54 
SNOW-DROP. 
Wakes the hoarse cuckoo in his gloomy cave, 
And calls the wondering dormouse from his 
grave. 
Bids the mute redbreast cheer the budding 
grove. 
And plaintive ringdove tune her notes to love. 
The same —smith. 
Like pendent flakes of vegetating snow. 
The early herald of the infant year, 
Ere yet the adventurous crocus dares to blow 
Beneath the orchard boughs thy buds appear. 
While still the cold north-east ungenial 
lowers, 
And scarce the hazel in the leafless copse 
Or sallows show their downy powdered 
flowers, 
The grass is spangled with thy silver drops. 
Yet when those pallid blossoms shall give 
place 
To countless tribes of richer hue and scent. 
Summer’s gay blooms, and Autumn’s yellow 
race, 
I shall thy pale inodorous bells lament. 
