Part 24

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Pansies! Pansies! How I love you, pansies! Jaunty-faced, laughing-lipped, and dewy-eyed with glee.

Whitcomb Riley.

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The flower beds all were liberal of delight; Roses in heaps were there, both red and white, Lilies angelical, and gorgeous glooms Of wall-flowers, and blue hyacinths, and blooms, Hanging thick clusters from light boughs; in short, All the sweet cups to which the bees resort.

Leigh Hunt.

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Oh! the rosy month of June I hail as summer's queen; The hills and valleys sing in joy, and all the woods are green; And streamlets flow in gladsome song, the birds are all in tune; And Nature smiles in summer's pride, in the rosy month of June. The sixth month of the year Is the month of June, When the weather's too hot to be borne, The master doth say, As he goes on his way, "To-morrow my sheep shall be shorn."

Somerset.

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Here the rosebuds in June and the violets are blowing, The small birds they warble from every green bough; Here the pink and the lily, And the daffadowndilly, To adorn and perfume the sweet meadows in June; 'Tis all before the plough the fat oxen go slow; But the lads and the lasses to the sheep-shearing go.

Sussex Song.

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Below the hill's an ash; below The ash, white elder-flow'rs do blow: Below the elder is a bed O' robinhoods a' blushin' red; And there, wi' nunch es all a-spread, The hay-meakers, wi' each a cup O' drink, do smile to zee hold up The rain, an' sky a-clearin'.

W. Barnes.

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By fragrant gales in frolic play The floating corn's green waves are fann'd, And all above, broad summer day! And all below, bright summer land.

Owen Meredith.

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The sweet west wind is flying Over the purple sea, And the amber daylight dying On roadway, hill, and tree; The cattle bells are ringing Among the slanting downs, And children's voices flinging Glad echoes through the towns: "Oh, summer day! so soon away!" The happy-hearted sigh and say: "Sweet is thy light, and sad thy flight, And sad the words--good-night, good-night."

The wan white clouds are trailing Low o'er the level plain, And the wind brings with its wailing The chill of the coming rain; Fringed by the faded heather, Wide pools of water lie, And birds and leaves together Whirl through the evening sky. "Haste thee away, oh, winter day!" The weary-hearted weep and say: "Sad is thy light, and slow thy flight, And sweet the words--good-night, good-night."

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'Twas one of the charmed days When the genius of God doth flow, The wind may alter twenty ways, A tempest cannot blow; It may blow north, it still is warm; Or south, it still is clear; Or east, it smells like a clover farm; Or west, no thunder fear.

Emerson.

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Where woodbines wander, and the wallflower pushes its way alone; And where in wafts of fragrance, sweetbrier bushes make themselves known, With banks of violets for southern breezes to seek and find, And trellis'd jessamine that trembles in the summer wind. Where clove carnations overgrow the places where they were set, And, mist-like, in the intervening spaces creeps mignonette.

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ST. BARNABAS DAY. (Old Style. June 21st.)