THE COMMON SANDPIPER. 193 



falls during the day. Those who in childhood, 

 at the commencement of an excursion in the 

 country, have watched with anxiety for its beau- 

 tiful, salver-shaped blossom and purple eye, will 

 seldom pass it in their walks, without feeling as 

 if they had been gladdened by the face of a kind 

 and cheerful friend, wishing them a pleasant 

 ramble, and promising the enjoyment of dry foot- 

 paths and sun-lighted prospects. The voice of 

 such a friend, is that of the little sandpiper, to 

 those who wander amidst the mountains of 

 Westmoreland and Cumberland, or sail on their 

 silver lakes. 



THE SANDPIPER. 



Gay little bird of the lake's green shores, 

 Thy sweet wild notes the wanderer hails, 



In the ling'ring pauses of homeward oars, 

 Or the slow dull flapping of idle sails. 



Night is hastening on ; but we hear thy song, 

 And the deep'ning shadows no more we see ; 



With light hearts now we are gliding along, 

 For the syren Hope, h?s sung with thee. 



There is music that tells, in that piping cry, 

 Of joy and beauty a thousand tales, 



Of glorious suns in the clear, bright sky, 



That will gild our path among hill and vales. 



K 



