134 SELECT POETRY

THE FIRST SWALLOW.

Tux gorse is yellow on the heath ;

The banks with speed-well 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 hailed her as she past.

Come, summer visitant, attach
To my reed roof your nest of clay,
And let my ear your music catch,
Low twittering underneath the thatch,
At the grey dawn of day.
Charlotte Smith.

 

THE FAKENHAM GHOST.

Tue lawns were dry in Euston park :
(Here truth! inspires my tale, )

The lonely footpath, still and dark,
Led over hill and dale.

Benighted was an ancient dame,
And fearful haste she made
To gain the vale of Fakenham,”

And hail its willow shade.

’ This ballad is founded on fact.
? Fokenham—a village in Suffolk.