Its blended beam was brighter than
The Orient lilies of Shushan,
Twining around the brightest rose
In Sharon's scented vale that grows:
The diamond drops from the brook that flashed,
As along the crystal wave it dashed,
Showed like the sunbeam glancing through
The morning gems of pearly dew.
A type of Hope it seemed to be,
So soft, and fresh, and fair to see.
The Owl's Revenge.
There sat an owl in an old oak tree,
Whooping very merrily;
He was considering as well he might,
Ways and means for a supper that night:
He looked about with a solemn scowl,
Yet very happy was the owl,
For, in the hollow of that oak tree,
There sat his wife and his children three;
She was singing one to rest,
Another, under her downy breast
'Gan trying his voice, to learn her song;
The third (a hungry owl was he)
Peeped slyly out of the old oak tree,
And peered for his dad, and said, "You're long
But he hooted for joy, when he presently saw
His sire, with a full-grown mouse in his claw.
Oh what a supper they had that night!
All was feasting and delight;
Who most can chatter, or cram, they strive,
They were the merriest owls alive.
What then did the old owl do?
Ah! not so gay was his next too-whoo!
It was very sadly said,
For after his children had gone to bed
(He did not sleep with his children three,
For truly, a gentleman owl was he,
Who would not on his wife intrude,
When she was nursing her infant brood);
So not to invade the nursery,
He slept outside the hollow tree.
