184 THE BEE-HIVES. 
may enjoy it to the full, even if condemned to the penance 
of wliat the poet has so feelingly described as an ‘‘ endless 
meal of brick.’’ The nimble wings of the agile gatherers 
will quickly waft them above and beyond ‘‘the smoky 
chimney-pots;’’ and they will bear back to their city homes 
the balmy spoils of many a rustic flower, ‘‘blushing unseen,”’ 
in simple loveliness. Might not their pleasant murmurings 
awaken in some the memory of long-forgotten joys, when 
the happy country child listened to their soothing music, 
while intently watching them in the old homestead-garden, 
or roved with them amid pastures and hill-sides, to gather 
the flowers still rejoicing in their ‘‘ meadow-sweet breath,’’ 
or whispering of the precious perfumes of their forest home? 
“To me more dear, congenial to my heart, 
One native charm than all the gloss of art ; 
Spontaneous joys, where nature has its play, 
The soul adopts and owns their first-born sway 3 
Lightly they frolic o’er the vacant mind, 
Unenvied, unmolested, unconfined, 
But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade, 
With all the freaks of wanton wealth array’d, 
In these, ere triflers half their wish obtain, 
The toilsome pleasure sickens into pain; 
And ¢’en while fashion’s brightest arts decoy, 
‘Lue heart aistrusting asks, if this be joy.” 
GoLpsMITH. 
