The Advent of Spring 



DR. CHAS. T. MITCHELL. 



The gentle maiden, Spring, with sunny beams, 

 Again we greet, as from her Southland dreams 

 She wakes, aud spreads her fairy wings in 



flight 

 O'er Northland scenes enwrapt in wintry 



plight. 

 How fair and fresh her flowing robes appear; 

 Her winsome voice declares the opening year. 

 With graceful turn of hand to waiting elves, 

 (Who now on wing'd feet disport themselves,) 

 She flings the keys that unlock all the streams, 

 That they may flash beneath Sol's melting 



beams. 

 Her jewelled fingers break the icy bonds 

 That hold the lakes and seal up all the ponds. 

 The frost-imps scamper from their secret caves. 

 And peeping hylas leave their muddy graves. 

 The sprouting grass tints green the roadside 



fields, 

 Each scattered seed a fragrant flower yields. 

 The swollen buds burst forth in fruitful bloom, 

 As tender plant breaks ope' its winter tomb. 

 The purple violet and arbutus fair, 

 Exhale their sweetness on the woodland air. 

 The morning's misty breath is tinged with 



frost. 

 And heat of day in dewy eve is lost. 

 From o'er the hills is felt a balmy breeze, 

 That sways the branches of the leafing trees. 

 By way of change, the rain, in April showers. 

 Prepares the earth for May's most lovely 



flowers. 

 The feathered songsters on returning wing. 

 With well-tuned pipes their morning carols 



sing. 

 From orchard way is heard the blue-bird's 



note. 

 Just watch the tremor of the robin's throat. 



The lowing kine to field-ward longing gaze, 

 As restless sheep on greenish hill-sides graze. 

 The ploughboy whistles on his furrowed 



round, 

 And sniffs the fragrance of the fresh-turned 



ground. 



The meadow brook, that winding flows along. 

 Singing softly its own sweet rippling song. 

 Invites the angler with his line and rod, 

 To take a tramp across the marshy sod ; 

 There cast his fly upon those deep, dark pools, 

 Where trout do hide, or chub in sportive 



schools. 

 The laughing water greets his smiling face, 

 As casting, down the stream he wades apace, 

 Reflecting sunshine from each ripple's crest, 

 To welcome there its old-time honored guest. 

 The placid lake, with outstretched open arms, 

 Beckons the boatman to engage her charms. 

 Hoist the white sail to catch the fresh'ning 

 breeze. 



Direct the helm to what e'er port he please. 



Returning wild-fowl on their northward flight. 



On its soft bosom spend a restful night. 



The vine-clad hills receive the dresser's care. 



And later on their purple clusters bear. 



Adown the glens the noisy streamlets flow. 



With icy waters from the melting snow. 



The white-capped mountains sternly wait the 

 day. 



When balmy winds shall sweep the cold 

 away. 



That they may smile upon the scenes below. 



And share in all dame Nature's radiant glow. 



Ah, yes, blithe Spring, thou 'rt welcome to our 

 door. 



On each return we love thee more and more. 



