O blessed shades ! O gentle cool retreat 



From all the immoderate heat, 

 In which the frantic world does burn and sweat ! 

 ABRAHAM COWLEY, 



'Neath cloistered boughs, each floral bell that 



swingeth, 



And tolls its perfume on the passing air, 



Makes sabbath in the fields, and ever ringeth 



A call to prayer. 



HORACE SMITH. 



