A POET'S PICTURE. 129 



progression and growth of herbs, flowers, trees, gentle, 

 and yet irrepressible, which no force can stay, no violence 

 restrain, like the influence of love, which wins its way, 

 and cannot be withstood by any human power, because 

 itself is divine power. True enough it is, that if spring 

 came but once in a century, or burst forth with the terror 

 of an earthquake, and not in silence, what wonder and 

 expectation there would be in all hearts to behold the 

 miraculous change ! But now the silent succession suggests 

 nothing but necessity. To most men, only the cessation of 

 the miracle would be miraculous, and the perpetual exercise 

 of God's power seems less wonderful than its withdrawal 

 would be. 



May we venture on another quotation ? We take it, gentle 

 reader, from a living poet, whose works are not so widely 

 read as their genuine poetical feeling and wealth of language 

 deserve I mean Sydney Dobell. 



After describing the return of Spring, and her grief and 

 astonishment at the spectacle of earth, pale, frozen, seem- 

 ingly dead, he continues, 



"She fell upon. 



The corse, and warmed it. The natural earth, 

 Which was not dead but slept, unclosed her eyes ; 

 Then Spring, o'erawed at her own miracle, 

 Fell on her knees. 



Meanwhile the attendant birds, her haste outstript, 

 Chasing her voice, crowd round, and fill the air 

 With jocund loyalty. 



With flowers Spring dressed the Earth j 

 Then did her mother, Earth, rejoice in her ; 



