60NG IN PRAISE OF SPRING. 
409 
Peasants must weep, 
And kings endure; 
That is a fate that none can cure ! 
Yet Spring does all she can, I trow: 
She brings the bright hours, 
She weaves the sweet flowers, 
She dresseth her bowers, 
For all below! 
Oh, the Spring ! the bountiful Spring ! 
She skineth and smileth on every thing ! 
“ fete! let its p to % £tmit." 
Barry Cornwall. 
£IOME ;—let us go to the land 
Where the violets grow ! 
Let’s go thither hand in hand, 
Over the waters and over the snow, 
To the land where the sweet, sweet violets blow f 
There,—in the beautiful south, 
Where the sweet flowers lie, 
Thou shalt sing, with thy sweeter mouth, 
Under the light of the evening sky, 
That Love never fades, though violets die! 
