Ladyday to Whitsunday 
Rises and falls, the early primrose peeps 
From sheltered nooks, for if indeed ’tis he, 
The banks and braes and all the woodland deeps 
Look for her stars to deck their braverie. 
Before him, Winter fainting, falls and flies, 
And Spring’s retainers whisper He is dead ! 
Triumphant onward Herald Swallow hies, 
Proclaiming Spring abroad in Winter’s stead. 
The banners of the nut-tree are unfurled ; 
The shooting grasses haste their Prince to greet, 
While Pussy Willow stealthily uncurled 
Lays all her silvery softness at his feet ; 
The courtier butterflies, who bear his train, 
Spy out the country on light idle wing, 
Woo the shy wildflower, swear to come again, 
And promise boldly many a fairy ring. 
The unbound brooks run singing thro’ the woods, 
Forgetful of their hardships that have been ; 
The little buds discard their winter hoods, 
And burst out gayly in their brightest green. 
Now comes the Cuckoo, gleeman of the lane, 
A vagabond without a household care, 
The wild wood minstrel and the young birds’ bane, 
No house nor family cares has he, 
Who flits from home to home in each green tree. 
Mavis and Merle Spring’s praises vying sing, 
And vestal snowdrops now start forth to meet 
The gay young Prince, the long-expected Spring, 
Before whose face the snowflakes beat retreat. 
The passing clouds leave blue the arched skies 
A canopy for Spring, who reigns at last. 
Upon the earth he beams with sunny eyes. 
Fair captive Nature, freed at last, with smiles, 
Doth greet her gallant with a radiant look, 
With wayward kisses and sweet winsome wiles. 
April 4. — The woodcutters are gone, but the carters who 
succeeded them are still at work. It is rather nice to watch 
them, the big gentle horses understand their work so well, 
and seem to take quite an intelligent interest in “ trailing ” 
the prostrate tree-trunks down the bank on to the green 
haugh below, where they lie like wounded warriors ready 
for the cart and departure. The Ojibway Indians had a 
quaint fancy that trees had souls, and did not like to cut 
them down lest they should hear them lament. I remember 
hearing in Jamaica that the silk cotton-trees (Bombax ceiba) 
are known as Jumbi trees, and any one cutting them down 
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