294 SELECT PORTRY

A tender glory, and the balmy thorn

Spreads his white banner to the breath of morn—
Sporting a coronal of living light,

Strung from the dew-drops of the weeping night.
’Tis sweet to trace the footsteps of the spring
O’er the green earth—to see her lightly fling
Her flowery wreaths on Nature's breathing shrine,
And round the hoary woods her garlands twine ;
To hear her voice in every passing breeze

That stirs the new-born foliage on the trees.

‘Tis sweet to hear the song of birds arise

At early dawn—to gaze on cloudless skies—

To scatter round you, as you lightly pass,

A shower of diamonds from each blade of grass;
And while your footsteps press the dewy sod,

“ To look through Nature up to Nature’s God.”

 

‘THE HOMES OF ENGLAND.

Tue stately Homes of England,

How beautiful they stand!

Amidst their tall ancestral trees,

O’er all the pleasant land,

The deer across their greensward bound .
Through shade and sunny gleam,

And the swan glides past them with the sound
Of some rejoicing stream.

The merry Homes of England!
Around their hearths by night,

What gladsome looks of household love
Meet in the ruddy light