You may, perchance, behold them on the twigs,

Their bright, bright eyes, their eyes both bright and full, Glistening, while many a glowworm in the shade

Lights up her love-torch.

And oft a moment's space,

What time the moon was lost behind a cloud,
Hath heard a pause of silence; till the moon
Emerging, hath awaken'd earth and sky
With one sensation, and these wakeful birds
Have all burst forth in choral minstrelsy,
As if some sudden gale had swept at once
A hundred airy harps! And I have watch'd
Many a nightingale perch'd giddily

On blossomy twig still swinging from the breeze,
And to that motion tune his wanton song,

Like tipsy Joy that reels with tossing head.

CLARE.

THE insect-world, now sunbeams higher climb,
Oft dream of Spring, and wake before their time.

Bees stroke their little legs across their wings,
And venture short flights where the snowdrop brings

Its silver bell, and winter aconite

Its buttercup-like flowers that shut at night,
With green leaf furling round its cup of gold,
Like tender maiden muffled from the cold;
They sip, and find their honey-dreams are vain,
Then feebly hasten to their hives again.
The butterflies by eager hopes undone,
Glad as a child come out to greet the sun:
Beneath the shadow of a sudden shower
Are lost-nor see to-morrow's April flower.

I IN the flow'ry meads would be:
These crystal streams should solace me;
To whose harmonious bubbling noise.

I with my angle would rejoice,

Sit here, and see the turtle-dove
Court his chaste mate to acts of love:

Or on that bank feel the west wind
Breathe health and plenty, please my mind.
To see sweet dew-drops kiss these flowers,
And then wash'd off by April showers;
Here hear my Kenna sing a song,
There see a blackbird feed her young,

Or a leverock build her nest:
Here give my weary spirits rest,

And raise my low-pitch'd thoughts above
Earth, or what poor mortals love:

Thus free from law-suits, and the noise
Of princes' courts, I would rejoice:

Or with my Bryan and a book,
Loiter long days near Shawford Brook;
There sit by him, and eat my meat;
There see the sun both rise and set:
There bid good morning to next day;
There meditate my time away;

And angle on, and beg to have
A quiet passage to a welcome grave.

SHAKSPEARE.

Now daisies pied, and violets blue,
And lady-smocks all silver white,
And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue,

Do paint the meadows with delight;
The cuckoo now on every tree,
Sings cuckoo! cuckoo!

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