164 
ARBOR DA V MANUAL. 
A SONG FOR MAY. 
A SONG for May, whose breath is sweet 
With blossoms growing at our feet ; 
Her voice is heard in laughing rills 
That ripple down the sunny hills, 
O happy, happy May. 
The robin in the Cherry tree 
Is blithe as any bird can be ; 
And bubbling from his silver throat, 
His wordless songs of rapture float. 
0 happy, happy May. 
Vick’s Magazine. 
Above the hills the firmament 
Bends down about us like a tent, 
And we, O, fairy-footed May, 
Are dwellers in your tents, to-day. 
O happy, happy May. 
Our hearts are glad with bird and bee 
For what we feel and what we see ; 
O, would that life and love, we say, 
Might always keep its happy May, 
Its happy, happy May. 
Eben E. Rexford. 
NATURE. 
T O plant, to build, whatever you intend. 
To rear the column, or the arch to bend. 
To swell the terrace, or to sink the grot, 
In all, let Nature never be forgot * * * 
He gains all points who pleasingly con¬ 
founds, 
Surprises, varies and conceals the bounds, 
Consult the genius of the place in all ; 
That helps the waters or to rise or fall; 
Or helps th’ ambitious hill the heavens to 
scale, 
Or scoops in circling theatres the vale ; 
Calls in the country, catches opening glades; 
Joins willing woods, and varies shades from 
shades ; 
Now breaks, or now directs, th’ intending 
lines; 
Paints as you plant and as you work de¬ 
signs. 
Still follow sense, of every art the soul ; 
Parts answering parts shall slide into a 
whole, 
Spontaneous beauties all around advance. 
Start e’en from difficulty, strike from chance. 
Pope. 
ROBIN REDBREAST. 
P RETTY Robin Redbreast, 
Let me see inside your nest; 
Oh ! the eggs, one, two, three — 
Just as sweet as sweet can be. 
I won’t touch them ; never fear, 
I won’t let my breath come near. 
If I did you’d leave 3rour nest, 
Pretty Robin Redbreast. 
E. A. Mathers. 
If Jove would give the leafy bowers 
A queen for all their world of flowers, 
The rose would be the choice of Jove 
And blush, the queen of every grove, 
Gem, the vest of earth adorning, 
Eye of gardens, light of lawns. 
Nursling of soft summer dawns ; 
Love’s own earliest sigh it breathes, 
Beauty’s brow with lustre wreathes, 
And to young Zephyr’s warm caresses, 
Spreads abroad its verdant tresses. 
Clodia. 
