baron rode Into the dusty town. Says he, "I'll ask a lodging At the first house I come to;" With that the gate of Web-Spinner Came suddenly in view: Loud was the knock the Baron gave Down came the churl with glee. Says Bluebottle, "Good sir, to-night I ask your courtesy ; I'm wearied with a long day's chaseMy friends are far behind." "You may need them all," said Web-Spinner, "It runneth in my mind." "A Baron am I," says Bluebottle; "From a foreign land I come." "I thought as much," said Web-Spinner, Fools never stay at home!" Says the Baron, "Churl, what meaneth this? I defy ye, villain base!" And he wished the while in his inmost heart He was safely from the place. Web-Spinner ran and locked the door, And a loud laugh, laughed he; A swordsman of renown; From a pocket at his side, His hands and feet he tied ; And said in savage jest, That strong and burly man, And with many and many a desperate tug, To hoist him up began: And step by step, and step by step, He went with heavy tread; But ere he reached the garret door, Poor Bluebottle was dead! Now all this while, a Magistrate, So in he bursts, through bolts and bars, But where he went no man could tell; "T was said that under ground, He died a miserable death, But his body ne'er was found. They pulled his house down stick and stone,"For a caitiff vile as he," Said they, "within our quiet town Shall not a dweller be!" THE actions of the Spider above described, were told me by a very intelligent man, who permitted the web to remain for a considerable time in his counting-house window, that he might have the means of closely observing its occupier's way of life. It was, as described above, under the semblance of a dwelling-house, seven stories high, and in each story was a small circular hole by which the spider ascended and descended at pleasure; serving, in fact, all the purposes of a stair-case. His usual abode was in his seventh, or garret story, where he sat in a sullen sort of patience waiting for his prey. The small downywinged moth was soon taken; she was weak, and made but little resistance; and was always eaten on the spot. His behaviour towards a heavy and noisy bluebottle fly was exactly as related. The fly seemed bold and insolent; and hurled himself, as if in defiance, against the abode of his enemy. The spider descended in great haste, and stood before him, when an angry parley seemed to take place. The bluebottle appeared highly affronted, and plunged about like a wild horse; but his efforts were generally unsuccessful; the spider, watching an unguarded moment, darted behind him, and falling upon him with all his force, drew a fine thread from his side, with which he so completely entangled his prostrate victim, that it was impossible he could move leg or wing. The spider then set about making preparations for the feast, which, for reasons best known to himself, he chose to enjoy in his upper story. The staircase, which would admit his body, was too strait for that of his victim; he accordingly set about enlarging it, with a delicate pair of shears with which his head was furnished, and then with great adroitness he hoisted the almost exhausted Bluebottle to the top of his dwelling, where he fell upon him with every token of satisfaction. Go out through pleasant field and lane, Come let us forth into the fields! THE NORTHERN SEAS. UP! up! let us a voyage take; I long to see the Northern-Lights, With their rushing splendours fly; Like living things with flaming wings, Wide o'er the wondrous sky. I long to see those ice-bergs vast, With heads all crowned with snow; Whose green roots sleep in the awful deep, Two hundred fathoms low. I long to hear the thundering crash And the echoes from a thousand cliffs, Like lonely voices call. There shall we see the fierce White Bear; And the spouting Whales that to and fro The mighty creature died. And while the unsetting sun shines on Through the still heaven's deep blue, We'll traverse the azure waves, the herds Of the dread Sea-horse to view. We'll pass the shores of solemn pine, Where Wolves and Black Bears prowl; And away to the rocky isles of mist, To rouse the northern fowl. Up there shall start ten thousand wings Tread many a far-off strand. From day to day, the sky Above our head its arch shall spread More glowing, bright, and high. And from night to night-oh, what delight! Stars all unknown come glittering out Over the ocean dark. The moon uprising like a sun, So stately, large, and sheen, And the very stars like clustered moons Strange fiery billows play,- How warm the amber waters stream Come down, come down from the tall ship's side! Down in the deep so clear. See! where those shoals of Dolphins go, How the gorgeous shells do glide! |