THE TOWN AND COUNTRY CHILD. 
Child of the town ! for thee, alas ! 
Glad nature spreads nor flowers, nor grass; 
Birds build no nests, nor in the sun 
Glad streams come singing as they run : 
A Maypole is thy blossom’d tree; 
A beetle is thy murmuring bee ; 
Thy bird is caged, thy dove is where 
Thy poulterer dwells, beside thy hare ; 
Thy fruit is pluck’d, and by the pound 
Hawk’d clamorous all the city round j 
No roses, twin-born on the stalk, 
Perfume thee in thy evening walk ; 
Iso voice of birds,—but to thee comes 
The mingled din of cars and drums, 
And startling cries, such as are rife 
When wine and wassail waken strife. 
Child of the country ! on the lawn 
1 see thee like the bounding fawn, 
Blithe as the bird which tries its wing 
The first time on the winds of Spring; 
Bright as the sun when from the cloud 
He comes as cocks are crowing loud ; 
Now running, shouting, ’mid sunbeams, 
Now groping trout in lucid streams, 
Now spinning like a mill-wheel round, 
Now hunting echo’s empty sound, 
