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Thy head with flames, thy mantle bright with flowers.-Drummond.
THIS day dame Nature seem'd in love:
Fresh juice did stir th' embracing vines,
The showers were short, the weather mild,
The morning fresh, the evening smil'd.
She trips to milk the sand-red cow.
The fields and gardens were beset
With tulips, crocus, violet;
And now, though late, the modest rose
Did more than half a blush disclose.
Thus all looks gay and full of cheer,
To welcome the new livery'd year.-Sir Henry Wotton.
SWEET bird, that sing'st away the early hours
Of winters past, or coming, void of care,
Under the Protection of Venus.
Ridens; quam Jocus circumvolat, et Cupido.-Horace.
ON Cytherea's day,
O'er Idalia's velvet green
The rosy-crowned Loves are seen;
Where'er she turns the Graces homage pay :
The bloom of young desire and purple light of love.
АH me! for aught that ever I could read,
Could ever hear by tale or history,
The course of true love never did run smooth :
But, either it was different in blood,
Or else misgraffed, in respect of years,
Or else it stood upon the choice of friends;
Or, if there were a sympathy in choice,
Swift as a shadow, short as any dream;
Brief as the lightning in the collied night,
That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth,
And ere a man hath power to say,—Behold!
The jaws of darkness do devour it up:
So quick bright things come to confusion.-Shakspeare.
O RUSTIC herald of the Spring!
Thy sage responses hail.-The Cuckoo.-Akenside.
Next came fresh April, wanton as a kid.---Spenser.
APRIL, at whose glad coming Zephyrs rise
With whisper'd sighs,
Then on their light wing brush away,
And hang amid the woodlands fresh
Their aery mesh
To tangle Flora on her way.
April, it is thy hand that doth unlock,
From plain and rock,
Odours and hues a balmy store,
That breathing lie on Nature's breast,
So richly blest,
That earth or heaven can ask no more.
April, the hawthorn and the eglantine,
Streak'd pink, and lily-cup, and rose,
Where thou art treading,
And their sweet eyes for thee unclose.
The little nightingale sits singing aye
On leafy spray,
And in her fitful strain doth run
A thousand and a thousand changes,
With voice that ranges
Through every sweet division.
Sweet month! it is when thou dost come again,
That love is fain
With gentlest breath the fires to wake,
That covered up and slumbering lay,
Through many a day.—Belleau.
UPON his breast a bloody Cross he bore,
The dear remembrance of his dying LORD,
angry steed did chide his foaming bit;
Enforc'd to seek some covert nigh at hand,
The vine-prop elm, the poplar never dry,
The builder oak, sole king of forests all,
The aspin, good for staves, the cypress funeral.
The laurel, meed of mighty conquerors
The carver holm; the maple seldom inward sound.
The Groves of Errour.-Spenser.
Rise up, my love, and come away; for lo, the winter is past, the rain is gone; the flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land.---Song of Solomon.
Cal. Sir John Suckling, 1613, Wi- Abp. Celsus, 1129. Armagh.
Obits of the Latin Church. St. Melito (surnamed the Prophet), Bp. of Sardes, in Lydia, 2nd Century.
James, Lord Audley, 1386.
Tamerlane, 1405. d. Otrar-
Robert III. (of Scotland), 1406.
Henry de Montmorency, 1614.
Hilary Rouelle, 1779. d. Paris.
A wise man's heart is at his right side; but a fool's heart at his left. Surely a serpent will bite without enchantment; and a babbler is no better. A fool St. Hugh, Bishop of Grenoble, also is full of words: a man I cannot tell what shall be. Solomon.
St. Gilbert, Bishop in Scotland,
I returned, and saw under the sun, that the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, neither yet bread to the wise, nor yet riches to men of understanding, nor yet favour to men of skill; but time and chance happeneth to them all. Ecclesiastes.