94 



ARBOR DA Y MANUAL. 



Yet still that life awakens, brings again 

 Its airy anthems, resonant and long, 



Till Earth and Sky, transfigured, fill my brain 

 With rhythmic sweeps of song. 



Thence am I made a poet : thence are sprung 



Those motions of the soul, that sometimes reach 



Beyond the grasp of Art, for which the tongue 

 Is ignorant of speech. 



And if some wild, full-gathered harmony 



Roll its unbroken music through my line, 



There lives and murmurs, faintly though it be, 

 The Spirit of the Pine. 



BAYARD TAYLOR. 



MONTH OF MAY. 



HERE I am, and how do you do? 

 I've come afar to visit you. 

 Little children, glad and free, 

 Are you ready now for me ? 

 I'm the month of May ! 



I've a store of treasures rare 

 Laid away with greatest care 

 Days of sunshine, song and flowers, 

 Earth made into fairy bowers ! 

 I'm the month of May ! 



In my loaded trunk I bring 

 Bees to buzz and birds to sing; 

 Flowers to fill the balmy air, 

 Violets are hiding there ! 

 I'm the month of May ! 



Youth's Companion. 



THE MOUNTAIN AND THE SQUIRREL. 



THE mountain and the squirrel 

 Had a little quarrel ; 

 And th,e former called the latter " Little 

 Prig." 



Bun replied : 

 " You are doubtless very big; 



But all sorts of things and weather 

 Must be taken in together, 

 To make up a year, 

 And a sphere. 



And I think it no disgrace 

 To occupy my place. 

 You are not as small as I, 

 And not half so spry. 

 I'll not deny 



You make ;i very pretty squirrel trap. 

 Talents differ; all is well and wisely 



put ; 



If I cannot carry forests on my back, 

 Neither can you crack a nut." 



RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 



