TO A HUMMING-BIRD. The green and spangled dell, For thee diffuses its sweet scent and hue: 125 SHE was, indeed, a pretty little creature, -The wolf, indeed! You've left the nursery to but little purpose, -Was 't not a wolf, then? I have read the story LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD. Together in the sheets, from very terror, And, with protecting arms, each round the other, Last winter in the city, I and my school-mates, That met poor little Riding Hood i' the wood? -Hidden: nay, I'm not so young, but I can spell it out, -Thus then, dear my daughter: You see the peril that attends the maiden Who in her walk through life, yields to temptation, Allured by gaudy weeds. Nay, none but children Could gather butter-cups, and May-weed, mother. But violets, dear violets-methinks I could live ever on a bank of violets, Or die most happy there. - You die, indeed, 127 128 LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD. At your years die! Then sleep, ma'am, if you please, As you did yesterday in that sweet spot Down by the fountain; where you seated you To read the last new novel-what d'ye call 't— It was, my love, And there, as I remember, your kind arm -No, believe me, To keep the insects from disturbing you Was sweet employment, or to fan your cheek -You're a dear child! -And then, To gaze on such a scene! the grassy bank, So gently sloping to the rivulet, All purple with my own dear violet, And sprinkled o'er with spring flowers of each tint. There was that pale and humble little blossom, Looking so like its namesake Innocence; The fairy-formed, flesh-hued anemone, With its fair sisters, called by country people Fair maids o' the spring. The lowly cinquefoil, too, And statelier marigold. The violet sorrel, Blushing so rosy red in bashfulness, And her companion of the season, dressed |