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SPRING.

LOOK all around thee!

How the Spring advances! New life is playing through the gay green trees; See how, in yonder bower, the light leaf dances To the bird's tread, and to the quivering breeze! How every blossom in the sunlight glances!

The winter frost to his dark cavern flees, And earth, warm-waken'd, feels through every vein The kindly influence of the vernal rain. Now silvery streamlets, from the mountains stealing, Dance joyously the verdant vales along; Cold fear no more the songster's voice is sealing; Down in the thick dark grove is heard his song; And, all their bright and lovely hues revealing, A thousand plants the field and forest throng; Light comes upon the earth in radiant showers, And mingling rainbows play among the flowers.

TIECK.

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THE WAYSIDE SPRING.

FAIR dweller by the dusty way,

Bright saint within a mossy shrine,
The tribute of a heart to-day,
Weary and worn, is thine.

The earliest blossoms of the year,
The sweetbrier and the violet,
The pious hand of Spring has here
Upon thy altar set.

And not alone to thee is given
The homage of the pilgrim's knee;
But oft the sweetest birds of heaven
Glide down and sing to thee.

Here daily from his beechen cell,

The hermit squirrel steals to drink; And flocks which cluster to their bell, Recline along thy brink.

And here the wagoner blocks his wheels, To quaff the cool and generous boon; Here from the sultry harvest-fields

The reapers rest at noon.

And oft the beggar mask'd with tan,
In rusty garments grey with dust,
Here sits and dips his little can,
And breaks his scanty crust;

And, lull'd beside thy whispering stream,

Oft drops to slumber unawares,

And sees the angel of his dream

Upon celestial stairs.

Dear dweller by the dusty way,

Thou saint within a mossy shrine,

The tribute of a heart to-day,

Weary and worn, is thine!

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