I

The Rhodora.

Emerson.

N May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes,

I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods;

Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook,
To please the desert and the sluggish brook.
The purple petals, fallen in the pool,

Made the black water with their beauty gay;
Here might the red-breast come, his plumes to cool,
And court the flower that cheapens his array.

Rhodora! if the sages ask thee why

Thy charm is wasted on the earth and sky,

Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing,

Then beauty is its own excuse for being.

Why thou wert here, O rival of the rose!

I never thought to ask-I never knew;

But, in my simple ignorance, suppose

The self-same power that brought me there, brought you.

To the Early Primrose.

H. K. White.

MILD offspring of a dark and sullen sire!

Whose modest form, so delicately fine,

Was nursed in whirling storms,

And cradled in the winds.

Thee when young Spring first questioned Winter's sway, And dared the sturdy blusterer to the fight,

Thee on this bank he threw,

To mark his victory.

In this low vale, the promise of the year,
Serene thou openest to the nipping gale,

Unnoticed and alone

Thy tender elegance.

So virtue blooms, brought forth amid the storms

Of chill adversity; in some lone walk

Of life she rears her head,

Obscure and unobserved;

While every bleaching breeze that on her blows,

Chastens her spotless purity of breast,

And hardens her to bear

Serene the ills of life.

We have short time to stay as you;
We have as short a Spring;

As quick a growth to meet decay,

As you or any thing:

We die

As your showers do; and dry

Away

Like to the Summer's rain,

Or as the pearls of morning dew,

Ne'er to be found again.

To Blossoms.

Robert Herrick.

FAIR pledges of a fruitful tree,

Why do you fall so fast?

Your date is not so past,

But you may stay yet here awhile,

To blush and gently smile,

And go at last.

What! were ye born to be,

An hour or half's delight,

And so to bid good-night?

'Tis pity Nature brought ye forth

Merely to show your worth,

And lose you quite.

But you are lovely leaves, where we
May read how soon things have
Their end, though ne'er.so brave:
And after they have shown their pride,
Like you, awhile, they glide

Into the grave.

Little Red Riding Hood.

COME

Lætitia Elizabeth Landon.

ME back, come back together,
All ye fancies of the past,

Ye days of April weather,
Ye shadows that are cast

By the haunted hours before!
Come back, come back, my childhood;
Thou art summon'd by a spell

From the green leaves of the wildwood,
From beside the charméd well!

For Red Riding Hood, the darling,—
The flower of fairy lore.

The fields were covered over
With colors, as she went;
Daisy, buttercup and clover,

Below her footsteps bent.