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.
Rogers.
Mountains, and vales, and waters, all infused With beauty, and in quietness.
Southey.
