HEN Spring's soft breath sets free the rills,
And melts the Winter's hoards of snow,
How fast they leap adown the hills,
How wildly t'wards old ocean flow!
Jack Frost! we gladly part with thee,
For long indeed thy iron hand
Hath crushed the flowers relentlessly
That longed to brighten all the land.
And now the busy plow can trace
Its furrows through the fallow ground,
While countless lovely blossoms grace
The blooming fruit trees all around.
Yet though the snow amidst the brook
Is gliding fast—it fain would stay,
And as it takes a lingering look,
Says:—“Listen ere I flow away!
“Soon as Spring spoke its royal word,
I humbly doffed my wintry cap—
But when the north wind's voice was heard,
I covered up the earth's green lap.
“And gently swathed each baby flower,
As snug as in a feather bed—
Until in field, and wood, and bower,
Their fragrance might be safely shed.
“And now my snowdrops gaily ring
A merry peal to herald May—
And all rejoice at coming Spring,
While I must hasten far away!”