THE SPRING. 235 



Sweet Spring, thou turn'st, with all thy goodly train, 

 Thy head with flames, thy mantle bright with flowers ! 



The zephyrs curl the green locks of the plain, 



The clouds for joy in pearls weep down their showers. 



WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 



OF all the joyous seasons of the year, that of the 

 joyous Spring delights me most. Everything is 

 bursting into freshness, new life, and beauty. We 

 have had a May-day which began with a golden 

 shower, after a period of cold dry weather. All 

 nature teemed in an instant with verdure. The 

 air was soft and balmy, and everything looked 

 smiling and cheerful. 



O, Nature ! holy, meek, and mild, 

 Thou dweller on the mountain wild ; 

 Thou haunter of the lonesome wood, 

 Thou wanderer by the secret flood ; 

 Thou lover of the daisied sod, 

 Where Spring's white foot hath lately trod ; 

 Oh ! lead me forth o'er dales and meads, 

 E'en as her child the mother leads ; 

 And while we saunter, let thy speech 

 God's glory and his goodness preach.* 



These are the sort of aspirations, which a lover 

 of nature is constantly breathing, as he looks 



* A. CUNNINGHAM. 



