Where noon lies down in the breezy shade Of the glorious forest bowers, And the beautiful birds from the sunny glade, Sit nodding amongst the flowers. While the holy child of the mountain spring, Steals past with a murmur’d song, And the wild bee sleeps in the bells that swing Its garlanded banks along. And spotted fawns, where the vines are twin’d, Are dancing away the hours, With feet as light as the summer wind That hardly bends the flowers. Where day steals away with a young bride’s blush, To the soft, green couch of night, And the moon throws o’er with a holy hush, Her curtains of gossamer light. The seraph that hides in the hemlock dell, Oh! sweetest of birds is she, Fills the dewy breeze with a trancing swell Of melody rich and free. Where Nature still gambols in maiden pride By valley and pine-plumed hill, Hangs glorious wreaths on each mountain side, And dances in every rill. There are glittering mansions with marble walls, Surmounted by mighty towers, Where fountains play in the perfumed halls, Amongst exotic flowers, They are fitting homes for the haughty minds, Yet a wildwood home for me, Where the pure, bright waters, the mountain winds, And the bounding hearts are free. * * * * * REPROOF OF A BIRD. BY JOSEPH EVANS SNODGRASS. “Look forth on Nature’s face and see What smiles play on her blissful cheek! In voice of love she speaks thro’ me, When I thy homestead, daily seek! “Canst thou be sad while trees and flowers Wear looks of goodness—while each spear Of herbage which adorns thy bowers, Its head so gladsomely, doth rear? “Behold those dew-drops on each leaf, But think not they of sorrow tell; They’re tears of gladness, not of grief, That God-ward from each petal swell. “O’er fears of hunger brood’st thou? See How fare we of the wing, and those Of floral life! Nor yet toil we Nor spin—and still none hunger knows. “Raise, then, thy head! Dream not of woe, Who human bosoms loves to sway! Again I bid thee look—for lo! All else but thee wear smiles to-day!” Sweet bird! reprove no more;—thy song Shames these sad feelings in my breast, Which it hath cherished far too long, As if some welcome angel-guest. I own, if cherish’d, they too soon, Like fabled serpent in the breast, Would venom only leave as boon, For being by a fool carest! Of gladness speak thy notes alone— Of calmest self-content—and say Plainly to hearts of sadden’d tone— _’Tis best to cast sad thoughts away_. * * * * * THE REEFER OF ’76.