And the better in memory to fix The place of the children's last retreat, They called it the Pied Piper's Street-- Where any one playing on pipe or tabor Was sure for the future to lose his labor. And opposite the place of the cavern They wrote the story on a column, And on the great church window painted The same, to make the world acquainted How their children were stolen away; And there it stands to this very day. ROBERT BROWNING. GROUP OF LYRICS. PIPPA PASSES. The year's at the spring, And day's at the morn; Morning's at seven; The hill-side's dew-pearled; The lark's on the wing; The snail's on the thorn; God's in his heaven-- All's right with the world. ROBERT BROWNING. THE SNOWDROP. Many, many welcomes February fair-maid, Ever as of old time, Solitary firstling, Coming in the cold time, Prophet of the gay time, Prophet of the May time, Prophet of the roses, Many, many welcomes February fair-maid! ALFRED TENNYSON. THE THROSTLE. I. "Summer is coming, summer is coming. I know it, I know it, I know it. Light again, leaf again, life again, love again," Yes, my wild little Poet. II. Sing the new year in under the blue. Last year you sang it as gladly. "New, new, new, new!" Is it then so new That you should carol so madly? III. "Love again, song again, nest again, young again," Never a prophet so crazy! And hardly a daisy as yet, little friend, See, there is hardly a daisy. IV. "Here again, here, here, here, happy year O warble unchidden, unbidden! Summer is coming, is coming, my dear, And all the winters are hidden. ALFRED TENNYSON ONE MORNING, OH! SO EARLY! I. One morning, oh! so early, my beloved, my beloved, All the birds were singing blithely, as if never they would cease; 'Twas a thrush sang in my garden, "Hear the story, hear the story!" And the lark sang, "Give us glory!" And the dove said, "Give us peace!" II. Then I listened, oh! so early, my beloved, my beloved, To that murmur from the woodland of the dove, my dear, the dove; When the nightingale came after, "Give us fame to sweeten duty!" When the wren sang, "Give us beauty!" She made answer, "Give us love!" III. Sweet is spring, and sweet the morning, my beloved, my beloved; Now for us doth spring, doth morning, wait upon the year's increase, And my prayer goes up, "Oh, give us, crowned in youth with marriage glory, Give for all our life's dear story, Give us love, and give us peace!" JEAN INGELOW. FREEDOM. 1. No quality of Art has been more powerful in its influence on public mind; none is more frequently the subject of popular praise, or the end of vulgar effort, than what we call "Freedom." It is necessary to determine the justice or injustice of this popular praise.