POETRY.

APRIL.

I saw April from my window,

Chill and early, Frozen stars on her soft tresses Sparkled rarely; These the morning clouds did send Isw, One sweet song-thrush did attend her.

While, within her fingers slender, Branches blossoming with tender Leaflets green Drooping to her feet Were seen.

On the moorland next I saw her, Like a vision,

Weeping 'neath a cloud, while sunbeams In derision Split their laughing rays asunder, Crowning her with gems of wonder, Rainbow opals, with fire under

Which clouds melting, vanish; round her

Crystals gay All her fallen tears Still lay.

Later, near the time of hawthorn,

In the sun

I saw April thee? the woodland Laughing run; Every sweet, wild creature knew her, Flowers their perfumes spread to woo her, Breezes wing'd them to purses her And, while cuckoo called unto her Like a flute, All the listening world Stayed mute.

Sweet Soothsayer! Well we know thee

Coming yearly!

Hope thou must be, or Hope's sister, Thou so nearly Afaleast na dream no ill can find us.

E'en thy coldest glance can blind us,

While thy sunny moods remind us

That the winter is behind us And we sing, With oar pulses thrill'd,