The star of the north. [volume] (Bloomsburg, Pa.) 1849-1866, 1855-08-02
CHOICE POETRY.
THE TOWN CHILD AND THE COUN-
TRY CHILD.
by ALLAN cuSNrNGHAM.

OnH0 Oi tue COUNTY, : ifeo rs aif
AIT thou, and as the sunshine fair;
Born, like lilly, where the dew
Lies odorous when the day is new;
Fed mid the Mav-foweIs, like the bee,
Nursed 10 sweet music on the knee,
Lulled in the breas, 10 that glad tune
Which winds make ,mong the woods of June;
I sing oeibee--'tis sweet 10 sing
OF such fair and gladsome thing.
Child Of the town for thee Isigh;
A giIdsd roofs thy golden sky
A carpet is ,hy dasied sod ~.
A narrow street thy boundless road
Thy rushing deef's the clallerins tramp
or Wa,chmen--thy best lights lamp
Through smoke. and moi through lrelIissed
vines,
And blooming trees thy sunbeam shines,
I sing of thee in sadness: where
Else 10 wreck wrought in aught SO fair!
Child Of the country! thy small feet
Tread on strawberries red and sweet;
With thee wander forth to see
The flowers which might delight-the bee
In April, while she nursed her young;
The den beneath The slow thorn where
She bred her twins, the limorous hare;
The knoll wrought o'er with wild blue. bells
Where brown bees build their balmy cells,
The greenwood stream, the shady pool,
Where irouts leap when Ire day is cool;
The shilfa's nest that seems TO be
A portion OF the sheltering tree;
Aad other marbles which my verse
Can find no language to rehearse.
Child Of the town! for thee, alas
Glad o, tnre spreads no flowers nor grass;
Birds build no nests, nor in the sun
Glad streams come singing as they run;
A Maypole is Thy bIossomed tree,
A beetle is thy murmuring bee;
Thy bird is Gagged, thy dove is where
The poul,erer dwels beside thy hare;
Thy fruit is plucked, and by the wound,
Hawked clamorous all the city round;
No roses twin-born on the stalk,
Perfume thee in Thy evening walk;
No voice Of birds-bui to thee comes
The mingled din of cars and drums,
The startling cries such as are rifle
When wine and wassail waken strife.
Child OF the country on the lawn
I see thee like the bounding fawn;
Blithe as the bird which tries its wing
The first lime on the winds of spring;
Bright an the sun, when from the cloud
He comes as cocks are growing loud;
Now running, shouting, mid sunbeams,
Nov grooping iroutsj in lucid streams,
Now spinning like mLl-wheel round
Now hunting echo's empty sound,
Now climbing up some old tall tree,
For climbing sake. 'Tis sweet TO thee
To sit where birds can cit alone,
or share with these thy ventufous throne.
Child of the town and buslling street,
What woes and snares awai, Thy feet!
Thy paths are paved for Eve long miles,
Thy groves and hills are peaks and tiles
Thy fragrant air is yon thick smoke
Which shrords thee like morning cloak =
And thou art cabinej and confined
At once from sun and dew and wind,
Or set Thy totterh.g feet but on
Thy lenethened walks OF slippery stone;
The coachmen there careering reels
With goaded steeds and maddsning wheels;
While flushed at wine and siung at play,
Men rush from darkness into day:
1ks steam's too strong for thy small bark,
There naught can sail save what is stark.
Fly from the town, sweet child! for health
Is hsp2iness, and strength and wealth.
There is 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,
VIII lead you from esrh's fragrant sod,
To hone, ard holiness. and God.