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ARBOR DA V MANUAL. 
A SUMMER LONGING. 
I MUST away to wooded hills and vales, 
Where broad, slow streams flow cool and silently, 
And idle barges flap their listless sails. 
For me the summer sunset glows and pale's, 
And green fields wait for me. 
I long for shadowy forests, where the birds 
Twitter and chirp at noon from every tree; 
I long for blossomed leaves and lowing herds ; 
And Nature’s voices say in mystic woods, 
“The green fields wait for thee.” 
I dream of uplands, where the primrose shines 
And waves her yellow lamps above the lea; 
Gf tangled copses, swung with trailing vines ; 
Of open vistas, skirted with tall pines, 
Where green fields wait for me. 
I think of long, sweet afternoons, when I 
May lie and listen to the distant sea, 
Or hear the breezes in the reeds that sigh, 
Or insect voices chirping shrill and dry, 
In fields that wait for me. 
These dreams of summer come to bid me find 
The forest’s shade, the wild bird’s melody, 
While summer’s rosy wreaths for me are twined, 
While summer’s fragrance lingers on the wind, 
And green fields wait for me. 
George Arnold. 
OUR WILLOWS. 
I T is when the east wind blows, 
And his cohorts gather and ride, 
That the willows before my window 
Show me their silver side. 
When the air is sweet and still. 
And all heaven beams light and mirth, 
Though their green boughs quiver and 
sparkle, 
They look and lean to earth. 
But the moment the storm-wind blows, 
And the storm-clouds gather and ride; 
They lift up their branches to heaven, 
And show me the silver side. 
’Tis not to fear and sadness, 
They owe that silver sheen; 
Unseen, in calm and gladness, 
It underlies the green. 
And when the North-west triumphs, 
And baffled storm-clouds flee, 
They fling out their silvery streamers. 
And hail the VICTORY. 
Hours at Home. • 
