ARBOR DA Y MANUAL. 
*53 
When the sun sets. Within her tender eye 
The heaven of April, with its changing light, 
And when it wears the blue of May, is hung, 
And on her lip the rich, red rose. Her hair 
Is like the summer tresses of the trees 
When twilight makes them brown, and on her cheek 
Blushes the richness of an autumn sky, 
With ever-shifting beauty. Then her breath, 
It is so like the-gentle air of spring, 
As, from the morning’s dewy flowers, it comes 
Full of their fragrance, that it is a joy 
To have it round us, and her silver voice 
Is the rich music of a summer bird, 
Heard in the still night, with its passionate cadence. 
Longfellow. 
SPRING MORNING. 
OME hither, come hither, and view the face 
Of nature, enrobed in her vernal grace. 
By the hedgerow wayside flowers are springing; 
On the budding elms the birds are singing; 
And up, up, up to the gates of heaven 
Mounts the lark, on the wings of her rapture driven; 
The voice of the streamlet is fresh and loud; 
On the sky there is not a speck of cloud : 
Come hither, come hither, and join with me. 
In the season’s delightful jubilee ! 
Come hither, come hither, and guess with me. 
How fair and how fruitful the year will be ! 
Look into the pasture-grounds o’er the pale, 
And behold the foal w ; th its switching tail, 
About and abroad, in its mirth it flies, 
With its long black forelocks about its eyes; 
Or bends its neck down with a stretch, 
The daisy’s earliest flowers to reach. 
See ! as on by the hawthorn fence we pass. 
How the sheep are nibbling the tender grass, 
Or holding their heads to the sunny ray, 
As if their hearts, like its smile, were gay: 
While the chattering sparrows, in and out, 
Fly the shrubs, and the trees, and the roofs about, 
And sooty rooks, loudly cawing roam, 
With sticks and straws, to their woodland home. 
Moir 
