BY BEY. JAMES F. CLARKE. 
Little firstlings of the year ! 
Have you come my room to cheer ? 
You are dry and parched, I think ; 
Stand within this glass and drink ; 
Stand beside me on the table, 
’Mong my books—if I am able, 
I will find a vacant space 
For your bashfulness and grace; 
Learned tasks and serious duty 
Shall be lightened by your beauty. 
Pure affection’s sweetest token, 
Choicest hint of love unspoken, 
Friendship in your help rejoices, 
Uttering her mysterious voices. 
You are gifts the poor may offer— 
Wealth can find not better proffer; 
For you tell of tastes refined, 
Thoughtful heart and spirit kind. 
