The Youths Coronal | Page 6

little cup!--
And meekly to sink
in the darksome earth,
Which proves that nothing could hide her
worth!
And O, how many will tread on me,
To come and admire
the beautiful tree,
Whose head is towering towards the sky,
Above
such a worthless thing as I!
Useless and vain, a cumberer here,

Have I been idling from year to year.
But never, from this, shall a

vaunting word
From the humbled Pebble again be heard,
Till
something without me or within
Shall show the purpose for which
I've been!"
The Pebble could ne'er its vow forget,
And it lies there
wrapt in silence yet.
=The Grasshopper and the Ant=
"Ant, look at me!" a young grasshopper said,
As nimbly he sprang
from his green, summer-bed,
"See how I'm going to skip over your
head,
And could o'er a thousand like you!
Ant, by your motion
alone, I should judge
That Nature ordained you a slave and a drudge,

For ever and ever to keep on the trudge,
And always find
something to do.
"Oh! there is nothing like having our day--
Taking our pleasure and
ease while we may--
Bathing ourselves in the bright, mellow ray

That comes from the warm, golden sun!
Whilst I am up in the light
and the air,
You, a sad picture of labor and care,
Still have some
hard, heavy burden to bear,
And work that you never get done.
"I have an exercise healthful and good,
For tuning the nerves and
digesting the food--
Graceful gymnastics for stirring the blood

Without the gross purpose of use
Ant, let me tell you 'tis not a la
mode
To plod like a pilgrim, and carry a load,
Perverting the limbs
that for grace were bestowed,
By such a plebeian abuse!
"While the whole world with provisions is filled,
Who would keep
toiling and toiling, to build
And lay in a store for himself, till he's
killed
With work that another might do?
Come! drop your budget,
and just give a spring;
Jump on a grass-blade, and balance and swing;

Soon you'll be light as a gnat on the wing,
Gay as a grasshopper,
too!"
Ant trudged along, while the grasshopper sung,
Minding her business
and holding her tongue,
Until she got home her own people among;


But these were her thoughts on the road.
"What will become of that
poor, idle one
When the light sports of the summer are done?
And,
where is the covert to which he may run
To find a safe winter abode?
"Oh! if I only could tell him how sweet
Toil makes my rest and the
morsel I eat,
While hope gives a spur to my little black feet,
He'd
never pity my lot!
He'd never ask me my burden to drop,
To join in
his folly--to spring, and to hop;
And thus make the ant and her labor
to stop,
When time, I am certain, would not.
"When the cold frost all the herbage has nipped,
When the bare
branches with ice-drops are tipped,
Where will the grasshopper then
be, that skipped
So careless and lightly to-day?
Frozen to death! 'a
sad picture,' indeed,
Of reckless indulgence and what must succeed,

That all his gymnastics can't shelter or feed,
Or quicken his pulse
into play!
"I must prepare for a winter to come,
I shall be glad of a home and a
crumb,
When my frail form out of doors would be numb,
And I in
the snow-storm should die.
Summer is lovely, but soon will be past.

Summer has plenty not always to last.
Summer's the time for the
ant to make fast
Her stores for a future supply!"
=The Rose-Bud of Autumn=
Come out--pretty Rose-Bud,--my lone, timid one!
Come forth from
thy green leaves, and peep at the sun!
For little he does, in these dull
autumn hours,
At height'ning of beauty, or laughing with flowers.
His beams, on thy tender young cheek as he plays,
Will give it a
blush that no other could raise:
Thy fine silken petals they'll softly
unfold,
Thy pure bosom filling with spices and gold!
I would not instruct thee in coveting wealth;
Yet beauty, we know, is
the offspring of health;
And health, the fair daughter of freedom! is

bright
From drinking the breezes, and feasting on light.
Then, come, little gem, from thy covert look out;
And see what the
glad, golden sun is about!
His shafts, do they strike thee, new charms
will impart,
Thy form making fairer, and richer, thy heart.
Occasion, sweet Bud, is for thee and for me:
This hour it may give
what again ne'er shall be.
O, let not the sunshine of life pass away,

Nor touch both our eye and our heart with its ray!
=Frost, the Winter-Sprite=
The Frost looked forth on a still, clear night,
And whispered, "Now I
shall be out of sight;
So through the valley, and over the height
I'll
silently take my way.
I will not go on like that blustering train,
The
wind and the snow, the hail and the rain,
That make so much bustle
and noise in vain.
But I'll be as busy as they!"
He flew up, and powdered the mountain's crest;
He lit on the trees,
and their boughs he drest
With diamonds and pearls;--and over the
breast
Of the quivering Lake he spread
A bright coat