LADY-BUG. I
Listen now, while mighty Nature
Bares her great vibrating heart, And calls a measure still and stately,
Unfettered by the rules of Art ; Who can fail to catch the thunder
Of the White Hills solemn base, With chorded peaks and note triumphant,
Uplifted to its Maker s face?
Round about the chorus swelling,
Chicarua and Kearsarge rise, With Jockey Cap and Peaked Mountain,
All singing to the Conway skies. This was the psalm I saw this summer ;
This was the anthem which I heard ; My soul and I alone together
Without the sound of mortal word.
��LADY-BUG.
T ADY-BUG lived in a folded rose,
LJ A petty and dainty aristocrat,
With only a thought for her gaudy clothes,
Pier scarlet cloak and her velvet hat. Her poor relations, the busy ants,
She saw go busily travelling past, And wondered much " why the common herd
Always hurried so why they walked so fast ; She never did." In her folded rose
She moved about with languid grace,
�� �
