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SPRING AND WINTER.

daisies pied, and violets blue,
And lady-smocks all silver-white,
And cuckoo-bnds of yellow hue,
Do paint the meadows with delight,
The cuckoo then, on every tree,
Mocks married men, for thus sings he,
Cuckoo;

Cuckoo, cuckoo, — O word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married earl

When shepherds pipe on oaten straws,
And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks,

When turtles tread, and rooks, and claws,
And maidens bleach their sumnrer smocks,

The cuckoo then, on every tree,

Mocks married men, for thus sings he,
Cuckoo;

Cuckoo, cuckoo, —O word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married earl

When icicles hang by the wall,

And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, And Tom bears logs into the hall,

And milk comes frozen home in pail.
When blood is nipped, and ways be foul.
Then nightly sings the staring owl,

To-who;
Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

When all around the wind doth blow,

And coughiug drowns the parson's saw, And birds sit brooding in the snow,

And Marian's nose looks red and raw,
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl,
Then nightly sings the staring-owl,

To-who;
Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

William Suakespeare.

MARCH.

|HE stormy March is come at last,

With wind, and cloud, and changing skies; I hear the rushing of the blast, That through the snowy valley flies.

Ah, passing few are they who speak,
Wild, stormy month! in praise of thee;

Yet though thy winds are loud and bleak,
Thou art a welcome month to me.

For thou, to Northern lands, again
The glad and glorious sun dost bring,

And thou hast joined the gentle train
And wear'st the gentle name of Spring.

And in thy reign of blast and storm,
Smiles many a long, bright sunny day,

When the changed winds arc soft and warm,
And heaven puts on the blue of May.

Then sing aloud the gushing rills

In joy that they again arc free, And, brightly leaping down the hills,

Ilenew their journey to the sea.

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Stately Spring! whose robe-folds are valleys, whose breast-bouquet is gardens, anil whose blush is a vernal evening.

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Thou art round me now in all thy hues, I see thy forms o'er the parting earth,
Thy robe of green, and thy scented sweets, In the tender shoots of the grassy blade,

In thy bursting buds, in thy blessing dews, In the thousand plants that spring to birth,
In every form that my footstep meets. On the valley's side in the home of shade.

I feel thy promise in all my veins, There are life and joy in thy coming, Spring!

They bound with a feeling long suppressed, Thou hast no tidings of gloom and death:

And, like a captive who breaks his chains, But buds thou shakest from every wing,

Leap the glad hopes in my heaving breast. And sweets thou breathest with every breath.

William Gilmore Simms.

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COME from haunts of coot and hern: By thirty hills I hurry down,
I make a sudden sally Or slip between the ridges,

And sparkle out among the fern, By twenty thorps, a little town.
To bicker down a valley. And half a hundred bridges.

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