THE BROOK.

Little brook, little brook, You have such a happy look, Such a very merry manner as you swerve and curve and crook; And your ripples, one by one, Reach each other's hands and run Like laughing little children in the sun! Little brook, sing to me, Sing about a bumble-bee That tumbled from a lily-bell and mumbled grumblingly Because he wet the film Of his wings and had to swim, While the water bugs raced round and laughed at him. Little brook, sing a song Of a leaf that sailed along Down the golden braided center of your current swift and strong, And the dragon-fly that lit On the tilting rim of it, And sailed away, and wasn't scared a bit! And sing how oft in glee Came a truant boy like me Who loved to lean and listen to your lilting melody, Till the gurgle and refrain Of your music in his brain Caused a happiness as deep to him as pain! Little brook, laugh and leap! Do not let the dreamer weep; Sing him all the songs of summer till he sink in softest sleep; And then sing soft and low Through his dreams of long ago, Sing back to him the rest he used to know. —Anon.