e haunted room,
While the bobolinks are singing!"

PRELUDE.

(TO AN EARLY BOOK OF VERSE.)

In March the earliest bluebird came
And caroled from the orchard-tree
His little tremulous songs to me,
And called upon the summer's name,

And made old summers in my heart
All sweet with flower and sun again;
So that I said, "O, not in vain
Shall be thy lay of little art,

"Though never summer sun may glow,
Nor summer flower for thee may bloom;
Though winter turn in sudden gloom,
And drowse the stirring spring with snow";

And learned to trust, if I should call
Upon the sacred name of Song,
Though chill through March I languish long,
And never feel the May at all,

Yet may I touch, in some who hear,
The hearts, wherein old songs asleep
Wait but the feeblest touch to leap
In music sweet as summer air!

I sing in March brief bluebird lays,
And hope a May, and do not know:
May be, the heaven is full of snow,--
May be, there open summer days.

THE MOVERS.

SKETCH.

Parting was over at last, and all the good-bys had been spoken.
Up the long hillside road the white-tented wagon moved slowly,
Bearing the mother and children, while onward before them the
father
Trudged with his gun on his arm, and the faithful house-dog beside
him,
Grave and sedate, as if knowing the sorrowful thoughts of his
master.

April was in her prime, and the day in its dewy awaking:
Like a great flower, afar on the crest of the eastern woodland,
Goldenly bloomed the sun, and over the beautiful valley,
Dim with its dew and shadow, and bright with its dream of a river,
Looked to the western hills, and shone on the humble procession,
Paining with splendor the children's eyes, and the heart of the
mother.

Beauty, and fragrance, and song filled the air like a palpable
presence.
Sweet was the smell of the dewy leaves and the flowers in the
wild-wood,
Fair the long reaches of sun and shade in the aisles of the forest.
Glad of the spring, and of love, and of morning, the wild birds were
singing:
Jays to each other called harshly, then mellowly fluted together;
Sang the oriole songs as golden and gay as his plumage;
Pensively piped the querulous quails their greetings unfrequent,
While, on the meadow elm, the meadow lark gushed forth in music,
Rapt, e