to come.

TO THE SNOWDROP.

Onward ever time is passing;
Forward still it hies;
By the way delaying never,
In constant speed it flies.
By days and years we number make,
And lay out every stage;
While change in many a form appears,
To mark each passing age.

But, mid the changing scenes of time,
Thy pale head still appears,
To shew that, in her beauty clad,
Loved Spring's sweet presence nears.
With soothing balms she comes supplied,
Prepared to bestow
Them freely on each troubled head;
For freely do they flow.

But thou, the first of all her band,
The fairest of her gems,
We hail thee as a welcome guest,
Which Winter still contemns.
For thou art still the harbinger
(A credit to her choice)
To tell that pleasant times draw nigh,
For which let all rejoice.

What artist's pencil e'er could trace,
Or painter's brush apply
On canvas, such a perfect form
As thy frail leaves supply?
They are more pure than running brook,
And whiter than the snow--
The winter garment of the ground,
Which soon will beauty shew.

No giddy grandeur vesteth thee;
No fitless fashions flow;
Thy mien retains a modest air,
Whence hidden graces shew.
From this might many a maiden fair
A lesson good receive:--
That gay appearance fades away,
And tends but to deceive.

SPRING.

Blest bearer of peace, she comes in her grandeur;
I hear the sweet echo, and hear it again,
Through the forests of trees and o'er the green fields,
In sounds of contentment, in music's sweet strain.

She rides in the skies, and she comes on the breeze
From her mansions so aerial, illumined, and fair;
They stand in a mystery unfathomed by thought,
And who can describe them, or who can tell where?

The sound of her footstep, the tone of her call
Is hailed with rejoicings--rejoicings of joy;
Her whisper so gentle, her breathings of peace
All feelings of sadness allure and decoy.

The birds of the air, the warbling songsters,
The thrush and the blackbird uniting send higher,
By adding their songs to chorus of chorus,
Redouble her welcome and sing a sweet lyre.

See, through the dark soil, in patient procession,
The flowers are beginning again to appear;
From beds of repose, from darkest of hidings,
In caution most careful they cunningly peer,

And seemingly ask, in anxious desire,
If