There are few of our readers who would not have liked to pat that brave old dog; there are fewer still who may not learn useful and valuable lessons from the speaking testimony of that dumb animal.
O, my princely flower, shall I never win To your moated citadel within, To your guarded thought?
The pansies are proud; but they show to me Their purple velvets from over the sea, With gold inwrought.
And they gently smile wherever we meet; They seem to me like proud ladies sweet From a foreign shore.
Wild primrose buds in my very hand Their odorous evening stars expand, And all their lore.
But your strange eyes gleam as they pass me by, And seem to dream of a warmer sky, Far over the sea.
[Illustration: { A woman, an elderly man and two children watch butterflies in a garden}]
I come not when the earth is brown, and gray The skies; I am no flower of a day, No crocus I, to bloom and pass away;
No cowslip bright, or hyacinth that clings Close to the earth, from whence it springs; Nor tulip, gay as song birds' wings.
I am the royal rose, and all things fair Grow fairer for my sake; the earth, the air, Proclaim the coming of the flower most rare.
Green is the earth, and beautiful the sky, And soft the breeze, that loves to linger nigh; I am the rose, and who with me shall vie?
The earth is full of gladness, all in tune With songs of birds; and now I come, O June, To crown thee, month of beauty, with my bloom.
My dear little girl, with the flowers in your hair, Stop singing a moment, and look over there; While you are so safe in the sheltering fold, With treasures of silver, and treasures of gold, Just a few steps away, in a dark, narrow street, With no pure, cooling drink, and no morsel to eat, A poor girl is dying, no older than you; Her lips were as red, and her eyes were as blue, Her step was as light, and her song was as sweet, And the heart in her bosom as merrily beat.
But now she is dying, so lonely and poor, For famine and fever crept in at the door. While you were so gay, in your beautiful dress, With music and laughter, and friends to caress, From the dawn to the end of the weariful day, She was always at work, with no moment for play. She saw you sometimes, but you seemed like a star That gleamed in the distance, so dim and afar. And often she wondered if God up above Remembered the poor girl, in pity and love.