And Beechenbrook Cottage is lost to his sight.


II.

The feathery foliage has broadened its leaves,
And June, with its beautiful mornings and eves,
Its magical atmosphere, breezes and blooms,
Its woods all delicious with thousand perfumes,--
First-born of the Summer,--spoiled pet of the year,--
June, delicate queen of the seasons, is here!

The sadness has passed from the dwelling away,
And quiet serenity brightens the day:
With innocent prattle, her toils to beguile,
In the midst of her children, the mother _must_ smile.
With matronly cares,--those relentless demands
On the strength of her heart and the skill of her hands,--
The hours come tenderly, ceaselessly fraught,
And leave her small space for the broodings of thought.

Thank God!--busy fingers a solace can find,
To lighten the burden of body or mind;
And Eden's old curse proves a blessing instead,--
"In the sweat of thy brow shalt thou toil for thy bread."
For the bless'd relief in all labours that lurk,
Aye, thank Him, unhappy ones,--thank Him for work!

Thus Alice engages her thoughts and her powers,
And industry kindly lends wings to the hours: