Death darkens his eye, and unplumes his wings,
Yet the sweetest song is the last he sings.

Live so, my love, that when death shall come,
Swan-like and sweet, it may waft thee home.
G. W. Doane.

PRIMROSES.

WE come to gladden heavy eyes,

We are the earliest of "Spring-cries ;"
The needle-girl her door uncloses,
When in the street she hears "Primroses;
Come buy my pretty primroses."

The invalid beside the fire

Knows that the sunny days are nigher,
That he has pass'd the wintry gloom,
When that cry's ringing through his room :
"Come buy my pretty primroses."

Old Age smiles when our flowers are bought,
They call back many a pleasant thought;
Memories of far-distant Springs,

That cheerful sound for ever brings :

"Come buy my pretty primroses."

Memories of pleasant places,

Memories of happy faces,

Whose smiles were like sweet sunny weather,

When we all were young together.

"Come buy my pretty primroses."

In the pleasant paths of Spring
Where we grow the skylarks sing,
And as they soar to Heaven's gate,
Seem singing to their speckled mate,

"Come buy my pretty primroses."

Blackthorns blossom where we grow,
Beside us early violets blow,

And the lambs, with pleasant bleating,
Seem to give a welcome greeting-

"Come buy my pretty primroses."

Summer, crowned with all her roses,
Cheers not like our "sweet primroses,"
For we to courts and alleys bring
With us that pleasant cry of Spring,
"Come buy my sweet primroses."

ALONE IN THE DARK.
SHE has taken out the candle,
She has left me in the dark;
From the window not a glimmer,
From the fireplace not a spark.

I am frightened as I'm lying
All alone here in my bed,

And I've wrapped the clothes as closely
As I can around my head.

There are birds out on the bushes,
In the meadow lies the lamb;
How I wonder if they're ever
Half as frightened as I am ;

If they shake like me, and shiver
When they happen to awake,
With the dark sky all around them,
Ere the day begins to break.

But what is it makes me tremble?

And why should I fear the gloom?

I am certain there is nothing

In the corners of the room.

When the candle burned so brightly,
I could see them every one;
Are they changed to something fearful,
Only just because it's gone?

Though I speak, and no one answers,
In the quiet of the night,

Though I look, and through the blackness
Cannot see one gleam of light;

Still I know there's One who seeth
In the night as in the day,
For to Him the darkness dreary
Is as bright as noontide ray.

And perhaps while I am trying
How my foolish face to hide,
There is one of His good angels
Standing watching at my side.

Then I'll turn and sleep more soundly,
When one little prayer I've prayed;
For there's nothing in the darkness
That should make a child afraid.

THE BUTTERFLY.

WHAT a long way

I go in a day;

When I set out to take my pleasure,
I fly a distance you could not measure,
Over flowery valleys and tree-clad hills,
And I hear the murmur of silver rills,
That sing at noon

In the month of June,

When Summer-roses are in full bloom,

And flowers light up the forest's deep gloom.

With folded wing,

I stand and swing

On the sweetest and daintiest buds that blow;
I look in the water that lies below,

And see my form in the mirror lie,

The trees upturned, and the deep blue sky.
Awhile I look

At myself in the brook,

Then to some companion I hurry away,
And for an hour we round each other play.

The dragon-fly,

With his large eye,

Gives me a nod as I hurry along;

Then the sweet-peas I rush among;

And when they're in flower you cannot tell me,
As I shut up my wings, from the bloom of the pea.
On the painted Lady,

So cool and shady,

While she weds the pea-rods with many a ring,
I stand and look round me while I swing.

Away I fly

Where the roses lie,

And on the choicest of blossoms alight,
For the richest flowers are mine by right.
On the finest bouquet that's borne by a queen,
Before they graced her fair hand I have been ;
Plunged into each bell,

Had the first sweet smell,

And flew with it hanging about me for hours,
Till I bathed in the perfume of fresher flowers.

You wonder why

In jerks I fly,

Why I take such a zig-zag flight,

From right to left, from left to right,
And back again so quick, I defy

You to catch the motion with a sharp eye:
"Tis the birds on the watch,

Who would me catch,

And be very happy to make me their prey
If I didn't turn sharp and get out of their way.

So I

pass

They know my trick

Of turning quick,

them with a "How do you do?”

They snap their sharp beaks and say, "Oh, that's you!"
Sometimes they come near and make me quake,

But in vain they try the same angles to take.
They turn here,

And I'm off there;

They turn to the right, and I'm out of sight;
Make a dart to the left, I'm off to the right.

Oh, what a way

I fly in a day,

Over miles and miles of outstretched flowers,
Where the fingers of Summer weave green bowers;
Where the winds come every way,

Bringing the sweet perfume of May.

My eggs, you know,

Are laid row by row,

And in regular order so neat and clean,

And so close that you can't get a pin's point between.

Thomas Miller.