Though bleak winds are blowing,
And sunbeams scarce showing,

Thou cheerest our hearts with thy balm.

Snowdrops! fresh from the hand of God!
What soul can help feeling,

As it sees thee upstealing,

So delicate, out of the clod,
The deep infinite love

Of our Father above,

Who thus spreads His treasures abroad?

Composed at Brawby, February 5, 1890, the village gardens and orchards looking beautiful at this time with snowdrops.

THE BLACKTHORN.

CHILD of the hedgerow !

Pride of the lane!

How lovely thy blossoms

When spring comes again!

When Nature awaking,

Looks like a bride;

A chosen brides-maiden,

Thou stand'st at her side.

In garments milk-white,"

Year after year;

With green buds of hawthorn

Thy blossoms appear.

Oh, sweet is the vale!

Bright is the lea!

When the springtide returns,

With song-birds and thee !

THE CUCKOO.

THIS morning, whilst walking

Along in the lane,

The voice of the cuckoo

I heard me again.

The heavens were azure,
With scarcely a cloud,
And rooks in their gladness
Cawed frequent and loud.

The sunbeams fell brightly,
Like arrows of gold,
Inspiring all creatures
With joy manifold.

Young lambs mid the pastures

In frolics were seen,

While buds of the hawthorn

Were delicate green.

And hares in the meadows

Quick scamper'd along,

Whilst larks woke the welkin
With anthems of song.

Now, thus as I saunter'd,
Enjoying the morn,

On the breath of a zephyr

There to me was borne

The notes Cuckoo! cuckoo !'.
Melodious and clear;

Methought them the sweetest
I'd heard for the year.

What visions they brought me

Of years that had fled, When the springtime of life

Encircled my head!

When loitering to school,

I stayed by the way,

To list to the cuckoo,

Which sang from the spray.

Since then youth has vanished,
And manhood has come,
With its sorrows and trials,
And victories won.

Yet as I look backward,

Reviewing those days,

The words' Cuckoo ! cuckoo !'
Redound to thy praise.

And now, as the springtide
Rolls onward, each year

I look for thy coming,

Thou bird of good cheer!

Till wandering, perhaps

In the fields or the lane,
A melodious, sweet Cuckoo !'
Is borne me again.

Then know I that Winter

Is fully at bay,

And welcome the flowerets

Of April and May.

I hail them all gaily

With many a word,

And greet thee most kindly

Thou bonnie blithe bird!

Composed at Brawby, May 7-9, 1890, on hearing the cuckoo for the first time for the year whilst walking one morning in the Brawby lane just before opening school.

THE DAISY.

SWEET little flow'ret of the grass,
Amid thine emerald bed,
How innocent, how beautiful!
Thou liftest up thine head.

So beauteous, yet so fragile,
So modest, pure, and good,
Possessing all the qualities
Of gentle maidenhood.

How lovingly thy golden eye
Doth turn towards the sun!

Doth follow him confidingly
Until the day is done.

Till when he sinks beneath the hills,
Far in the blushing west,

Then, too, thou foldest up thy form,
Preparest for thy rest.

Soon night-winds rock thee fast asleep, And moonbeams round thee play;

While dewdrops kiss thy nodding head Till dawns another day.