Parts of a smiling vale, a glorious sphere, Warm with the vigorous manhood of the year; Deep-bosomed haunts, where honest-handed toil Renewed the strength that dressed his native soil, While the gray spire, towards the drooping west, With heavenward finger, showed a world of rest. * * * * * =OH, WOULD I WERE A CHILD!= =BY MARIE DELAMAIE.= Oh, would I were a child again! A child with spirit free, Singing glad songs of merriment Beneath the hawthorn tree, Watching the many-colored clouds Pursue their course on high, Trying to count the silver stars That gem the evening sky, Weaving, beside bright sparkling streams, A wreath of sunny flowers, Or reading wondrous fairy tales, In green, sequestered bowers. The lights, the sounds of Nature then My happy hours beguiled; Would I could feel their power again— Oh, would I were a child! I chose my sprightly playmates then For simplicity and mirth, I cared not for the lofty Or the great ones of the earth; Rich in the love of cherished friends, I asked no monied store, Save to relieve the beggar’s wants, That wandered to my door. I wrote my artless verses then Without effort, toil, or aim, And read them to a list’ning group, Without a hope of fame; By worldly views, ambitious dreams, My thoughts were undefiled; Would I were now as free from care— Oh, would I were a child! Yet soon my youthful heart began To spurn a life like this, I deemed the far-off glittering world A fairy land of bliss; I left my playmates to their sports And castles built in air; I dreamed of scenes through which I moved A lady, proud and fair, And, while my short and simple tasks With careless haste I conned, I longed to study learned lore My feeble powers beyond— Like Rassalas around me The Happy Valley smiled, Yet I longed to leave its limits And cease to be a child.