Perpetual Spring.

Anonymous.

OW may they greet thee at thy coming, Spring,

How

From whom the spring of life has passed away? And how can they thy joyous season sing,

Who find in thee no semblance to their day? Earth has awakened from a dreamless sleep,

All youth, and smiles, and hope. She has forgot There was a time when she had cause to weep;

The sun did her forsake, and love her not;

And she was cold, and could not soothe her children's pain; All is forgotten now, for she is young again.

The flowers are now as fresh as on that day

When God said, "Let the earth bring forth her grass;"

And all at once, beneath the heaven's young ray,
Clothed was the naked and unsightly mass.

Upon the meadow spread a sheet of green;
Fast grew the woods upon the wavy hills;
And curtaining the rock the vine was seen;

Lilies and flags appeared beside the rills;
Shrubs sprung, and little flowers opened every where,
And all did start at once to life and wonder there.

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Ages and

ANONYMOUS.

ages have rolled on since then,

And Earth each year hath oped her eyes anew, As fresh and fair; her charms admiring men

Have sung; the skies displayed their freshened blue.

But human life no second spring can know;

Brown locks grow white, and fall like Autumn leaves, But with no second spring again they grow;

To see the withered hand and neck one grieves;
The graceful curved lines of youth do fall away,
The polished skin is seamed, the eye hath lost its ray.

But yet, kind Spring, for me thou bloomest still,
And to my heart thou whisperest sweet things;

I never hear the gurgling of a rill,

When from the ice broke loose it leaps and sings, But that my spirit bounds; whene'er I see

The dark brown mountain brightening into green, The emerald fields of wheat, the bud-tipped tree,

I feel for all Spring wears her lovely mien.

Then wherefore should we grieve for altered looks, if still Thought can our minds with beauty, hope, and pleasure fill.

April.

APRIL hath come on;

Anonymous.

And the cool winds feel softer, and the rain Falls in the beaded drops of Summer time. You may hear birds at morning and at eve: The tame dove lingers till the twilight falls, Cooing upon the eaves, and drawing in His beautiful bright neck; and from the hills A murmur like the hoarseness of the sea Tells the release of waters; and the earth Sends up a pleasant smell, and the dry leaves Are lifted by the grass; and so I know That nature, with her delicate ear, hath heard The dropping of the velvet foot of Spring.

To a Tuft of Early Violets.

George Canning.

WEET flowers! that from your humble beds

SWEET

Thus prematurely dare to rise

And trust your unprotected heads

To cold Aquarius' watery skies;

Retire, retire these tepid airs

Are not the genial brood of May; That sun with light malignant glares, And flatters only to betray.

Stern Winter's reign is not yet past—
Lo! while your buds prepare to blow,

On icy pinions comes the blast,

And nips your root, and lays you low.

Alas! for such ungentle doom!

But I will shield you, and supply A kindlier soil on which to bloom, A nobler bed on which to die.

то A TUFT OF EARLY VIOLETS.

Come then, ere yet the morning ray

Has drunk the dew that gems your crest, And drawn your balmiest sweets away;

O come, and grace my Anna's breast.

Ye droop, fond flowers, but did ye know

What worth, what goodness there reside,
Your cups with loveliest tints would glow,
And spread their leaves with conscious pride,

For there has liberal nature joined
Her riches to the stores of art,
And added to the vigorous mind

The soft, the sympathizing heart.

Come then, ere yet the morning ray

Has drunk the dew that gems your breast,

And drawn your balmiest sweets away;

Oh come,

and grace my Anna's breast.

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