I can remember, as to-day, The corn-field and the reaping, The rustling of the harvest-sheaves, And the harvest-wain’s upheaping: I can feel this hour as if I lay Adown ’neath the hazel bushes, And as if we wove, for pastime wild, Our grenadier-caps of rushes. And every flower within that field To my memory’s eye comes flitting, The chiccory-flower, like a blue cockade, For a fairy-knight befitting. The willow-herb by the water side, With its fruit-like scent so mellow; The gentian blue on the marly hill, And the snap-dragon white and yellow. I know where the hawthorn groweth red; Where pink grows the way-side yarrow; I remember the wastes of woad and broom, And the shrubs of the red rest-harrow. I know where the blue geranium grows, And the stork’s-bill small and musky; Where the rich osmunda groweth brown, And the wormwood white and dusky. There was a forest a-nigh our home,-- A forest so old and hoary, How we loved in its ancient glooms to be, And remember its bygone story! We sate in the shade of its mighty trees, When the summer noon was glowing, And heard in the depths of its undergrowth The pebbly waters flowing. We quenched our thirst at the forest-well; We ate of the forest berry; And the time we spent in the good green-wood, Like the times of song, were merry. We had no crosses then, no cares; We were children like yourselves then; And we danced and sang, and made us mirth, Like the dancing moonlight elves then! L’ENVOI. Go, little book, and to the young and kind, Speak thou of pleasant hours and lovely things; Of fields and woods; of sunshine; dew and wind; Of mountains; valleys, and of river-springs; Speak thou of every little bird that sings; Of every bright, sweet-scented flower that blows; But chiefest speak of Him whose mercy flings Beauty and love abroad, and who bestows Light to the sun alike, with odour to the rose. My little book that hast been unto me, Even as a flower reared in a pleasant place, This is the task that I impose on thee;-- Go forth; with serious style or playful grace, Winning young, gentle hearts; and bid them trace With thee, the spirit of LOVE through earth and air; On beast and bird, and on our mortal race, So, do thy gracious work; and onward fare, Leaving, like angel-guest, a blessing everywhere! SKETCHES OF NATURAL HISTORY. TO ANNA MARY AND ALFRED WILLIAM HOWITT, THESE SKETCHES, ORIGINALLY WRITTEN FOR THEIR AMUSEMENT, ARE AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED. SKETCHES OF NATURAL HISTORY.