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The rivers ran low through the failure of

snow, Yet their banks it seemed never stood

firmer; But they longed for the rains which the

spring should bestow, That again they might babble and murmur,

And the Queen of the Season, so ill did

she feel, She again took to bed in pure sorrow:: But the sun has been called in, her sickness

to heal, And we hope she'll be better to morrow.

ADDRESS TO SPRING.

WILSON.

Ou! gracious powerl for thy beloved approach
The expecting earth lay wrapt in kindling smiles,
Struggling with tears, and often overcome.
A blessing sent before thee from the heavens,
A balmy spirit breathing tenderness,
* Prepared thy way, and all created things
Felt that the angel of delight was near.
Thou cam'st at last, and such a heavenly smile
Shone round thee, as beseemed the eldest-born
Of nature's guardian spirits. The great suo
Scattering the clouds with a resistless smile,
Came forth to do thee homage; a sweet hyma
Was by the low winds chaunted in the sky;
And when thy feet descended on the earth,
Scarce could they move among the clustering flowers,
By nature strewn o'er valley, hill, and field,
To hail ber blest deliverer ! Ye fair trees,
How are ye changed, and changing while I gaze!
It seems as if some gleam of verdant light
Fell on you from a rainbow ; but it lives
Amid your tendrils, brightening every hour
Into a deeper radiance. Ye sweet birds
Were you asleep through all the wintry hours,
Beneath the waters, or io mossy caves ?
There are, 'tis said, birds that pursue the spring,
Where'er she flies, or else in death-like sleep
Abide her annual reign, when forth they come
With freshen'd plumage, and enraptur'd song
As ye do now, unwearied choristers,
Till the land ring with joy. Yet are ye not,
Sporting in tree and air, more beautiful
Than the young lambs, that from the valley-side
Send a soft bleating like an infant's voice,
Half happy, half afraid ! O blessed things!
At sight of this your perfect innocence,
The sterner thoughts of manhood melt away
Tato a mood as mild as woman's dreams.

The strife of working intellect, the stir
Of hopes ambitions; the disturbing sound
Of fame, and all that worshipp'd pageantry
That ardent spirits burn for in their pride,
Fly like disparting clouds, and leave the soul
Pure, and serene as the blue depths of heaven.

DESCRIPTION OF SPRING. While on the elm-tree, overshadlowing deep

The low-roofed cottage white, the blackbird ANON.

sits, Oh! bow delightful to the soul of man, Cheerfully hymning the awakened year. How like a renovating spirit, comes, Fanning his cheek, the breath of infant Turn to the OCEAN, how the scene is SPRING!

changed ! Morning awakens in the orient sky Behold the small waves melt upon the shore With purpler light beneath a canopy

With chastened murmur! Buoyantly on high, Of lovely clouds, their edges tipp'd with The sea-gulls ride, weaving a sportive dance, gold ;

And turning to the sun their snowy plomes. And from his palace, like a deity,

With shrilly pipe, from headland or from Darting his lustrous eyes from pole to pole, cape, The glorious Sun comes forth the vernal Emerge the line of plovers, o'er the sands sky

Fast sweeping; while to inland marsh the To walk rejoicing. To the bitter North

hern Retire wild Winter's forces,-cruel winds,- With undulating wing scarce visible, And griping frosts,--and magazines of snow, Far up the azure concave journies on ! And deluging tempests. O'er the moistened | Upon the sapphire deep, its sails unfurled, fields

Tardily glides along the fisher's boat, A tender green is spread; the bladed grass Its shadow moving o'er the moveless tide, Shoots forth exuberant; th’awakening trees, The bright wave flashes from the rower's oar Thawed by the delicate atmosphere, put forth Glittering in the sun, at measured intervals: Expanding buds; while with mellifluou And, casually borne, the fisher's voice throat,

Floats solemnly along the watery waste; The warm ebullience of internal joy, The shepherd boy, enveloped in his plaid, The birds put forth a song of gratitude On the green bank, with blooming furze To Him who sheltered, when the storms o'er-topped, were deep,

Listens and answers with responsive note. And fed them through the winter's cheerless

glooin.

A SPRING THOUGHT.

Beside the garden path, the crocus now
Puts forth its head to woo the genial breeze,
And finds the snow-drop, hardier visitant,
Already basking in the solar ray.
Upon the brook the water cresses float
More greenly, and the bordering reeds exalt
Higher their speary summits. Joyously
From stone to stone, the ouzel flits along,
Startling the linnet from the hawthorn

bough;

BARTON

The glad birds are singing,

The gay flow'rets springing
O'er meadow, and mountain, and down in

the vale,

The green leaves are barsting;

While every sigh that Zephyr beaves, My spirit is thirsting

Sprinkles the dew-drops round my head. To bask in the sun-beams, and breathe the fresh gale.

The yellow moss in scaly rings,

Creeps round the hawthorn's prickly bough: Sweet season appealing

The speckled linnet pecks and sings, To fancy and feeling;

While snowy blossoms round her blow. Be thy advent the emblem of all I would crave,

The gales sing softly through the trees, Or light more than vernal,

Whose boughs in green waves heave and The day-spring eternal

swell; Which shall dawu on the dark wintry-night The azare violet scents the breeze of the grave.

Which shakes the yellow crow-luot's bell.

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'Tis summer, 'tis summer, the wild birds are singing,
The woods and the glens with their sweet notes are ringing;

The skies are all glowing with crimson and gold,
And the trees their bright blossoms begin to unfold.
The cashat is breathing bis murmurs of love
The stars are adorning the blue skies above,
While the moon in her beauty is shining on high,
And soothing thie heart, while she pleases the eye.

'Tis summer, 'tis summer,--aud winter no more
Is heard in the winds, or the ocean's wild roar;
But so calm are the waves over all the great deep,
That their marmurs might lull a young infant to sleep.
The streamlets are gliding all lovely and calm-
And the zephyrs come laden with fragrance and balm ;
Then, oh ! let us buw to the merciful Power,
Who lives in the sunbeam, the tree, and the flower,
Who stills the wild tempest, and bids the vast sea
Unraffled and calm as a placid lake be-
Let us bow to that God, who gave Summer its birth,
Aud who scatters bis treasures all over the earth.

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