birds, that take us by surprise,
    And mock the quickly-searching eyes.

    Nearer sat a fair-haired boy,
    Whistling with a thoughtless joy;
    A shepherd's crook was in his hand,
    Emblem of a mild command;
    And upon his rounded cheek
    Were hues that ripened apples streak.
    Disease, nor pain, nor sorrowing,
    Touched that small Arcadian king;
    His sinless subjects wandered free--
    Confusion without anarchy.
    Happier he upon his throne.
    The breezy hill--though all alone--
    Than the grandest monarchs proud
    Who mistrust the kneeling crowd.

    On a gently rising ground,
    The lovely valley's farthest bound,
    Bordered by an ancient wood,
    The cots in thicker clusters stood;
    And a church, uprose between,
    Hallowing the peaceful scene.
    Distance o'er its old walls threw
    A soft and dim cerulean hue,
    While the sun-lit gilded spire
    Gleamed as with celestial fire!

    I have crossed the ocean wave,
    Haply for a foreign grave;
    Haply never more to look
    On a British hill or brook;
    Haply never more to hear
    Sounds unto my childhood dear;
    Yet if sometimes on my soul
    Bitter thoughts beyond controul
    Throw a shade more dark than night,
    Soon upon the mental sight
    Flashes forth a pleasant ray
    Brighter, holier than the day;
    And unto that happy mood
    All seems beautiful and good.

LINES TO A LADY,

WHO PRESENTED THE AUTHOR WITH SOME ENGLISH FRUITS AND FLOWERS.