SPRING.

The Spring

When proud-pied April dressed in all his trim,
Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing.

SHAKSPEARE.

Winter's wrath begins to quell,

And pleasaunt spring appeareth:
The grasse now ginnes to be refresht,
The swallowe peepes out of her nest,
And clowdie welkin cleareth.

SPENSER.

SPRING, AND SPRING FLOWERS.

-April with his showres sote,

The droughte of March hath pierced to the rote,
And bathed every veine in swiche licour,
Of whiche vertue engendred is the flour;
Whan Zephirus eke with his sote brethe
Enspired hath in every holt and hethe
The tendre croppes, and the yonge Sonne
Hath in the Ram his halfe course yronne,
And smale foules maken melodie
That slepen alle night with open eye.

Appear, appear!

And you, soft winds, so clear,

CHAUCER.

That dance upon the leaves, and make them sing

Gentle love-lays to the Spring,

Gilding all the vales below

With your verdure as ye blow;

Raise these forms from under ground,

With a soft and happy sound.

BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.

COME, thou beautiful blossoming Spring,

And to me thy loveliest flow'rets bring;-
Come! let their bright leaves encircle thy brow,
And wave 'midst thy glittering tresses now;

Oh, linger no more 'neath the fleecy veil
Flung o'er thee by Winter's congealing gale,
But gently breathe on the snowy shroud,
And 'twill vanish in tears like a summer cloud,

As grieved to see thee its whiteness excel

In the virgin hue of the snowdrop's bell.

Then gaze upon earth with thine azure eyes,

And bid their emblem, the violet, rise

On the green-wood bank, where the primrose pale
Looks up, to welcome the nightingale;

And the regal crocus, in purple and gold,
Bursts into life from its leafy fold.

Come -we are weary of wind and storm;
Gladden our hearts with thy fairy form;-
Paint the first daisy's "wee crimson tip,"
Like the roseate hue of a maiden's lip:
And blest childhood's darling, the buttercup,
With bright rays gild, as its flowers glance up;
Let the hyacinth wave in the scented breeze,
And the May-buds peep on the hawthorn trees,
And the orchards dress in their gayest gear,—
'Tis the holiday-time of the circling year:
And bid the birds sing on each branch and spray,
While the gay flowers dance in the genial ray.
Merry and glad will the bright earth be

When Winter retreats, and thou art free,

Floating around us on fragrant wing,

And gemmed with soft dew-drops-thou fair young Spring!