Far o'er the fields the tall daisies blush warm, For rosy the sunset is dying;

Across the still valley, o'er meadow and farm, The flush of its beauty is lying.

White foams the milk in the pail at my feet;
Clearly the robins are calling :

Soft blows the evening wind after the heat;
Cool the long shadows are falling.

Little dun cow, 'tis so tranquil and sweet!
Are you light-hearted, I wonder?
What do you think about something to eat?
On clover and grass do you ponder?

I am remembering days that are dead,

And a brown little maid in the gloaming, Milking her cow, with the west burning red Over waves that about her were foaming.

Up from the sad east the deep shadows gloomed
Out of the distance and found her ;
Lightly she sang, while the solemn sea boomed
Like a great organ, around her.

Under the light-house no sweet-brier grew,
Dry was the grass, and no daisies

Waved in the wind, and the flowers were few
That lifted their delicate faces.

But O, she was happy, and careless, and blest,
Full of the song-sparrow's spirit ;

Grateful for life, for the least and the best
Of the blessings that mortals inherit.

Fairer than gardens of Paradise seemed

The desolate spaces of water;

Nature was hers - clouds that frowned, stars that gleamed,

What beautiful lessons they taught her!

Would I could find you again, little maid,

Striving with utmost endeavor,

Could find in my breast that light heart, unafraid,

That has vanished forever and ever!

Celia Thaxter.

THE COW-BOY'S SONG.

"MOOLY COW, mooly cow, home from the wood
They sent me to fetch you as fast as I could.
The sun has gone down it is time to go home.
Mooly cow, mooly cow, why don't you come?
Your udders are full, and the milkmaid is there,
And the children all waiting their supper to share.

I have let the long bars down, why don't you pass through ?"
The mooly cow only said, "Mo0-0-0!"

"Mooly cow, mooly cow, have you not been Regaling all day where the pastures are green?

No doubt it was pleasant, dear mooly, to see

The clear running brook and the wide-spreading tree,

The clover to crop, and the streamlet to wade,

To drink the cool water and lie in the shade;
But now it is night they are waiting for you.
The mooly cow only said, "Moo-0-0 !"

"Mooly cow, mooly cow, where do you go,

When all the green pastures are covered with snow?

CHILD LIFE.

You go to the barn, and we feed you with hay,

And the maid goes to milk you there, every day;
She pats you, she loves you, she strokes your sleek hide,
She speaks to you kindly, and sits by your side:
Then come along home, pretty mooly cow, do."
The mooly cow only said, "Moo-0-0 !"

:

"Mooly cow, mooly cow, whisking your tail,
The milkmaid is waiting, I say, with her pail ;
She tucks up her petticoats, tidy and neat,
And places the three-legged stool for her seat: -
What can you be staring at, mooly? You know
That we ought to have gone home an hour ago.
How dark it is growing! O, what shall I do?"
The mooly cow only said, "Mo0-0-0 !"

OLD DOBBIN.

HERE's a song for old Dobbin, whose temper and worth
Were too rare to be spurned on the score of his birth.
He's a creature of trust, and what more should we heed?
'Tis deeds, and not blood, make the man and the steed.

He was bred in the forest, and turned on the plain,
Where the thistle-burs clung to his fetlocks and mane :
All ugly and rough, not a soul could espy

The spark of good-nature that dwelt in his eye.

The summer had waned, and the autumn months rolled

Into those of stern winter, so dreary and cold;

But the north wind might whistle, the snow-flake might dance,The colt of the common was left to his chance.

Half-starved and half-frozen, the hail storm would pelt
Till his shivering limbs told the pangs that he felt ;
But we pitied the brate, and, though laughed at by all,
We filled him a manger and gave him a stall.

He was fond as a spaniel, and soon he became
The pride of the herd-boy, the pet of the dame.
'Tis well that his market-price cannot be known n;
But we christened him Dobbin, and called him our own.

He grew out of colthood, and, lo! what a change!
The knowing ones said it was 'mortally strange;"
For the foal of the forest, the colt of the waste,
Attracted the notice of jockeys of taste.

The line of his symmetry was not exact,

But his paces were clever, his mould was compact;
And his shaggy thick coat now appeared with a gloss,
Shining out like the gold that's been purged of its dross.

We broke him for service, and tamely he wore

Girth and rein, seeming proud of the thraldom he bore;
Each farm, it is known, must possess an "odd" steed
And Dobbin was ours, for all times and all need.

He carried the master to barter his grain,
And ever returned with him safely again:
There was merit in that, for - deny it who may
When the master could not, Dobbin could find his way.

The dairy-maid ventured her eggs on his back,
'Twas him, and him only, she 'd trust with the pack;
The team-horses jolted, the roadster played pranks;

So Dobbin alone had her faith and her thanks.

We fun-loving urchins would group by his side;

We might fearlessly mount him, and daringly ride;

We might creep through his legs, we might plait his long tail,
But his temper and patience were sure not to fail.

We would brush his bright hide till 'twas free from a speck;
We kissed his brown muzzle, and hugged his thick neck;
Oh we prized him like life, and a heart-breaking sob
Ever burst when they threatened to sell our dear Dob.

He stood to the collar, and tugged up the hill,
With the pigs to the market, the grist to the mill;
With saddle or halter, in shaft or in trace,

He was stanch to his work, and content with his place.

When the hot sun was crowning the toil of the year,
He was sent to the reapers with ale and good cheer ;
And none in the corn-field more welcome were seen
Than Dob and his well-laden panniers, I ween.

Oh those days of pure bliss shall I ever forget
When we decked out his head with the azure rosette ?