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TIIE PRIMROSE.

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THE PRIMROS E.

WELCOME, pale primrose! starting up between

Dead matted leaves of ash and oak, that strew

The every lawn, the wood, and spinny through, ’Mid creeping moss and ivy's darker green ;)

How much thy presence beautifies the ground,
How sweet thy modest, unaffected pride,
Glows on the sunny bank, and wood's warm side.

And when thy fairy flowers in groups are found, The schoolboy roams enchantedly along,

Plucking the fairest with a rude delight; While the meek shepherd stops his simple song,

To gaze a moment on the pleasing sight; O'erjoyed to see the flowers that truly bring The welcome news of sweet returning Spring.

CLARE.

5

A TRIBUTE TO MAY.

(FROM THE GERMAN OF CONRAD OF KIRCHBERG.)

May, sweet May, again is come, –
May that frees the land from gloom;
Children, children! up and see
All her stores of jollity.
On the laughing hedgerow's side
She hath spread her treasures wide ;
She is in the greenwood shade,
Where the nightingale hath made
Every branch and every tree
Ring with her sweet melody:
Hill and dale are May's own treasures,
Youths, rejoice! In sportive measures

Sing ye! join the chorus gay !

Hail this merry, merry May!
Up! then, children! we will go,
Where the blooming roses grow;
In a joyful company,
We the bursting flowers will see ;
Up, your festal dress prepare !
Where gay hearts are meeting, there

THE WOODLAND IN SPRING.

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May hath pleasures most inviting,
Heart, and sight, and ear, delighting.
Listen to the bird's sweet song,
Hark! how soft it floats along.
Courtly dames ! our pleasure share;
Never saw I May so fair :
Therefore, dancing will we go,
Youths, rejoice! the flow'rets blow!

Sing ye! join the chorus gay!
Hail this merry, merry May!

Roscoe.

THE WOODLAND IN SPRING.

E’en in the spring and play-time of the year,
That calls th' unwonted villager abroad
With all her little ones, a sportive train,
To gather kingcups in the yellow mead,
And prink their hair with daisies, or to pick
A cheap but wholesome salad from the brook :
These shades are all my own. The timorous hare,

,
Grown so familiar with her frequent guest,
Scarce shuns me; and the stock-dove, unalarmed,
Sits cooing in the pine-tree, nor suspends

His long love-ditty for my near approach.
Drawn from his refuge in some lonely elm,
That age or injury has hollowed deep,
Where, on his bed of wool and matted leaves,
He has outslept the winter, ventures forth

To frisk awhile, and bask in the warm sun,
(The squirrel, flippant, pert, and full of play ;
He sees me, and at once, swift as a bird,
Ascends the neighboring beech; there whisks his

brush,
And perks his ears, and stamps and cries aloud,
With all the prettiness of feigned alarm,
And anger insignificantly fierce.

CowPER.

BREATHINGS OF SPRING.

WHAT wakest thou, Spring ? Sweet voices in the

woods, And reed-like cchoes, that have long been mute; Thou bringest back, to fill the solitudes, The lark’s clear pipe, the cuckoo's viewless flute, Whose tone seems breathing mournfulness or glee,

E'en as our hearts may bed

BREATHINGS OF SPRING.

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And the leaves greet thee, Spring!--the joyous

leaves, Whose tremblings gladden many a copse and glade, Where each young spray a rosy flush receives,) When thy south wind hath pierced the whispery

shade, And happy murmurs, running through the grass,

Tell that thy footsteps pass.

( And the bright waters—they too hear thy call,

Spring, the awakener! thou hast burst their sleep!
Amidst the hollows of the rocks their fall
Makes melody, and in the forests deep,
Where sudden sparkles and blue gleams betray

Their windings to the day.)

And flowers–the fairy-peopled world of flowers !
Thou from the dust hast set that glory free,
Coloring the cowslip with the sunny hours,
And pencilling the wood anemone:
Silent they seem—yet each to thoughtful eye

Glows with mute poesy.

But what awakest thou in the heart, O Spring !
The human heart, with all its dreams and sighs ?

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