82 
THE LOVEll’s OFFERING, 
All earth doth with its spring-song thrill 
My heart—nay heart—0 be not still. 
This glorious spring-tide is to thee 
An image of a spring to be— 
When on the eternal blissful shore, 
Whatever blooms shall fade no more. 
THE COWSLIP. 
Now, in my walk, with sweet surprise, 
I see the first spring Cowslip rise, 
The plant whose pensile flowers 
Bend to the earth their beauteous eyes, 
In sunshine and in showers. 
Low on a mossy bank it grew, 
Where lichens, purple, red, and blue, 
Among the verdure crept; 
Its yellow ringlets dropping dew. 
The breezes lightly swept. 
Whose simple sweets with curious skill, 
The frugal cottage dames distil, 
Nor envy France the vine,— 
While many a festal cup they fill 
With Britain’s homely wine. 
J. Montgomery. 
