LINES, SUGGESTED BY A HAWTHORN.
Listing that tale, what visions rise!
A group of children meets our eyes,
With joyous looks and mirthful cries,
That glad the swains.
And one is chosen Queen of May;
Her golden ringlets wildly stray
Beneath a crown of blossoms gay,
And daisy chains.
Next comes a youth whose idle gait,
Full well proclaims his truant state;
Or, if he works, 'tis not to sate
Dull learning's greed.
With earnest face and piercing eyes,
He cons each bush for birds'-nest prize;
Or, climbing, from the bramble tries
Its fruit to lead.
Beside the thorn a young man stands,
When home have sped the toiling bands
And evening's veil gives all the lands
A grateful shade;