Saw the windy moors rejoicing in their

tapestry of fern, And the stately weeds and rushes, that to

dusty dryness turn.

Autumn walked in glee and triumph, over

mountain, wood, and plain, And he look'd upon their richness as a king

on his domain; All too soon he waned and vanish'd over misty

heaths and meres, And the New Year stood beside me like a man

of fifty years.

IV. In the foggy cloud obscurely, entered Winter,

ashy pale, And his step was hard and heavy, and he

wore an icy mail; Blasting all the path before him, leapt a black

wind from the north, And from stinging drifts of sleet he forged the

arrows of his wrath.

Yet some beauty still was found, for when the

fogs had pass'd away, The wide lands came glittering forward in a

fresh and strange array; Naked trees had got snow foliage, soft, and

feathery, and bright,

And the earth look'd dress'd for heaven in its

spiritual white.

Black and cold as iron armor lay the frozen

lakes and streams, Round about the fenny plashes shone the long

and pointed gleams Of the tall reeds, ice encrusted; the old

hollies, jewel spread, Warm'd the white marmoreal chillness with

an ardency of red.

Upon desolate morasses stood the heron like a

ghost, Beneath the gliding shadows of the wild fowl's

noisy host; And the bittern clamor'd harshly from his

nest among the sedge, Where the indistinct dull moss had blurred

the rugged water's edge.

But the face of Winter soften’d, and his lips

broke into smiles, And his heart was fill'd with radiance as

from far enchanted isles ; For across the long horizon came a light upon

the wayThe light of Christmas fires, and the dawning

of new day.

And Winter moved not onward like the rest,

but made a stand, And he took the Spirit of Christmas, as a

brother, by the hand; And together tow'rd the heavens a great cry

of joy they sentAnd the New Year was the Old Year, and his

head was grey and bent.

Then another New Year enter'd, like another

dancing child, With his tresses as a glory, and his glances

bright and wild ; And he flash'd his odorous torch, and he

laugh'd out in the place, And his soul looked forth in joy, and made

a sunshine on his face.

Out from spire, and from turret, peal'd the

sudden New Year bells, Like the distant songs of angels in their

fields of asphodels; And that lustrous child went sparkling to his

aged father's side, And the New Year kissed the Old Year, and

the Old Year gently died.

SPRING BIRDS.

3. D. Wiffent. HARK to the merry gossip of the springThe sweet mysterious voice which peoples place With an Italian beauty, and does bring As 'twere Elysium from the wilds of space. Where'er her wing inhabits, give it chase; In other bowers the fairy shouts again; Where'er we run it mocks our rapid race Still the same loose note in a golden chain, Rings through the vocal woods and fills with

joy the plain.

Hail to the shouting cuckoo ! In my youth
Thou wert long time the Ariel of my hope,
The marvel of a summer! It did soothe,
To listen to thee on some sunny slope,
Where the high oaks forbade an ample scope,
Than of the blue skies upward—and to sit
Canopied in the gladdening horoscope
Which thou my planet flung-a pleasant fit,
Long time my hours endeared, my kindling

fancy smit.

And thus I love thee still-thy monotone-
The self-same transport flashes through my

frame;

And when thy voice, sweet sybil, all is flown.
My eager ear, I cannot choose bút blame.
Oh! may the world these feelings never tame !
If age o'er me her silvery tresses spread;
It still would call thee by a lover's name,
And deem the spirit of delight unfled,
Nor hear, though grey, without a heart to

nature dead.

THE PRIMROSE.

9. Clare. WELCOME, pale primrose, starting up between Dead matted leaves of ash and oak, which

strew The every lawn and wood and spinney thro', 'Mid creeping moss and ivy's darker green. How much thy presence beautifies the ground, How sweet thy modest unaffected pride Glows on the

siinny

bank and wood's warm side; And where thy fairy flowers in groups are

found, The school boy 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.