e tops sing,
And talk and twitter in a tongue unknown
Of joys that journey on thy golden wing,
And God who sends thee forth to wake the world, O Spring!

[ILLUSTRATION: SPRING ADA MARY HUNTLY WILLIE]

Emblem of youth--enchanting goddess, Spring;
Lo now the happy rustic wends his way
O'er meadows decked with violets from thy wing,
And laboring to the rhythm of song all day,
Performs the task the harvest shall repay
An hundredfold into the reaper's hand.
What recks the tiller of his toil in May?
What cares he if his cheeks are tinged and tanned
By thy warm sunshine-kiss and by thy breezes bland?

Hark to the tinkling bells of grazing kine!
The lambkins bleating on the mountain-side!
The red squirrel chippering in the proud old pine!
The pigeon-cock cooing to his vernal bride!
O'er all the land and o'er the peaceful tide,
Singing and praising every living thing,
Till one sweet anthem, echoed far and wide,
Makes all the broad blue bent of ether ring
With welcomings to thee, God-given, supernal Spring.

TO MOLLIE

O Mollie, I would I possessed such a heart;
It enchants me--so gentle and true;
I would I possessed all its magical art,
Then, Mollie, I would enchant you.

Those dear, rosy lips--tho' I never caressed them(?)--
Are as sweet as the wild honey-dew;
Your cheeks--all the angels in Heaven have blessed them,
But not one is as lovely as you.

Then give me that heart,--O that innocent heart!
For mine own is cold and _perdu_;
It enchants me, but give me its magical art,
Then, Mollie, I will enchant you.

1855.

TO SYLVA

I know thou art true, and I know thou art fair
As the rose-bud that blooms in thy beautiful hair;
Thou art far, but I feel the warm throb of thy heart;
Thou art far, but I love thee wherever thou art.

Wherever at noontide my spirit may be,
At evening it silently wanders to thee;
It seeks thee, my dear one, for comfort and rest,
As the weary-winged dove seeks at night-fall her nest.

Through the battle of life--through its sorrow and care--
Till the mortal sink down with its load of despair,--
Till we meet at the feet of the Father and Son,
I'll love thee and cherish thee, beautiful one.

1859.

THANKSGIVING.

[Nov. 26, 1857, during the great financial depression.]

Father, our thanks are due to thee
For many a blessing given,
By thy paternal love and care,
From the bounty-horn of heaven.

We know that