5. _Low in the glen_, Down which a little stream hath furrow'd deep 'Tween meeting birchen boughs, a shelvy channel, And brawling mingles with the western tide. Far up the stream, almost beyond the roar Of storm-bulged breakers, foaming o'er the rocks With furious dash, your lowly dwelling lurks, Surrounded by a circlet of the stream. Before the wattled door, a greensward plat With daises gay, pastures a playful lamb. A pebbly path, deep-worn, leads up the hill, Winding among the trees, by wheel untouch'd. On every side it is a shelter'd spot, So high and suddenly the woody steeps Arise. One only way, downward the stream, Just o'er the hollow, 'tween the meeting boughs, The distant wave is seen, with now and then The glimpse of passing sail; though when the breeze Cresteth the distant wave, this little nook Is all so calm, that on the limberest spray The sweet bird chanteth motionless, the leaves At times scarce fluttering. GRAHAME--_Birds of Scotland_. 6. Neat is your house; each table, chair, and stool Stands in its place, or moving, moves by rule; No lively print or picture grace the room, A plain brown paper lends its decent gloom. CRABBE. 7. _A summer lodge amid the wild_,-- 'Tis shadow'd by the tulip-tree, 'tis mantled by the vine; The wild plum sheds its yellow fruit from fragrant thickets nigh, And flowery prairies from the door stretch till they meet the sky. BRYANT. 8. _Beside a public way_, Thick strewn with summer dust, and a great stream Of people hurrying to and fro. SHELLEY. 9. Crowning a gradual hill, your mansion swells In ancient English grandeur; turrets, spires, And windows, climbing high from base to roof, In wide and radiant rows, bespeak its birth Coeval with those rich cathedral fanes, (Gothic ill-famed,) where harmony results From disunited parts; and shapes minute, At once distinct and blended, boldly form One vast majestic whole. W. MASON--_The English Garden_. 10. In a _proud city_ and a rich, A city fair and old, Fill'd with the world's most costly things, Of precious stones and gold; Of silks, fine wool, and spiceries, And all that's bought and sold. MARY HOWITT. 11. I see, I see the _rustic porch_, And close beside the door The old elm, waving still as green As in the days of yore. I see the wreathing smoke ascend In azure columns up the sky, I see the twittering swallow Around in giddy circles fly. T. MCLELLAN.