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Look all around thee! How the Spring advances !
New life is playing through the gay, green trees;
See how, in yonder bower, the light leaf dances
To the bird's tread, and to the quivering breeze!
How every blossom in the sunlight glances!
The winter-frost to his dark cavern flees,
And earth, warm, wakened, feels through every vein
The kindling influence of the vernal rain.

Now silvery streamlets, from the mountain stealing,
Dance joyously the verdant vales along;
Cold fear no more the songster's tongue is sealing;
Down in the thick, dark grove is heard his song;
And, all their bright and lovely hues revealing,

A thousand plants the field and forest throng;
Light comes upon the earth in radiant showers,
And mingling rainbows play among the flowers.
From the German of Tieck.


GENTLE Spring, in sunshine clad,

Well dost thou thy power display!
For Winter maketh the light heart sad,
And thou-thou makest the sad heart gay.
He sees thee, and calls to his gloomy train,

The sleet, and the snow, and the wind, and the rain;
And they shrink away, and they flee in fear,
When thy merry step draws near.

Winter giveth the fields, and the trees so old,
Their beards of icicles and snow;

And the rain, it raineth so fast and cold,
We must cower over the embers low,
And, snugly housed from the wind and weather,
Mope like birds that are changing feather.
But the storm retires, and the sky grows clear,
When thy merry step draws near.



HAIL! blushing goddess-beauteous Spring!
Who in thy jocund train dost bring
Smiles and graces, laughing hours,
Balmy breezes, fragrant flowers;
Come, with tints of roseate hue,
Nature's faded charms renew.


THE infant year with infant freak,
Intent to dazzle and surprise,
Played with us long at hide and seek ;
Turned on us now, now veiled our eyes.
Between the pines for ever green,

And boughs by April half attired,
She glanced; then sang, once more unseen,
"The unbeheld is more desired."

With footstep vague, and hard to trace,
She crept from whitening bower to bower;
Now bent from heaven her golden face,
Now veiled her radiance in a shower.

Like genial hopes and thoughts devout,
That touch some sceptic soul forlorn,
And herald clearer faith, and rout

The night, and antedate the morn,
Her gifts! But thou, all beauteous May,
Art come at last! Oh! with thee bring
Hearts pure as thine with thee to play,
And own the consummated Spring.

To hands by deeds unblest defiled,
In vain the whiteness of thy thorn;

Proud souls, where lurks no more the child,
For them thy violet is unborn.

For breasts that know nor joy nor hope,
Thy songstress sings an idle strain ;
Thy golden-domed laburnums drop
O'er loveless hearts their bowers in vain.

Aubrey De Vere.


SPRING-TIME is coming, all laden with flowers,
Spreading her mantle of green o'er the bowers.
The lark, high in air, is beginning to sing
Her song of rejoicing to welcome the Spring.
Brooks are flowing, life bestowing;
Lovely Nature seems to fling

All her charms, with willing arms,
In the lap of blooming Spring.



WHEN 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 of the sky, o'er-reaching far,
Is hollowed out, and the moon dips her horn,
And twinkles many a star.



IT is May! it is May!
And all the earth is gay,

For at last old Winter is quite away:
He lingered a while in his cloak of snow,
To see the delicate primrose grow,

He saw it, and made no longer stay-
And now it is May! it is May!

It is May! it is May!

And we bless the day

When we first delightfully so can say.

April had beams amid her showers,

Yet bare were her gardens, and cold her bowers; And her frown would blight, and her smile


But now it is May! it is May!

It is May! it is May!
And the slenderest spray


up a few leaves to the ripening ray : And the birds sing fearlessly out on high, For there is not a cloud in the calm blue sky, And the villagers join in their roundelayFor, O! it is May! it is May!

It is May! it is May!

And the flowers obey

The beams which alone are more bright than they :

Up they spring at the touch of the sun,

And opening their sweet eyes, one by one;

In a language of beauty they seem all to say-
And now it is May! it is May!


Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger,
Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her
The flowery May, who from her green lap throws
The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose.
Hail, bounteous May! that dost 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!



Ir is a lovely eve. Meek Twilight now
Begins her gentle but too short-lived reign.
The evening star glows in her radiant brow;
The painted clouds, slow rising from the west,
Her robes of state; her golden sandals press
The verge of heaven. It is a lovely eve.
How different from the morn, so lately seen!
Then all was life, and joy, and melody.
The sportive birds sang to the rising dawn,
And to the quickened sense the perfumed air
Seemed doubly fragrant, while the dewy grass
Glittered like Fancy's fairy-work ;-the sun
Looked on it longer, and the tints so brave,
Like the gay dreams of youth, dissolved in air.
Now all is calm and still. No more the groves
Echo the songsters' cheerful, various music.
Nought breaks the silence but the frog's rude croak
Discordant, jarring from the distant pool.
Yet say, is not such contemplative hour,

When all around breathes peace, more dear to thee
Than all the transient splendours of the morn?

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