LESSON XXIX.

THE LITTLE HILL.

Run, run, thou tiny rill; Run, and turn the village mill; Run, and fill the deep, clear pool In the woodland's shade so cool, Where the sheep love best to stray In the sultry summer day; Where the wild birds bathe and drink, And the wild flowers fringe the brink.

Run, run, thou tiny rill, Round the rocks, and down the hill; Sing to every child like me; The birds will join you, full of glee: And we will listen to the song You sing, your rippling course along.