"Nor uncle Betts, nor even my brother Delves,

"Will lend an hand, to help us get the corn in?

"Well then, let you and me, to-morrow morning,

"E'en try what we can do with it ourselves."

Nay," quoth the Lark, " 'tis time then to be gone:

"What a man undertakes himself is done."

Certes, she was a bird of observation ;

For very true it is, that none,

Whatever be his station,

Lord of a province, tenant of a mead,

Whether he fill a cottage, or a throne,

Or guard a flock, or guide a nation,

Is very likely to succeed,

Who manages affairs by deputation.

THE SWALLOW.

THE gorse is yellow on the heath,

The banks with speedwell flowers are gay,

The oaks are budding; and beneath,

The hawthorn soon will bear the wreath,

The silver wreath of May.

The welcome guest of settled Spring,
The Swallow too is come at last;

Just at sun-set, when thrushes sing,

I saw her dash with rapid wing,

And hail'd her as she pass'd.

Come, summer visitant, attach

Το my reed roof your nest of clay,

And let my ear your music catch

Low twittering underneath the thatch

At the

gray

dawn of day.

As fables tell, an Indian Sage,

The Hindostani woods among,

Could in his desert hermitage,

As if 'twere mark'd in written page,
Translate the wild bird's song.

I wish I did his power possess,

That I might learn, fleet bird, from thee,

What our vain systems only guess,

And know from what wide wilderness

You came across the sea.

I would a little while restrain

Your rapid wing, that I might hear

Whether on clouds that bring the rain,

Were you in Asia? O relate,

If there your fabled sister's woes

She seem'd in sorrow to narrate;

Or sings she but to celebrate

Her nuptials with the rose?

G

You hide, tho' none know when or how,