FOR CHILDREN. 229

_A singing-bird on every bough, soft perfumes on
the air,

A happy smile on each young lip, and gladness
everywhere !

Oh! is it not a pleasant thing to wander through
the woods,

To look upon the painted flowers, and watch the
opening buds;

Or seated in the deep cool shade, at some tall ash-
tree’s root,

To fill my little basket with the sweet and- scented
fruit ?

They tell me that my father’s poor—that is no
grief to me,

When such a blue and brilliant sky my upturned
eye can see ;

They tell me, too, that richer girls can sport with
toy and gem ;

It may be so—and yet, methinks, I do not envy
them.

When forth I go upon my way, a thousand toys
are mine,

The clusters of dark violets, the wreaths of the
wild vine ;

My jewels are the primrose pale, the bind-weed,
and the rose;

And show me any courtiy gem more beautiful
than those.

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