SONG OF SPRING.

Freely shouted to the woods, till all the echoes ring.

Send the children up

To the high hill's top,

Or deep into the wood's recesses,

To woo Spring's caresses.

See the birds together,

In this splendid weather,

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Worship God-(for he is God of birds as well as men):

And each feathered neighbor

Sparrow, robin, redpole, finch, the linnet, and the wren;

Enters on his labor

As the year advances,

Trees their naked branches

Clothe, and seek your pleasure in their green apparel.

Insect and wild beast

Keep no Lent, but feast;

Spring breathes upon the earth, and their

joy's increased,

And the rejoicing birds break forth in one loud carol.

Ah, come and woo the Spring;

List to the birds that sing;

Pluck the primroses; pluck the violets;

Pluck the daisies,

Sing their praises ;

Friendship with the flowers some noble thought begets.

Come forth and gather these sweet elves

(More witching are they than the fays of old),

Come forth and gather them yourselves;

Learn of these gentle flowers, whose worth is more, than

gold.

Come, come into the wood;
Pierce into the bowers
Of these gentle flowers,

Which not in solitude

Dwell, but with each other keep society:
And with a simple piety,

Are ready to be woven into garlands for the good.

Or, upon summer earth,

To die, in virgin worth;

Or to be strewn before the bride,

And the bridegroom, by her side.

Come forth on Sundays;

Come forth on Mondays;
Come forth on any day;

Children, come forth to play :

Worship the God of Nature in your childhood;

Worship Him at your tasks with best endeavor; Worship Him in your sports; worship Him ever; Worship Him in the wildwood;

Worship Him midst the flowers;
In the greenwood bowers;
Pluck the buttercups, and raise
Your voices in His praise!

Edward Youl.

SONG.

WHEN daisies pied, and violets blue,
And lady-smocks all silver white,
And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue,

TO DAFFODILS.

Do paint the meadows with delight, The cuckoo then, on every tree,

Mocks married men, for thus sings he:

Cuckoo;

Cuckoo, cuckoo, -O word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear!

When shepherds pipe on oaten straws,
And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks,
When turtles tread, and rooks and daws,
And maidens bleach their summer smocks,
The cuckoo then, on every tree,
Mocks married inen, for thus sings he :

Cuckoo;

Cuckoo, cuckoo, -O word of fear,

Unpleasing to a married ear!

William Shakspeare.

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TO DAFFODILS.

FAIR daffodils! we weep to see
You haste away so soon;
As yet the early-rising sun

Has not attained his noon:
Stay, stay

Until the hastening day
Has run

But to the even-song;

And, having prayed together, we
Will go with you along.

We have short time to stay as you;
We have as short a Spring;

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As quick a growth to meet decay,
As you, or any thing:

We die,

As your hours do; and dry
Away

Like to the summer's rain,
Or as the pearls of morning dew,
Ne'er to be found again.

Robert Herrick.

TO BLOSSOMS.

FAIR pledges of a fruitful tree,

Why do ye fall so fast?

Your date is not so past

But you may stay yet here awhile
To blush and gently smile,
And go at last.

What! were ye born to be

An hour or half's delight,
And so to bid good-night?
'Tis pity Nature brought ye forth.
Merely to show your worth,
And lose you quite.

But you are lovely leaves, where we
May read how soon things have
Their end, though ne'er so brave;
And, after they have shown their pride,
Like you, awhile, they glide

Into the grave.

Robert Herrick.

TO PRIMROSES.

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TO PRIMROSES,

FILLED WITH MORNING DEW.

WHY do ye weep, sweet babes? Can tears

Speak grief in you,

Who were but born

Just as the modest morn

Teemed her refreshing dew?

Alas! ye have not known that shower

That mars a flower;

Nor felt th' unkind

Breath of a blasting wind;

Nor are ye worn with years;
Or warped, as we,

Who think it strange to see
Such pretty flowers, like to orphans young,
Speaking by tears before ye have a tongue.

Speak, whimpering younglings, and make known
The reason why

Ye droop and weep.
Is it for want of sleep,

Or childish lullaby?

Or, that ye have not seen as yet
The violet?

Or brought a kiss

From that sweetheart to this?

No, no; this sorrow, shown
By your tears shed,

Would have this lecture read :-
"That things of greatest, so of meanest worth,
Conceived with grief are, and with tears brought forth.'

Robert Herrick.

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