HORACE SMITH. THE FIRST OF MARCH. THE bud is in the bough, and the leaf is in the bud, The perfume and the bloom that shall decorate the flower, How awful is the thought of the wonders underground, The summer's in her ark, and this sunny-pinion'd day Say that floods and tempests cease, and the world is ripe for Spring. Thou hast fann'd the sleeping Earth till her dreams are all of flowers. The forest seems to listen for the rustle of its leaves, Thy vivifying spell has been felt beneath the wave, The cattle lift their voices from the valleys and the hills, DARLEY. HARVEST HOME. Down the dimpled green-sward dancing Rows of liquid eyes in laughter, How they glimmer, how they quiver! Sparkling one another after, Like bright ripples on a river. Tipsy band of rubious faces, Flushed with joy's ethereal spirit, PRAED. CHILDHOOD AND HIS VISITORS. ONCE on a time, when sunny May Was kissing up the April showers, And smiling,-who could choose but love him? For not more glad than CHILDHOOD's brow, Was the blue heaven that beamed above him. Old TIME, in most appalling wrath, That valley's green repose invaded; The birds were mute, the lilies faded; With curling lip, and glancing eye, GUILT gazed upon the scene a minute. But CHILDHOOD's glance of purity 'Had such a holy spell within it, That the dark demon to the air Spread forth again his baffled pinion, And hid his envy and despair, Self-tortured, in his own dominion. Then stepped a gloomy phantom up, Pale, cypress-crowned, Night's awful daughter, And proffered him a fearful cup, Full to the brim of bitter water: Poor CHILDHOOD bade her tell her name, And when the beldame muttered "SORROW," He said, "Don't interrupt my game; I'll taste it, if I must, to-morrow." The MUSE of Pindus thither came, And wooed him with the softest numbers TO CHILDHOOD it was all a riddle, Then WISDOM stole his bat and ball, And taught him with most sage endeavour, Why bubbles rise, and acorns fall, And why no toy may last for ever: She talked of all the wondrous laws Which NATURE's open book discloses, And CHILDHOOD, ere she made a pause, Was fast asleep among the roses. Sleep on, sleep on!-Oh! MANHOOD's dreams Of cherished love, or hoarded treasure: A more delicious trance is given, Lit up by rays from Seraph-eyes, |