THE YOUNG YEAR.

Budding branches in the young year smiling ·
Lift their cresset crownings to the morn;
Rosy hours the terraced clouds are piling,
And pale Dian dips her silver horn,

As Phœbus, from his car of dazzling splendour,
Looks down upon the blushes of the morn.
Day by day a feast he now is holding,

As a bridegroom feasteth with a bride;
Each new charm unveiling and unfolding,
As the freshets swell life's turning tide;
Eager for the love of his bestowing

Of her future joy the soul and guide.

Where stark wintry trees on rugged mountains
Wait beneath the cold grey Boreal sky,
Hope is rising in deep hidden fountains,
Strong to meet the rich-robed season nigh;
When, with bright and shining green apparel,
Earth shall welcome back the cuckoo's cry.

A MAY SONG.

There is no month like the month of May,
Daisy crowned May;

Blooming, blossoming, maidensweet May,
Growing May.

Life is triumphant on every spray,

And pleasanter grows the lengthening day
Breathing the breath of the sweet-smelling May.

The white pear blossoms are falling in showers

Mocking the snow of the yule tide hours,

And the apple boughs tangled with bright promise flowers,

Curtain the light in our orchard bowers.

Hither away

Where the soft winds play,

List to the voices that call thee away.

Poet lay aside thy pen,

The soft winds say.

Toiler, leave the haunts of men

Where no soft winds play.

Templar come from thy dusky den—
Here the soft winds play.

Artist, roam in the gold gorse glen

Where the soft winds play.

Turn thy fever'd cheek to the air

That will kiss away from thy brow its care.

For there is no month like the month of May.
King cup May,

Daisy crown'd May,

Blooming, blossoming, maidensweet May,
When beauty is shining on every spray,
And pleasanter grows the lengthening day
Breathing the breath of the sweet smelling May
The breath of the beautiful, blossoming May.

WHEN THE CHESTNUTS LIFT THEIR
BLOSSOMS.

When the chestnuts lift their blossoms

O'er the fragrance of the May,
And the pure fresh green of summer
Clothes anew each branching spray;

When the sunny bright laburnum

Waves its pensile locks of gold,

And the rich blue iris flowers

Their soft blossomings unfold; When the breath of early morning

Woos the cheek with perfume sweet,
And the ring-doves in the woodland
Constant cooing notes repeat.

Turn we then to those who love us,
Unto all we hold most dear-
Grateful if unmixed with sorrow
Comes the beauty of the year.

SUMMER-BREATHING BUTTERFLY.

Summer-breathing butterfly

Beauty on thy wings,
Sparkling in the amber light

Thy gay coming brings.
Swinging in the woodbine sweet,

Feasting on the rose ;
Clinging where thy fairy feet

Jasmine flowers unclose:

Climbing up a sea-green stem
Into sapphire shade,
Where the purple iris plant

Her soft nest has made.
Crossing flowery vista paths,

Swift as radiant thought
Tinged with hues from Hybla's bloom

To the poet brought.

Ever like a dream of life

In the sunbright air;

Now thy pinions o'er thy head

Fold like hands in prayer.

Speed thy wooing, Psyche gay,
In the turquois sky;

Soon will sorrowing Autumn say
"Close those wings and die.”

FULGET CANDIDA DIES.

Wild bees humming.

Golden is the mellow morn,

In the long fern rests the fawn-
Wild bees humming.

Gems are glistening on the lawn,
Sunlit dewdrops of the dawn.

Bees are humming.

Swallows flying

To and fro among the leaves,
Underneath the reed-thatch eaves-

Constant plying:

Here and there, with purple light
Flashing from their plumage bright,
Swiftly flying.

Distant cawing,

Over the elm branches high

Stretching upwards to the sky
Rooks are cawing.

Querulous with ceaseless sound,
Hovering dubiously around-
Cawing-Cawing.

White swans gliding,

Where the breeze-strewn cloudlets flow

In the crystal stream below

Calmly gliding.

Heaven reflected from above,

Soft air whispering peace and love, Man's heart guiding.

FINIS CORONAT.

Splendour of ethereal light!

Skies and seas in glory blending With thy grand hymn to the night From the zenith slow descending, Night that stedfast toil doth bless In tranquilising tenderness.

Down the old elm glade, thy beams Into radiant mist are spreading; And the moted glory streams

Silvery seraph light are shedding, Where yon children clothed in white Shine coruscant, angel bright.

Light from time eterne that springs ! Mystic music, heavenward calling,

Creeps along air woven strings

As the day's red orb is falling: Lambent fire the tree tops hold Lancing spires of vivid gold.

Spirit of transforming love!

All benignant is thy power; Man's best blessing from above, With us now at this sweet hour, As we worship thee awhile

In the long day's parting smile.