New-York daily tribune. [volume] (New-York [N.Y.]) 1842-1866, 1849-07-18

YAILAS crNxIS0HAN

~ ALAN cUSSISOH.N
CHILD Of the Country free ss ar
Art thou, and as the sunshine fair
Born, like the lily. where the dew
Lies odoroos when the day IL new
Fed. mid the Msy flowers, ike the bee
Mar. ed 70 sweet music oo the knee,
Luiled in the breast b that glad tune
Which winds m axe mong the woods Of uns
/ sing Of thee-'tis sweet 70 sing
OF such fair and gladstone thing
Child Of the Town for thee sigh
A giided roofs thy golden sky
A carpet is thy daisied SOD
na,rov street thy bo0ndless road
Thv rushing deer's the gathering tramp
M Fundamentally best lights lamp
Tbrouzh smoke, aud Tot through trellised vines
And blooming trees, thy sunbeam shines
sing Of thee Ia sadness; where
Else is wreck wrought 10 augbt 50 isir
Child Of the Country thy small feet
Tread on strawberries red and sweet
With thee ] wander forth 10 see
The flowers which most delight the bee
The bush DER which the thrOstle sung,
Ia April, while she nursed her young,
The den beneath the sloe thorn where
She bred her twins the timorous hare;
The knoll wrought Ter with wild blue bells
w mere DfOWn Utrs Dbill lbrf Atirf
The greenwood stream, the shady pool,
Where trouts leap when the day Is cool
The shilfa's nest, that seems 10 be
A portion OF the sheltering tree;
And other marvels which my verse
Can cd no language to rehearse.
Child Of the Town for thee, alas
Glad Nature spreads nor bowers nor grass
Birds build no nests, nor in the sUn
Glad streams come singing ss they run
AMavpole is thy blossomed tree,
A beetle is thy murmuring bee;
Thy bird ia Gagged. thy dove is where
The poulterer dwells, beside thy hare
Thy fruit is picked, and by the pound
Hawked camorous all the city round,
No roses. twinborn on the stalk,
Perfume thee in thy evening walk
No voice Of brds-but 70 thee comes
The mingled din Of cars and drums
AID startling cries such a. are rife
When wine and vassail wsken strife.
Child Of tho Country on the lawn
see thee like the bounding fawn
Blthe as the bird which tines its wing
TIE FIRST time on the winds of Spring
Bright as the sun, when from the cloud
He comes, as cocks are Growing loud,
Now running, shouting, mid sunbesms,
Now cropping trouts IN lucid streams,
Now spinning IKE NH Nbeei round
Now hunting EchOs empty sound,
Now climbing up some old tall tree,
For climbing sake. It's sweet 10 thee
To SIT where birds can SIT alone,
Or share with thee thy ventu'ous throne
Child Of the Town and busting street,
What woes and snares await thy feet
Thy paths are paved for five long miles.
Thy groves and hills are peaks and tiles
Thy fragrant air is yon thick smoke
Which shrouds thee like a mourning cloak
and thou art cabiued and confined
At once from sun and dew aud wind,
Or set thy tottcring feet but on
Thy heightened walks o. slippery stone
The goodman there csreering reels
With coaded steeds and maddening wheels.
While flushed with wine and stung ut play,
Men rash from darkness into day
The stream too strong FOR thy small bark,
There noueht can sail save what Is stark.
Fly fron the Town, sweet child for heath
IL happiness, and strength and wealth.
There IL a lesson IN each flower
A story In each stream and bower
On every herb on which you tread
Are written words which. rightly read.
Will lead you from earth's fragrant sod.
To hope and holiness, and God