Are there buds on our willow-tree?
Buds and birds on our trysting-tree?

Sing, sweet thrushes, forth and sing!
Have you met the honey-bee,
Circling upon rapid wing,

Round the angler's trysting-tree?
Up, sweet thrushes, up and see !
Are there bees at our willow-tree ?
Birds and bees at the trysting-tree?

Sing, sweet thrushes, forth and sing!
Are the fountains gushing free?
Is the south-wind wandering

Through the angler's trysting-tree?
Up, sweet thrushes, tell to me!
Is there wind up our willow-tree?
Wind or calm at our trysting-tree?

Sing, sweet thrushes, forth and sing!
Wile us with a merry glee;
To the flowery haunts of spring, -
To the angler's trysting-tree.
Tell, sweet thrushes, tell to me !

Are there flowers 'neath our willow-tree?

Spring and flowers at the trysting-tree?

THOMAS TOD STODDart.

Fly from our country pastimes, fly,

Sad troops of human misery,
Come, serene looks,

Clear as the crystal brooks,

Or the pure azured heaven that smiles to see

The rich attendance on our poverty;
Peace and a secure mind,

Which all men seek, we only find.

Abused mortals! did you know

Where joy, heart's ease, and comforts grow, You'd scorn proud towers

And seek them in these bowers,

Here are no entrapping baits To hasten to, too hasty fates; Unless it be

The fond credulity

Of silly fish, which (worlding like) still look
Upon the bait, but never on the hook;
Nor envy, 'less among

The birds, for price of their sweet song.

Go, let the diving negro seek

For gems, hid in some forlorn creek: We all pearls scorn

Save what the dewy morn

shake,

Which careless shepherds beat down as they pass; And gold ne'er here appears,

Save what the yellow Ceres bears.

Blest silent groves, O, may you be,
Forever, mirth's best nursery!

May pure contents

Forever pitch their tents

Upon these downs, these meads, these rocks, these mountains!

And peace still slumber by these purling fountains, Which we may every year

Meet, when we come a-fishing here.

SIR HENRY WOTTON.

NORHAM CASTLE.

[The ruinous castle of Norham (anciently called Ubbanford) is situated on the southern bank of the Tweed, about six miles above Berwick, and where that river is still the boundary between England and Scotland. The extent of its ruins, as well as its historical importance, shows it to have been a place of magnificence as well as strength. Edward I. resided there when he was created umpire of the dispute concerning the Scottish succession. It was repeatedly taken and retaken during the wars between England and Scotland, and, indeed, scarce any happened in which it had not a principal share. Norham Castle is situated on a steep bank. which overhangs the river. The ruins of the castle are at present considerable, as well as picturesque. They consist of a large shattered tower, with many vaults, and fragments of other edifices, nclosed within an outward wall of great circuit.]

A horseman, darting from the crowd,
Like lightning from a summer cloud,
Spurs on his mettled courser proud
Before the dark array.
Beneath the sable palisade,
That closed the castle barricade,

His bugle-horn he blew ;
The warder hasted from the wall,
And warned the captain in the hall,

For well the blast he knew ; And joyfully that knight did call To sewer, squire, and seneschal.

"Now broach ye a pipe of Malvoisie,
Bring pasties of the doe,
And quickly make the entrance free,
And bid my heralds ready be,
And every minstrel sound his glee,

And all our trumpets blow;
And, from the platform, spare ye not
To fire a noble salvo-shot:

Lord Marmion waits below." Then to the castle's lower ward Sped forty yeomen tall, The iron-studded gates unbarred, Raised the portcullis' ponderous guard, The lofty palisade unsparred,

And let the drawbridge fall.

Along the bridge Lord Marmion rode,
Proudly his red-roan charger trode,
His helm hung at the saddle-bow;
Well by his visage you might know
He was a stalworth knight, and keen,
And had in many a battle been.
The scar on his brown cheek revealed
A token true of Bosworth field;
His eyebrow dark, and eye of fire,
Showed spirit proud, and prompt to ire.
Yet lines of thought upon his cheek
Did deep design and counsel speak.
His forehead, by his casque worn bare,
His thick mustache, and curly hair,
Coal-black, and grizzled here and there,
But more through toil than age;