■^ 



The stormy March is come at last. 



With wir\d. and cloud, and changing sl\ies 

 I hear the rushing of the blast, 



That through the valley flies. 



Ah, passing few are they who speaK, 

 Wild, stormy month ! in praise of thee ; 



Yet, though thy winds are loud and bleaK, 

 Thou art a w^elcome month to me. 



For thou, to northern lands, again 



The glad o^nd glorious sun dost bring. 



And thou hast joined the gentle train 

 And wear'st the gentle name of Spring. 



Byrant. 



