IN SPRING.

WEET primrose-time! when thou art here
I go by grassy ledges

Of long lane-side, and pasture-mead,
And moss-entangled hedges:

And all about her army gay

The primrose weather musters, In single knots, and scatter'd files, And constellated clusters.

And golden-headed children go
Among the golden blossoms,
And harvest a whole meadow's wealth,
Heap'd on their dainty bosoms.

Ah! play your play, sweet little ones,
Whose life is gladness only:

Nor ask an equal mirth from hearts

Which, e'en with you, are lonely..

God to His flowers His flowers gives,
Pure happiness uncloying:

Whilst they, whose primrose time is past,

Enjoy in your enjoying.

FRANCIS TURNER PALGRAVE.

L

HE year's at the spring,
And day's at the morn;
Morning's at seven ;

The hill-side's dew-pearled ;

The lark's on the wing;

The snail's on the thorn;
God's in His heaven-

All's right with the world.

ROBERT BROWNING.

T was in the prime

Of the sweet Spring-time.

In the linnet's throat

Trembled the love-note;

And the love-stirred air

Thrilled the blossoms there.

Little shadows danced

Each a tiny elf,
Happy in large light

And the thinnest self.

It was but a minute

In a far-off Spring,

But each gentle thing,

Sweetly-wooing linnet,

Soft-thrilled hawthorn tree,
Happy shadowy elf

With the thinnest self,

Live still on in me.

Oh the sweet, sweet prime

Of the past Spring-time.

GEORGE ELIOT.

A GLEE FOR WINTER.

I.

ENCE, rude Winter! crabbed old fellow,

Never merry, never mellow!

Well-a-day in rain and snow

What will keep one's heart aglow ?

Groups of kinsmen, old and young,
Oldest they old friends among!
Groups of friends, so old and true,
That they seem our kinsmen too!
These all merry all together,

Charm away chill Winter weather!

II.

What will kill this dull old fellow?
Ale that's bright, and wine that's mellow!
Dear old songs for ever new;

Sometimes love, and laughter too;

Pleasant wit, and harmless fun,

And a dance when day is done!