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POEMS, TALES, AND SONGS.
SONG OF THE SNOWDROP.
It cannot be long to the season of song,
For have we not heard the voice of the bird-
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,
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,
As fair as the star of morn,
The marvel of grace, of the vernal race,
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
Not long to the cheerful Spring.
JUNE, the lady of the land;
Of the angels of delight!—
Proud? Why that who ever thought her!
No, this we may
With pleasure say, There's not a spark of pride about her!
June, the lady of the year,
June, the joyful and the fair,
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,
Ridicule prepared to trample
'Listen, lady fair," said fashion,
Is the style I now supply!
Treat the taunt with high disdain,
Rapidly the robe was rounded
Rounded like the harvest moon;
Common sense exclaimed "Alarming!"
And her lively lady scholar
Put on bonnet, cape and collar,
But the vulgar boys said "Holler!
Here's another Guy!"
Home again. The fire was burning
There, alas! not long she linger'd
Now this said Discontentment, it appears,
It is deceitful, too, and cheats the world
Of course, to cry-to cry, of course, in vain!
Would you believe it now, that this said spirit Is so unused to thought, so strange to reason,
And so determined in unhappy teaching,
From the clear frosty round of sparkling night,
Say they are not the stars you took them for,
THE SONG OF THE SELDOM-CONTENTED.
THE Song of the seldom-contented,
"There's always some trouble or other,
What one thing, and then what another,
"If love like a dove ever lighteth,