But the summer is kind, you see, And I think, as I sit at my spinning-- I think it will come to me!" (_She sings._) "Come hither, happy birds, With warbling woo me, Till songs that have no words Melt through and through me! Come, bees, that drop and rise Within the clover, Where yellow butterflies Go glancing over! Oh, roses, red and white, And lilies, shining Like gilded goblets bright With silver lining-- Each to my window send Gifts worth the winning, To cheer me as I bend Above my spinning! "Oh, ripples on the sand, That break in beauty, Oh, pines, that stiffly stand Like guards on duty, Green meadows, where, this morn, The scythes were mowing, Soft slopes, where, o'er the corn The wind is blowing, "White clouds above the hill That sail together, Rich summer scents that fill This summer weather-- All bring the sweets you've found Since morn's beginning, And come and crowd them round My day of spinning!" [Illustration: 0065] THE BROOK BEHIND THE WAUMBEK HOUSE. ( _Jefferson and White Mountains._) By Mrs. Martha Perry Lowe. [Illustration: 0066] |RUN along thy pastures, happy, happy brook, Run along the pebbles, with a curvet and a crook, Sing it all the morning, and sing it afternoon, Sing it all the starry night--that pleasant little tune! Are you growing modest, do you think that I shall tire? Do you fear that I shall go and look for something higher? Well I know the noisy world has music grand enough, But I do not care for all its preludes, wild and rough. Well I know other music, solemn and sublime, Voices of the ocean sounding all the depths of time: That is not the music I am looking for to-day, It is you I want to hear, so frolicsome and gay. Do not ever try to practise any modern art, Do not even stop to think or care about your part, Sing just as you always do, when there are none to hear, That will surely be the sweetest way to please my ear. Ah, my little brook! how foolish was my thought: All the praises of the worldling can disturb you naught. Nothing can mislead you, or set you ill at ease, Make you think about yourself, or of the way to please. Not a little fish could have made such a speech, Not a shining fly that skims along your beach, Not a little bird would have said such a thing-- Pardon me my foolishness, and sing again, sing! [Illustration: 0067] BOBBY LEE |ONE, two, three! One was Bobby Lee