THE 8N0 WEB OP— INFANC Y. 
4 . FAIR young flower, thou art springing forth 
To the chilly breath of the angry north; 
And thy blossoms open their gentle eye 
mh Beneath the scowl of a wintry sky. 
|/ And leafless bowers, o’er thy tender form, 
Jt Protect thee not from the passing storm; 
An ri the bee comes not forth from its winter cell 
27 To quaif the dew from thy silver bell. 
The hoar-frost lies on the ground like gems. 
The birds are mute on the naked stems, 
And thy pale and starlike blossoms gleam 
On the cheerless banks of a frozen stream. 
But soon a change on the earth shall be, 
And leaf and blossom shall clothe the tree. 
And the wild bird merrily blend its song 
With the streamlet’s voice as it floats along. 
And thou art sent with thy early smile 
To cheer this desolate scene awhile, 
And waft our visions and thoughts away, 
To the coming light of the summer’s day. 
Y sweet wee nursling! thou art sweet to me 
_4 S sun to flowers, or honey to the bee. 
Music in summer-bowers, the freshening stream— 
To bright wings dipping from the sultry beam, 
Hope to the mourner, to the weary rest, 
To the young dreamer, visions of the blest! 
What art thou like, nestling in slumbers there. 
So meek, so calm, so innocently fair? 
