startled hare.

The balmy breeze just kissed
The countless dewy gems
Which decked the yielding blade
Or gilt the sturdy stems,
And gently o'er
The charmed sight
A deluge shed
Of trembling light.

A sympathetic glow
Ran through my melting soul,
And calm and sweet delight
O'er all my senses stole;
And through my heart
A grateful flood
Of joy rolled on
To Nature's God.

Time flew unheeded by,
Till wearied and oppressed,
Upon a flowery bank
I laid me down to rest;
Beneath my feet
A purling stream
Ran glittering in
The noontide beam.

I turned me round to view
The lovely rural scene;
And, just at hand, I spied
A cottage on the green;
The street was clean,
The walls were white,
The thatch was neat,
The window bright.

Bold chanticleer, arrayed
In velvet plumage gay,
With many an amorous dame,
Fierce strutted o'er the way;
And motley ducks
Were waddling seen,
And drake with neck
Of glossy green.

The latch I gently raised,
And oped the humble door;
An oaken stool was placed
On the neat sanded floor;
An aged man
Said with a smile,
"You're welcome, sir:
Come rest a while."

His coarse attire was clean,
His manner rude yet kind:
His air, his words, and looks
Showed a contented mind;
Though mean and poor,
Thrice happy he,
As by our tale
You soon shall see.

But don't expect to hear
Of deeds of martial fame,
Or that our peasant mean
Was born of rank or name,
And soon will strut,
As in romance,
A knight and all
In armour glance.

I sing of real life;
All else is empty show--
To those who read a source
Of much unreal woe:
Pollution, too,
Through novel-veins,
Oft fills the mind
With guilty stains.

Our peasant long was bred
Affliction's meagre child,
Yet gratefully resigned,
Loud hymning praises, smiled,
And like a tower
He stood unmoved,
Supported by
The God he loved.

His loving wife long since
Was numbered with the dead
His son, a martial youth,
Had for his country bled;
And now remained
One daughter fair,
And only she,
To soothe his care.

The aged man with tears
Spoke of th