HEROINES

OF THE POETS.

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-A QUEER VILLAGE.’

OU have heard of “castles built in the air,”
Of wonderful structure and splendor rare ;
But lately a populous village I found
That is built high up without touching the ground.
Its houses are furnished, and quite complete,
But they stand in a row on a single street ;
Each one is tinted an ashen gray —
Masons built them of mud and clay. .
I have tried to reach them many a time,
But their builders (you may not believe my rhyme)
Have put no ladder, or step, or stair
By which we can visit their homes in the air,
However much I may stand and implore,
And beckon the owner within his door
Who looks down on me with lustrous eye,
I can only salute him, and hasten by.

These rough-built houses are very new,
And close together they somehow grew;

Well-lined and soft they seem to be

Within — so far as I could see;

And the builders and owners to and fro,

And in and out of the doorways, go

Oftener than pass our city cars,

Now skimming the earth, now brushing the stars,
If you happen near by on a summer day

You will see this colony’s glossy array

Moving about —a frolicsome host —

They work, and they play, but they gossip most.
Can you guess what village stands up so high,
Half on the earth and half in the sky?

A little boy tells me he firmly believes

The swallows built it under the eaves,

HEROINES OF THE POETS.

BURNS’ HIGHLAND MARY.

E banks, and braes, and streams around
The castle o’ Montgomery,
Green be your woods, and fair your flowers,
Your waters never drumlie!

There simmer first unfaulds her robes,
And there the langest tarry ;

For there I took the last fareweel
O’ my sweet Highland Mary.

How sweetly bloom’d the gay green birk!
How rich the hawthorn’s blossom!

As underneath their fragrant shade,
I clasped her to my bosom !