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HEN the warm sun that brings

Seed-time and harvest, has returned again, 'Tis sweet to visit the still wood, where springs The first flower of the plain.

I love the season well,

When forest glades are teeming with bright forms,
Nor dark and many-folded clouds foretell

The coming on of storms.

From the earth's loosened mould

The sapling draws its sustenance, and thrives;
Though stricken to the heart with winter's cold,
The drooping tree revives.

The softly-warbled song

Comes from the pleasant woods, and coloured wings
Glance quick in the bright sun, that moves along
The forest openings.

When the bright sunset fills

The silver woods with light, the green slope throws

Its shadows in the hollows of the hills,

And wide the upland glows.

And when the eve is born,

In the blue lake the sky, o'er-reaching far,

Is hollowed out, and the moon dips her horn,
And twinkles many a star.

Inverted in the tide,

Stand the gray rocks, and trembling shadows throw,

And the fair trees look over, side by side,

And see themselves below.

Sweet April!-many a thought

Is wedded unto thee, as hearts are wed;
Nor shall they fail, till, to its autumn brought,
Life's golden fruit is shed.

LONGFELLOW.

CAROL FOR MAY-DAY.

UEEN of fresh flowers,

Whom vernal stars obey,

Bring thy warm showers,

Bring thy genial ray.

In nature's greenest livery drest,
Descend on earth's expectant breast,

To earth and heaven a welcome guest,

Thou merry month of May!

Mark how we meet thee

At dawn of dewy day!
Hark! how we greet thee
With our roundelay!

Snowdrops.

While all the good things that be
In earth, and air, and ample sea,
Are waking up to welcome thee,
Thou merry month of May!

Flocks on the mountains,

And birds upon their spray,

Tree, turf, and fountains,

All hold holiday;

And love, the life of living things,

Love waves his torch, love claps his wings,

And loud and wide thy praises sings,

Thou merry month of May !

229

HEBER.

ON MAY MORNING.

OW the bright morning star, day's harbinger,
Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her
The flow'ry May, who from her green lap throws

The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose.

Hail, beauteous May, that doth inspire Mirth and youth and warm desire! Woods and groves are of thy dressing, Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing. Thus we salute thee with our early song, And welcome thee, and wish thee long.

m

MILTON.

SNOWDROPS.

Y snowdrops, oh my snowdrops!

How gaily, every spring,
They covered all our mossy banks
With many a fairy ring;

How delicately beautiful

Their little blossoms were, Like tiny spirits hovering

Upon the chilly air.

My snowdrops, oh my snowdrops!
I shall never, without pain,
See your little fragile blossoms
In the early spring again :
For my only one, my loved one,
A fragile thing like you,
Both came to me, and left me

In the spring as snowdrops do.

Like the crimson light of sunset
Streaming through a wreath of snow,
So soft upon her pallid cheek,
The hectic fever's glow.

As fading snowdrops gently sink
Upon the cold earth's breast,
So gently sank my holy child

To her eternal rest.

My only one, my loved one!
I shall see her yet again,
When I too am transplanted

From this world of grief and pain.

Her snowdrops, oh! her snowdrops,
Shall be ever dear to me;

I will cherish them as emblems

Of her immortality.

DOVE ON THE CROSS.

To the Daisy.

231

TO THE DAISY.

ITH little here to do or see

Of things that in the great world be,
Sweet daisy! oft I talk to thee,
For thou art worthy:

Thou unassuming common-place
Of nature, with that homely face,
And yet with something of a grace,
Which love makes for thee!

Oft do I sit by thee at ease,

And weave a web of similes,

Loose types of things through all degrees,
Thoughts of thy raising:

And many a fond and idle name
I give to thee, for praise or blame,
As is the humour of the game,
While I am gazing.

A nun demure, of lowly port;
Or sprightly maiden of love's court,
In thy simplicity the sport

Of all temptations;

A queen in crown of rubies dressed;

A starveling in a scanty vest;
Are all, as seem to suit thee best,
Thy appellations.

A little Cyclops, with one eye
Staring to threaten and defy-

That thought comes next; and instantly
The freak is over.

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