SOUTH KENNEBEC SOCIETY. 181 



The bursting buds, the springing graces tell 



Of the delights which in this season dwell. 



The air is balm, sweet odors fill the breeze, 



Sweet strains of music all our senses please. 



Now is the time to plow, to plant and sow, 



And some do say to hunt and shoot the crow. • 



But let me ask, is it a wholesome way. 



The feather'd gentry thus to hunt and slay ? 



Do they not do more good than they do harm, 



Eating the worms and bugs and vermin on your farm ? 



Just string your corn, or fix up some odd thing, 



And let them live, more good than hurt they bring. 



How happy they who in the country live, 



And taste the joys that rural pleasures give ; 



Breathe the fresh air, the lovely landscape view, 



And feel its beauties ever new. 



The ear ne'er tires, the sight is aye entranc'd. 



The lovely scenes by viewing are enhanc'd ; 



The mild, warm sun, the gently falling showers, 



The expanding leaves, confess thy genial powers. 



But now the sun has gain'd his northern bounds. 



And quickening nature with fresh beauty crowns. 



The modest violet, shrinking from the sight, 



The gorgeous rose, in all her beauty bright ; 



The crocus, daffodil, and fleur de lis. 



Unfold their buds ; 'tis beautiful to see. 



Fruits, grass and flowers with fragrance fill the air, 



And nature's music is not wanting there. 



From ev'ry bush, from ev'ry slender spray 



The wild, sweet warblers usher in the day. 



Pour forth their liquid notes, and hymn His praise, 



Who out of Chaos did the world upraise. 



And now, ye farmers, take your hoes in hand, 



Stir up the earth, cut weeds from off" your land ; 



And give the corn a chance to start and grow. 



It will repay the labor, you and I both know. 



It starts, it grows, fresh vigor it regains, 



From the warm sun and earth-reviving rains. 



And now to cut the grass the time draws near. 



The best and busiest work of all the year. 



Now grind your scythes, and have them sharp and keen, 



Then early rise, and mow both smooth and clean, 



Then spread the grass, and let the bright, warm sun 



Finish the work that you have now begun. 



'Tis pleasant work ; the swallows darting round. 



Now high in air, now swimming near the ground ; 



And the boblincon, perched in yonder tree. 



Brim full of music, sings deliciously. 



A pleasant odor from the new mown hay 



Fills all the air ; but hold, look there, away 



Far in the west, see the thick clouds ascend ; 



And hear the thunder ; what does that portend ! 



A shower is near ; now see the busy crew. 



To rake the hay, they all their powers renew ; 



And now 'tis snug, — the rain is close at hand ; 



In large and wide spread drops it patters on the strand; 



