APRIL.

A VIOLET fringed wood, whence comes a

sound

Of murmuring cadence; to his sorrowing mate
The ring-dove coos, like plash on thirsty ground
Of limpid waters: "Love, she tarries late,
For whom we long: oh! sad the weary hours,
Until she comes to wake the sleeping flowers."
An arch of colour flung across the sky,
And silvery raindrops filtering through a cloud;
The tears of Heaven which dim her azure eye,
But brighten Earth and melt her wintry shroud.
The Spring has come to end the weary hours,
And with her soft caress doth wake the flowers.

The nightingale from out her leafless tree,
Brown as the downy softness of her breast,
Pours forth a stream of sudden melody,

And adds her share of tribute to the rest:

March 30th.

WHEN all the world is young, lad,

And all the trees are green;

And every goose a swan, lad,

And every lass a queen:

Then hey for boot and horse, lad,

And round the world away;

Young blood must have its course, lad,

And every dog his day.

Charles Kingsley.

PLEASURE, or wrong or rightly understood,
Our greatest evil or our greatest good.

Pope.

March 31st.

I AM ashamed that women are so simple

To offer war where they should kneel for peace;
Or seek for rule, supremacy, and sway,

When they are bound to serve, love, and obey.

AH, gentle dames! it gars me greet
To think how monie counsels sweet,
How monie lengthened sage advices,
The husband frae the wife despises!

Shakespeare.

Burns.

H

April 1st.

H! life of all the year, why yet do I,
Amid thy snowy blossoms' fragrant drift,
Still long for that which never draweth nigh,
Striving my pleasure from my pain to sift,
Some weight from off my fluttering mirth to lift;
Now, when far bells are ringing, "Come again-
Come back, past years! why will ye pass in vain?"

W. Morris.

OH! my heart, my heart is sick, a-wishing and a-waiting! Jean Ingelow.

April 2nd.

ALL Nature seems at work; slugs leave their lair,
The bees are stirring, birds are on the wing;
And Winter, slumbering in the open air,
Wears on his slumb'ring face a dream of Spring!
And I the while, the sole unbusy thing,
Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.

WHERE soil is, men grow,

Whether to weeds or flowers; but for me,
There is no soil to strike in. I can see

Nought earthly worth my compassing.

April 3rd.

A THOUSAND blessings breathed by one who knows
What friendship means, and knows that meaning more
From knowing him, are all that I can give.

HE could believe the promise of to-morrow,
And feel the wondrous meaning of to-day;

He had a deeper faith in holy sorrow,

Than the world's seeming loss could take away. To know the heart of all things was his duty,

All things did sing to him to make him wise; And with a sorrowful and conquering beauty,

The soul of all looked grandly from his eyes.

THE angels sang in heaven when she was born!

April 4th.

HE prayeth best who loveth best

All things, both great and small;
For the dear Lord who loveth us,
He made and loveth all.

O WOMAN! in our hours of ease,
Uncertain, coy, and hard to please,
And variable as the shade

By the light quivering aspen made;

When pain and anguish wring the brow,
A ministering angel thou!

Coleridge.

Keats.

Alsager Hay Hill.

Lowell.

Longfellow.

Coleridge.

Scott.

April 3rd.

April 4th.

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