60 
SNOW-DROP. 
On the bosom of the year; 
All that wreathe the locks of Spring, 
Summer’s ardent breath perfume, 
Or on the lap of Autumn bloom, 
—All to thee their tribute bring, 
Exhale their incense at thy shrine, 
—Their hues, their odours all are thine! 
For while thy humble form I view, 
The Muse’s keen prophetic sight 
Brings fair Futurity to light, 
And Fancy’s magic makes the vision true. 
.—There is a Winter in my soul, 
The W inter of despair ; 
O when shall spring its rage controulf 
When shall the SNOW-DROP blossom 
there 1 
Cold gleams of comfort sometimes dart 
A dawn of glory on my heart, 
But quickly pass away : 
Thus Northern lights the gloom adorn, 
And give the promise of a morn 
T hat never turns to day ! 
—But hark ! methinks I hear 
A small still whisper in mine ear ; 
“ Rash youth, repent! 
“ Afflictions, from above, 
“ Are Angels sent 
