With unabash'd but modest eyes
Follow his motion to the west,
Nor cease to gaze till daylight dies,
Then fold themselves to rest.

Thrice welcome, little English Flower!
To this resplendent hemisphere,
Where Flora's giant-offspring tower
In gorgeous liveries all the year;
Thou, only thou, are little here,

Like worth unfriended or unknown,
Yet to my British heart more dear
Than all the torrid zone.

Thrice welcome, little English Flower!
Of early scenes beloved by me,
While happy in my father's bower,
Thou shalt the blithe memorial be;
The fairy sports of infancy,

Youth's golden age, and manhood's prime, Home, country, kindred, friends-with thee Are mine in this fair clime.

Thrice welcome, little English Flower!
I'll rear thee with a trembling hand :
O! for the April sun and shower,

The sweet May-dews of that fair land,
Where daisies, thick as starlight, stand
In every walk! that here might shoot
Thy scions, and thy buds expand,

An hundred from one root.

Thrice welcome, little English Flower!
To me the pledge of Hope unseen;
When sorrow would my soul o'erpower
For joys that were, or might have been,
I'll call to mind, how fresh and green,

I saw thee rising from the dust,
Then turn to heaven with brow serene,
And place in God my trust.

"Saturday Magazine.”

THE SWALLOW.

SWALLOWS seem to recollect an injury, and to resent it when an opportunity offers. A pair of swallows built their nest under the ledge of a house at Hampton Court. It was no sooner completed than a couple of sparrows drove them from it, notwithstanding the swallows kept up a good resistance, and even brought others to assist them. The intruders were left in peaceable possession of the nest, till the two old birds were obliged to quit it to provide food for their young. They had no sooner departed than several swallows came and broke down the nest, and I saw the young sparrows lying dead on the ground. As soon as the nest was demolished, the swallows began to rebuild it.

A remarkable instance of the sense of reflection of the swallow was lately related to me. A pair of swallows built their nest under the arch of a lime-kiln at its extreme point, and from which three chimneys or flues branched off. At the time the nest was being built the heat of the kiln was so great, that only keeping the hand for a short time within the arch produced a painful sensation. In this spot, however, the nest was nearly completed, when the heat caused it to crumble and fall to the ground. A second nest was built in the same spot, and afterwards a third, both of which shared the same fate. A fourth nest was then built, which stood perfectly well, although the heat of the kiln had by no means abated; and in this nest the swallows hatched and brought up their young. The following year another nest was begun and finished in the same spot, and with the same heat in the kiln; this stood the influence of the fire, and in it the swallows hatched and reared their brood; and so also

on the third year. The fourth year the swallows did not appear, which the lime-burner considered as a very bad omen of the future success of his kiln. They had probably been destroyed.

It is obvious from this account, the accuracy of which is undoubted, that the swallows must have discovered and worked up a sort of clay or earth which would stand heat; that instinct alone would not have taught them to do this: and that on returning to the kiln on the second and third years, they must have kept in their recollection not only the fact, that the earth they commonly used to build their nests with would not stand heat, but must also have remembered the sort of earth or clay which was requisite, and the necessity of their making use of it in that particular place. A pair of swallows built their nest against one of the first-floor windows of an uninhabited house in Merrion Square, Dublin. A sparrow, however, took possession of it; and the swallows were repeatedly seen clinging to the nest and endeavouring to gain an entrance to the abode they had erected with so much labour; all their efforts, however, were defeated by the sparrow, who never once quitted the nest. The perseverance of the swallows was at length exhausted: they took flight but shortly afterwards returned, accompanied by a number of their fellows, each of them having a piece of dirt in its bill. By this means they succeeded in stopping up the hole, and the intruder was immured in total darkness. Soon afterwards the nest was taken down and exhibited to several persons with the dead sparrow in it. In this case there appears to have been not only a reasoning faculty, but the birds must have been possessed of the power of telling their resentment and their wishes to their friends, without whose aid they could not thus have avenged the injury they had sustained.

THE CHASE.

I.

ALONE but with unbated zeal,

The horseman plied the scourge and steel;
For, jaded now, and spent with toil,
Embossed with foam, and dark with soil,
While every gasp with sobs he drew,
The labouring Stag strained full in view.
Two dogs of black Saint Hubert's breed,
Unmatched for courage, breath, and speed,
Fast on his flying traces came,

And all but won that desperate game:
For, scarce a spear's length from his haunch,
Vindictive toiled the blood-hounds staunch;
Nor nearer might the dogs attain,
Nor farther might the quarry strain.
Thus up the margin of the lake,
Between the precipice and brake,

O'er stock and rock their race they take.

II.

The Hunter marked that mountain high,
The lone lake's western boundary,

And deemed the Stag must turn to bay,
Where that huge rampart barred the way;
Already glorying in the prize,

Measured his antlers with his eyes;
For the death-wound, and death-halloo,
Mustered his breath, his whinyard drew;
But, thundering as he came prepared,
With ready arm and weapon bared,
The wily quarry shunned the shock,
And turned him from the opposing rock;
Then, dashing down a darksome glen,
Soon lost to hound and hunter's ken,
In the deep Trossach's wildest nook
His solitary refuge took.

There while, close couched, the thicket shed
Cold dews and wild flowers on his head,
He heard the baffled dogs in vain
Rave through the hollow pass amain,
Chiding the rocks that yelled again.

III.

Close on the hounds the Hunter came,
To cheer them on the vanished game;
But, stumbling in the rugged dell,
The gallant horse exhausted fell.
The impatient rider strove in vain
To rouse him with the spur and rein,
For the good steed, his labours o'er,
Stretched his stiff limbs to rise no more;
Then, touched with pity and remorse,
He sorrowed o'er the expiring horse.
"I little thought, when first thy rein
I slacked upon the banks of Seine,
That Highland eagle e'er should feed
On thy fleet limbs, my matchless steed!
Woe worth the chase, woe worth the day,
That costs thy life, my gallant gray!"

Scott's "Lady of the Lake."

THE OCEAN AND THE RIVERS.

A FABLE.

THE Rivers, having long paid their just and voluntary tribute to the Ocean, were at length spirited up to opposition by some stagnant pools, which being formed into canals, had found their way to the grand reservoir of waters. These upstart gentlemen, with a characteristic pride, began to exclaim, "What! shall we, who have been collected with so much care, and conducted hither