V.

THE CONTRAST.

WITHIN her gilded cage confined,

I saw a dazzling Belle,

A Parrot of that famous kind
Whose name is NON-PAREIL.

Like beads of glossy jet her eyes; And, smoothed by Nature's skill, With pearl or gleaming agate vies

Her finely-curved bill.

Her plumy Mantle's living hues

In mass opposed to mass,

Outshine the splendour that imbues

The robes of pictured glass.

And, sooth to say, an apter Mate
Did never tempt the choice

Of feathered Thing most delicate
In figure and in voice.

But, exiled from Australian Bowers,

And singleness her lot,

She trills her song with tutored

powers,

Or mocks each casual note.

No more of pity for regrets

With which she may have striven!
Now but in wantonness she frets,

Or spite, if cause be given;

Arch, volatile, a sportive Bird
By social glee inspired;

Ambitious to be seen or heard,
And pleased to be admired!

This moss-lined shed, green, soft, and dry,
Harbours a self-contented Wren,

Not shunning man's abode, though shy,
Almost as thought itself, of human ken.

Strange places, coverts unendeared
She never tried; the very nest

In which this Child of Spring was reared,

Is warmed, thro' winter, by her feathery breast.

To the bleak winds she sometimes gives
A slender unexpected strain;

That tells the Hermitess still lives,

Though she appear not, and be sought in vain.

Say, Dora! tell me by yon placid Moon,
If called to choose between the favoured pair,
Which would you be,—the Bird of the Saloon,
By Lady fingers tended with nice care,
Caressed, applauded, upon dainties fed,
Or Nature's DARKLING of this mossy Shed?

VI.

TO THE SMALL CELANDINE.*

PANSIES, Lilies, Kingcups, Daisies,
Let them live upon their praises;
Long as there's a sun that sets
Primroses will have their glory;
Long as there are Violets,

They will have a place in story:

There's a flower that shall be mine,

'Tis the little Celandine.

Eyes of some men travel far

For the finding of a star;

Up and down the heavens they go,
Men that keep a mighty rout!

I'm as great as they, I trow,
Since the day I found thee out,
Little flower! -I'll make a stir

Like a great Astronomer.

* Common Pilewort.

Modest, yet withal an Elf

Bold, and lavish of thyself;

Since we needs must first have met

I have seen thee, high and low,
Thirty years or more, and yet

'Twas a face I did not know;
Thou hast now, go where I may,
Fifty greetings in a day.

Ere a leaf is on a bush,

In the time before the Thrush
Has a thought about its nest,
Thou wilt come with half a call,
Spreading out thy glossy breast
Like a careless Prodigal;

Telling tales about the sun,

When we've little warmth, or none.

Poets, vain men in their mood!

Travel with the multitude:

Never heed them; I aver

That they all are wanton Wooers;

But the thrifty Cottager,

Who stirs little out of doors,
Joys to spy thee near her home;

Spring is coming, Thou art come!