FORTUNE-TELLER.
113
JOHN’S WORT.
Dear is thy little native vale;
The ring-dove builds and murmurs there;
Close by thy cot she tells her tale
To every passing villager.
The squirrel leaps from tree to tree,
And shells his nuts at liberty.
The ring-dove builds and murmurs there;
Close by thy cot she tells her tale
To every passing villager.
The squirrel leaps from tree to tree,
And shells his nuts at liberty.
Rogers.
Mountains, and vales, and waters, all infused
With beauty, and in quietness.
With beauty, and in quietness.
Southey.
