THE YOUNG SHEPHERD AND HIS DOG.

AWAY! upon the mountain's breast,
While flowers are blossoming;
Beneath the spreading hawthorn rest,
And there sweet numbers sing;
Where little rills with murmurs glide,
Then bound adown the mountain's side.

To breathe the incense of the morn,
Amidst the song of birds-
To waken hopes and joys new-born,
With memory's gentle words;
And feel the heart's deep sympathy,
In scenes so full of melody.

Away! upon the mountain steep,
And hear that pleasant tone,
The shepherd calling home his sheep-
Who knows them one by one;
His bright eye gleaming all the while,
With innocent and happy smile.

I love to think what pure delight,
His noble mind must feel;

R

When watching on a starry night,
All Nature's mute appeal;
While millions of her orbs go by,
In flaming pomp, and majesty!

That calm and thoughtful gaze of his,
Reads God in all his ways;
Each opening flower portrays his bliss,
The sky-lark's song, his praise:
Nor morn's bright dew, can ever be
More sacred, beautiful, and free.

He's not alone, while musing on
The shining works of heaven,
When day's declining orb is gone-
A friend, is to him given;
That mute companion of his years,
And soother of his infant tears.

He thinks how kind that friend has been

For ever near his side

And wishes that the happy scene,
With him may thus abide ;-

But shall they part?-and must it be,
They roam no more, so wild and free?