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For there shall come a mightier blast,
There shall be a darker day;
These pooms wero written for the most part during my college life, and all of them before the age of nineteen. Some have found their way into schools, and seem to be successful. Others lead a vagabond and precarious existence in the corners of newspapers; or have changed their names and run away to seek their fortunes beyond tho ska. I say, with the Bishop of Avranches, on a similar occasion, “I cannot be displeased to see these children of mine, which I have neglected, and almost exposed, brought from their wanderings in lates and alleys, and safely lodged, in order to go forth into the world together in a more decorous gurbe"]
AN APRIL DAY.
When the warm sun, that brings Seed-time and harvest, has returned again, "T is sweet to visit the still wood, where springs
The first flower of the plain.
I love the season well, When forest glades are teeming with bright forms, Nor dark and many-folded clouds foretell
The coming-on of storms.
From the earth's loosened mould The sapling draws its sustenance, and thrives; Though stricken to the heart with winter's cold,
The drooping tree revives.
The softly-warbled song Comes from the pleasant woods, and coloured wings Glance quick in the bright sun, that moves along
The forest openings.
When the bright sunset fills The silver woods with light, the green slope throms Its shadows in the hollows of the hills,
And wide the upland glows.
And when the eve is born,
And twinkles many a star.
nverted in the tide, Stand the grey rocks, and trembling shadows throw, And the fair trees look over, side by side,
And see themselves below.
Sweet April ! — many a thought
Life's golden fruit is shed.
With what a glory comes and goes the year!