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SONG OF THE SNOWDROP.
Ir cannot be long to the season of song,
For have we not heard the voice of the bird
The bird of the morning sing
And have we not seen, in its circle green,
A wonder of grace, of the vernal race,
At both ends of night, the scythe of the light
And clearing the scene for a realm serene,
For a wider realm of day.
Old Winter, we know, on a throne of snow,
But the snowdrops grow, and since it is so,
Oh! joy to have seen, in its circle green,
The marvel of grace, of the vernal race,
The beautiful snowdrop born!
And since we have heard the voice of the bird
The bird of the blue-realm sing,
It cannot be long to the season of song-
JUNE, the lady of the land;
June, the beautiful and bright,
Comes attended by a band
Of the angels of delight!—
No, this we may
June, the lady of the year,
June, the joyful and the fair, Bids the bells of gladness clear,
Ring out gloom and solemn care. Partial ?-What! To wealthy people?
Those cheerful swells
Of pleasant bells,
Proceed from no sectarian steeple.
June, the lady of the lands,
Robed with shining leaves and flowers, Sings aloud and claps her hands
To the music of the hours!
Proud!—nay, that we never thought her;
No, tho' the Queen
Of all the scene,
There's not a spark of pride about her!
THE SORROWS OF CRINOLINE;
OR, ANOTHER GUY," AND THE CATASTROPHE.
FASHION fond of French example,
Did a lively lady meet,
'Listen, lady fair," said fashion,
Is the style I now supply!
Rapidly the robe was rounded
Rounded like the harvest moon;
Common sense exclaimed "Alarming!"
Here's another Guy!"
Home again. The fire was burning
For its pleasant word of praise.
There, alas! not long she linger'd
Now this said Discontentment, it appears,
or sit down,
To walk in sulky sorrow
And so determined in unhappy teaching,
From the clear frosty round of sparkling night,
THE SONG OF THE SELDOM-CONTENTED.
THE Song of the seldom-contented,
"There's always some trouble or other,
"If love like a dove ever lighteth,