
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 ; 
. No roses, twin-born on the stalk, 
Perfume thee in thy evening walk ; 
| No voice of birds,—but to thee comes 
f 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 
ee 
I 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 ; 
ee ee 
Now running, shouting, ’mid sunbeams, 
Now groping trout in lucid streams, 
Now spinning like a mill-wheel round, 
Now hunting echo’s empty sound, 






























