ARBOR DA Y MANUAL. 
2 37 
AN INVITATION TO THE COUNTRY. 
LREADY, close by our summer dwelling. 
A The Easter sparrow repeats her song; 
A merry warbler, she chides the blossoms — 
The idle blossoms that sleep so long. 
The bluebird chants, from the elm’s long branches, 
A hymn to welcome the budding year. 
The south wind wanders from field to forest, 
And softly whispers, “The spring is here.” 
Come, daughter mine, from the gloomy city, 
Before those lays from the elm have ceased; 
The violet breathes, by our door, as sweetly 
As in the air of her native east. 
Though many a flower in the wood is waking, 
The daffodil is our doorside queen; 
She pushes upward the sward already, 
To spot with sunshine the early green. 
No lays so joyous as these are warbled 
From wiry prison in maiden’s bower; 
No pampered bloom of the green-house chamber 
Has half the charm of the lawn’s first flower. 
Yet these sweet sounds of the early season, 
And these fair sights of its sunny days. 
Are only sweet when we fondly listen, 
And only fair when we fondly gaze. 
THE TREE. 
1 love thee when thy swelling buds appear, 
And one by one their tender leaves unfold, 
As if they knew that warmer suns were near, 
Nor longer sought to hide from winter’s cold ; 
And when with darker growth thy leaves are seen 
To veil from view the early robin’s nest, 
I love to lie beneath thy waving screen, 
With limbs by summer’s heat and toil oppress’d; 
And when the autumn winds have stript thee bare, 
And round thee lies the smooth, untrodden snow, 
When naught is thine that made thee once so fair, 
I love to watch thy shadowy form below, 
And through thy leafless arms to look above 
On stars that brighter beam when most we need their love. 
Jones Very. 
