








MAY. 
For they have watch’d since first 
The world had birth, 
And found sin in itself accurst, 
And nothing permanent on earth. 

aay. 
Percival. 
| FEEL a newer life in every gale; 
The winds that fan the flowers, 
And with their weleome breathings fill the sail, 
Tell of serener hours,— 
Of hours that glide unfelt away 
Beneath the sky of May. 
The spirit of the gentle south wind calls 
From his blue throne of air, 
And where his whispering voice in music falls, 
Beauty is budding there ; 
The bright ones of the valley break 
Their slumbers, and awake. 
The waving verdure rolls along the plain, 
And the wide forest weaves, 
To welcome back its playful mates again, 
A canopy of. leaves. 

