Yet, though thy winds are loud and bleak,
Thou art a welcome month to me.

For thou, to northern lands again,
The glad and glorious sun dost bring,
And thou hast joined the gentle train
And wear'st the gentle name of Spring.

And, in thy reign of blast and storm,
Smiles many a long, bright, sunny day,
When the changed winds are soft and warm,
And heaven puts on the blue of May.

Then sing aloud the gushing rills
And the full springs, from frost set free,
That, brightly leaping down the hills,
Are just set out to meet the sea.

The year's departing beauty hides
Of wintry storms the sullen threat;
But, in thy sternest frown, abides
A look of kindly promise yet.

Thou bring'st the hope of those calm skies
And that soft time of sunny showers,

When the wide bloom, on earth that lies,
Seems of a brighter world than ours.

AN APRIL DAY.

When the warm sun, that brings
Seed-time and harvest, has returned again,
"Tis sweet to visit the still wood, where springs
The first flower of the plain.

I love the season well

When forest glades are teeming with bright forms, Nor dark and many-folded clouds foretell

The coming-in of storms.

From the earth's loosened mould
The sapling draws its sustenance, and thrives:
Though stricken to the heart with winter's cold,
The drooping tree revives.

The softly-warbled song

Comes through the pleasant woods, and coloured wings Are glancing in the golden sun along

The forest openings.

And when bright sunset fills

The silver woods with light, the green slope throws

Its shadows in the hollows of the hills,

And wide the upland glows.

And when the day is gone,

In the blue lake the sky o'erreaching far

Is hollowed out, and the moon dips her horn,

And twinkles many a star.

Inverted in the tide

Stand the gray rocks, and trembling shadows throw, And the fair trees look over, side by side,

And see themselves below.

Sweet April!-many a thought

Is wedded unto thee, as hearts are wed;
Nor shall they fail, till to its autumn brought
Life's golden fruit is shed.

THE REIGN OF MAY.

I feel a newer life in every gale;

The winds, that fan the flowers,

And with their welcome 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;

And from its darkening shadow floats
A gush of trembling notes.

Fairer and brighter spreads the reign of May;
The tresses of the woods,

With the light dallying of the west-wind play,
And the full-brimming floods,
As gladly to their goal they run,
Hail the returning sun.

AFTER A TEMPEST.

The day had been a day of wind and storm;—
The wind was laid, the storm was overpast,—
And stooping from the zenith, bright and warm,
Shone the great sun on the wide earth at last.
I stood upon the upland slope and cast
My eye upon a broad and beauteous scene,

Where the vast plain lay girt by mountains vast,
And hills o'er hills lifted their heads of green,
With pleasant vales scooped out and villages between.

The rain-drops glistened on the trees around,

Whose shadows on the tall grass were not stirred,

Save when a shower of diamonds, to the ground,
Was shaken by the flight of startled bird;

For birds were warbling round, and bees were heard About the flowers; the cheerful rivulet sung

And gossiped, as he hastened ocean-ward; To the gray oak the squirrel, chiding, clung, And chirping from the ground the grasshopper up

sprung.

And from beneath the leaves that kept them dry
Flew many a glittering insect here and there,
And darted up and down the butterfly,

That seemed a living blossom of the air.

The flocks came scattering from the thicket, where The violent rain had pent them, in the way

Strolled groups of damsels frolicksome and fair, The farmer swung the scythe or turned the hay, And 'twixt the heavy swaths his children were at play.

It was a scene of peace-and, like a spell,

Did that serene and golden sunlight fall Upon the motionless wood that clothed the cell, And precipice upspringing like a wall,

And glassy river and white waterfall,

And happy living things that trod the bright

And beauteous scene; while, far beyond them all,

On many a lovely valley, out of sight,

Was poured from the blue heavens the same soft golden light.

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