WHEN the warm sun, that brings
Seed-time and harvest, has returned again,

'Tis sweet to visit the still wood, where

springs

The first flower of the plain.

I love the season well,

When forest glades are teeming with brigh

forms,

Nor dark and many-folded clouds foretell
The coming-on of storms.

From the earth's loosened mould The sapling draws its sustenance, and thrives; Though stricken to the heart with winter's

cold,

The drooping tree revives.

The softly-warbled song

Comes from the pleasant woods, and colored

wings

Glance quick in the bright sun, that moves

along

The forest openings.

When the bright sunset fills

The silver woods with light, the green slope

throws

Its shadows in the hollows of the hills,

And wide the upland glows.

And, when the eve is born,

In the blue lake the sky, o'er-reaching far,

Is hollowed out, and the moon dips her horn, And twinkles many a star

Inverted in the tide,

Stand the gray rocks, and trembling shadows throw,

And the fair trees look over, side by side,
And see themselves below.

Sweet April!-many a thought

Is wedded unto thee, as hearts are wed;

49

Nor shall they fail, till, to its autumn brought, Life's golden fruit is shed.

WITH What a glory comes and goes the year!
The buds of spring, those beautiful harbingers
Of sunny skies and cloudless times, enjoy
Life's newness, and eartn's garniture spread
out;

And when the silver habit of the clouds

Comes down upon the autumn sun, and with
A sober gladness the old year takes up
His bright inheritance of golden fruits,

A

pomp and pageant fill the splendid scene.

There is a beautiful spirit breathing now Its mellow richness on the clustered trees, And, from a beaker full of richest dyes,