THE SNOW-DROP’S CALL. 
MISS If. EMRA. 
Who else is coming? — There’s sunshine here! 
Ye would strew the way for the infant year: 
The frost-winds blow on the barren hill, 
And icicles hang on the quarry still; 
But sunny, and shelter’d, and safe, are we, 
In the moss at the foot of the sycamore tree. 
Are ye not coming? the first birds sing; 
They call to her bowers the lingering Spring; 
And, afar to his home near the north-pole star, 
Old Winter is gone in his snow-clad car; 
And the storms are past, and the sky is clear, 
And we are alone, sweet sisters! here. 
Will ye not follow? Ye safe shall be 
In the green moss under the sycamore tree. 
And, oh! there is health in the clear cold breeze, 
And a sound of joy in the leafless trees; 
And the sun is pale, yet his pleasant gleam 
Has waken’d the earth, and unchain’d the stream, 
And the soft west-wind, oh, it gently blows ! 
Hasten to follow, pale lady Primrose! 
And Hyacinth graceful, and Crocus gay, 
For we have not met this many a day. 
Follow us, follow us 1 follow us then, 
All ye whose home is in grove or glen. 
Why do ye linger? Who else is coming, 
Now Spring is awake with the wild bees’ humming? 
