TO THE WHITE JASMINE.

Few and simple flow'rets these ;
Yet, to me, less glorious
Garden-beds and orchard-trees;

Since this wreath victorious
Binds thee now for ever mine,

O, my love, my Valentine!

MONTGOMERY.

TO THE WHITE JASMINE.

ASMINE! thy fair and star-like flowers with honour should be crown'd:

In day's rude din and sunny hour, they shed faint

sweetness round;

But still, at eve, their rich perfume with fragrance fills

the air,

As if to cheer the hours of gloom, and soothe the brow

of care.

Oh! thus, in Fortune's sunny ray, the light of Love seems pale, Till dark clouds o'er the glare of day cast their shadowy veil; Then, like thy odours, it bursts forth, a guide to Joy's glad goal, Bless'd beacon of surpassing worth, and pole-star of the soul!

BERNARD BARTON.

I LOVE at eventide to walk alone,

Down narrow lanes, o'erhung with dewy thorn, Where, from the long grass underneath, the snail, Jet black, creeps out, and sprouts his timid horn.

THE WHEATEAR.

I love to muse o'er meadows newly mown,

Where withering grass perfumes the sultry air ; Where bees search round, with sad and weary drone, In vain, for flowers that bloom'd but newly there; While in the juicy corn the hidden quail

Cries, "Wet my foot ;" and, hid as thoughts unborn, The fairy-like and seldom-seen landrail

Utters, "Craik-craik," like voices under ground,

Right glad to meet the evening dewy veil,

And see the light fade into gloom around.

CLARE.

THE WHEATEAR.

ROM that deep shelter'd solitude,

Where, in some quarry wild and rude,
Your feather'd mother rear'd her brood,
Why, pilgrim, did you brave

The uplands winds so bleak and keen,
To seek these hills, whose slopes between,
Wide stretch'd in grey expanse, is seen
The ocean's toiling wave?