THE VOICE OF SPRING.

I AM coming, little maiden,
With the pleasant sunshine laden;
With the honey for the bee;
With the blossom for the tree;
With the flower and with the leaf:
Till I come the time is brief.

I am coming, I am coming;
Hark, the little bee is humming;
See, the lark is soaring high
In the bright and sunny sky;
And the gnats are on the wing:
Little maiden, now is Spring!
See the yellow catkins cover
All the slender willows over;
And on mossy banks so green
Starlike primroses are seen;
Every little stream is bright,
All the orchard-trees are white.

Hark, the little lambs are bleating;
And the cawing rooks are meeting
In the elms, a noisy crowd;
And all birds are singing loud;
And the first white butterfly
In the sun goes flitting by.

Turn thy eyes to earth and heaven :
God for thee the Spring has given;
Taught the birds their melodies,
Clothed the earth and clear'd the skies,
For thy pleasure or thy food:
Pour thy soul in gratitude.

Mary Howitt.

BIRDS of air, whate'er ye be,
Troop away, and fly from me;
Big and little, one and all,
Hear me whoop and hear me bawl.
Business here you can have none;
So get you gone, so get you gone:

I command you,
Halloo, halloo !

Crows with coats so black and bright,
Woe to you if here you light!
Tell me not you come for worms;
Other fields will serve your turns,
If it is for them you look;

So off, both carrion and rook:

I command you,
Halloo, halloo !

Blackbirds all, and brown-coat thrushes,
Sing your songs in other bushes;
You are sweeter far to hear
At a distance than so near;

So don't be troublesome, but scatter

Where the grubs are more and fatter:

I command you,

Halloo, halloo !

Larks that sing so loud and high,
Stay there up in the blue sky;
Robins, linnets, yellow-hammers,
Moderate eaters and great crammers,
Old and young birds, beaux and belles,
Hold your gatherings somewhere else:
I command you,
Halloo, halloo !

Partridges and pheasants too,
There's no victuals here for you;
I'm ashamed of such encroaching,
You that talk so much of poaching.
Never call men ugly words
Till yourselves are honest birds:

I command you,

Halloo, halloo !

So, birds, I say, whate'er ye be,
Troop away and fly from me:
Big and little, one and all,

Hear me whoop, and hear me bawl.
Business here you can have none;
So get you gone, so get you gone:

I command you,
Halloo, halloo !

THE FIRST GRIEF.

"O, CALL my brother back to me,
I cannot play alone;

The Summer comes with flower and bee-
Where is my brother gone?

The butterfly is glancing bright
Across the sunbeam's track;

I care not now to chase its flight-
0, call my brother back.

The flowers run wild,—the flowers we sowed, Around our garden-tree;

Our vine is drooping with its load

O, call him back to me."

"He would not hear my voice, fair child; He may not come to thee:

The face that once like Spring-time smiled,
On earth no more thou 'lt see.

A rose's short bright life of joy,
Such unto him was given;
Go, thou must play alone, my boy
Thy brother is in heaven!"

"And has he left the birds and flowers,

And must I call in vain?

And through the long, long summer hours,
Will he not come again?

And by the brook, and in the glade,
Are all our wanderings o'er?
O, while my brother with me play'd,

Would I had loved him more!"

Mrs. Hemans.

THE days are cold, the nights are long,
The north wind sings a doleful song;
Then hush again upon my breast,
All merry things are now at rest

Save thee, my pretty love.

The kitten sleeps upon the hearth,
The crickets long have ceased their mirth;
There's nothing stirring in the house,
Save one wee hungry nibbling mouse:
Then why so busy thou?

D