And forest bees are humming near, And cowslips in boys' hats appear, And maids do wear the meadow's bloom, We then may say the May is come. CLARE. SPRING MORNING. COME hither, come hither, and view the face Mounts the lark, on the wings of her rapture driven; On the sky there is not a speck of cloud: Come hither, come hither, and guess with me, SABBATH MORNING. 49 Or bends its neck down with a stretch, With sticks and straws, to their woodland home. MOIR. SABBATH MORNING. How still the morning of the hallowed day! The plough-boy's whistle, and the milk-maid's song. To him who wanders o'er the upland leas, The blackbird's note comes mellower from the dale; GRAHAME THE WONDERS OF THE LANE. STRONG climber of the mountain's side, Yet walk with me where hawthorns hide The wonders of the lane. High o'er the rushy springs of Don The stormy gloom is rolled; His purple, green, and gold. But here the titling spreads his wing, And here the sunflower of the Spring Burns bright in morning's beam. |