SELECT POETRY

MARION LEE,

Nor a care hath Marion Lee,
Dwelling by the sounding sea !
Her young life’s a flowery way :—
Without toil from day to day.
Without bodings for the morrow—
Marion was not made for sorrow !

Like the summer-billows wild,
Leaps the happy-hearted child ;
Sees her father’s fishing boat
O’er the waters gaily float ;
Hears her brother's fishing song
On the light gale borne along ;
Haif a league she hears the lay,
Ere they turn into the bay,
And with glee, o’er cliff and main,
Sings an answer back again,
Which by man and boy is heard,
Like the carol of a bird.
Look, she sitteth laughing there,
Wreathing sea-weed in her hair;
Saw ye e’er a thing so fair ?

Mary Howitt.

 

HARVEST HOME.

Hark! from woodlands far away,
Sounds the merry roundelay ;
Now across the russet plain,
Slowly moves the loaded wain,
Greet the reapers as they come—
Happy, happy harvest home !