PRIMROSE. 61 



TO THE PRIMROSE. 



AlVON. 



Mark in yonder thorny vale, 

 Fearless of the falling snows, 



Careless of the chilly gale, 



Passing sweet the Primrose blows. 



Milder gales and warmer beams 

 May the gaudier flow'rets rear; 



But to me the Primrose seems 



Proudest gem that decks the year. 



THE EARLY PRIMROSE. 



H. K. WHITE. 



Mild offspring of a dark and sullen sire! 

 Whose modest form, so delicately fine, 



Was nursed in whirling storms, 



And cradled in the winds. 



Thee, when young Spring first qucstion'd Winter's sway, 

 And dared the sturdv blusterer to the fiorht, 



Thee on this bank he threw, 



To mark his victory. 



In this low vale, the promise of the year, 

 Serene, thou openest to the nipping gale. 



Unnoticed and alone. 



Thy tender elegance. 



