THE WONDERS OF THE LANE.

To mountain-winds the famished fox
Complains that Sol is slow,

O'er headlong steeps and gushing rocks
His royal robe to throw.

But here the lizard seeks the sun,
Here coils, in light, the snake:
And here the fire-tuft hath begun
Its beauteous nest to make.

Oh! then, while hums the earliest bee
Where verdure fires the plain,

Walk thou with me, and stoop to see
The glories of the lane!

For oh! I love these banks of rock,

This roof of sky and tree,

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These tufts, where sleeps the gloaming clock,

And wakes the earliest bee!

As spirits from eternal day

Look down on earth, secure,

Look here, and wonder, and survey

A world in miniature.

A world not scorned by Him who made
E'en weakness by His might;

But solemn in His depth of shade

And splendid in His sight.

ELLIOTT.