y fields, 'mong refuse of bushes,
With rose-tinted lips, like herald of morn,
With but a leaf to conceal secret blushes,
Earth's first vernal offspring is sweetly born.

Modest, retiring, and beautiful sprite,
Emblem of graces a maiden should wear,
Great is the pleasure, supreme the delight
Of searching for joys such coyness doth bear.

Child of the woodland in beauty abiding,
Whose breath scents the air of early spring morns,
Fairies of magical powers are residing
In nooks and valleys your presence adorns.

Oft in the springtime I wander away
To dwell for a time in your blest retreat,
Counting such pleasure far sweeter to me
Than bustle of city or throng of the street.

THE MORNING GLORY.

[On being requested to give some Morning Glory seeds.]

The sunshine seems much brighter,
And the heart is ever lighter,
When the rays of sweet Aurora
Gild the radiant morning glory
With a splendor, such as heaven
To few favorites has given
Among the beautiful rare flowers.
So plant these seeds with care,
In a place well-chosen, where
The first rays of the morning
May kiss their bright adorning,
And teach your heart to see
The beauties there may be
In the early morning hours.

RYE.

When pollen-dust from fields of rye
Floats out on the dews of even,
And stars of June bedeck the sky
Of mild and cloudless heaven,
'Tis ecstasy to linger near
The odor-laden quivers,
Whose lance-like arrows then appear
To be our pleasure-givers.

When Luna bright is wreathed in smiles,
And breathes upon the flowers,
A billowy greenness oft beguiles
Our minds by magic powers;
For like the waves of ocean grand
When tempest winds are high,
With speed sweep by the waves on land,
In the fields of liquid rye.

Fragrant fields of beautiful June,
Whose billowy, graceful green
Is a mem'ry-gem that fades too soon
From childhood's romantic scene,
Sweet were my hours of ecstasy
When by your side I was nigh;
Joys I covet, long lost to me
That came from sweet fields of rye.

COMMUNION WITH NATURE.

'Tis sweet to hold communion
With Nature true and wild,
And feel the thrill of gladness
She breathes upon her child,
When close upon her bosom