ing;--

"Adieu! I'm going to the rocks and caves,
And must leave all here behind me;
Or perhaps I shall sink in the Northern waves,
So deep that none can find me."

"Good luck! good luck, to your hoary locks!"
Said the gay young Spring, advancing;
"You may take your rest 'mid the caves and rocks,
While I o'er the earth am dancing.

"But there is not a spot where you have trod.
You hard, old clumsy fellow,--
Not a hill, nor a field, nor a single sod,
But I must make haste to mellow.

"I then shall carpet them o'er with grass,
To look so bright and cheering,
That none will regret having let you pass
Far out of sight and hearing.

"The fountains that you locked up so tight,
When I shall give them a sunning,
Will sparkle and play in my warmth and light,
And the streams set off to running.

"I'll speak in the earth to the palsied root,
That under your reign was sleeping;
I'll teach it the way in the dark to shoot,
And draw out the vine to creeping.

"The boughs that you cased so close in ice,
It was chilling e'en to behold them,
I'll deck all over with buds so nice;
My breath can alone unfold them.

"And when all the trees are with blossoms drest,
The bird, with her song so merry,
Will come to the branches to build her nest,
With a view to the future cherry.

"The earth will show by her loveliness,
The wonders that I am doing;
While the skies look down with a smile, to bless
The way that I'm pursuing!"

Said Winter, "Then I would have you learn,
By me, my gay new-comer,
To push off too, when it comes your turn,
And yield your place to Summer!"

=Tom Tar=

I'll tell you now about Tom Tar,
The sailor stout and bold,
Who o'er the ocean roamed so far,
To countries new and old.

Tom was a man of thousands! he
Would ne'er complain nor frown,
Though high and low the wind and sea
Might toss him up and down.

Amid the waters dark and deep,
He had the happy art,
When all around was storm, to keep
Fair weather in his heart.

Though winds were wild, and waves were rough,
He'd always cast about,
And find within he'd calm enough
To stand the storms without.

"For nought," said Tom, "is ever gained
By sighs for what we lack;
Nor can it mend a vessel strained,
To let our temper crack.

"And sure I am, the worst of storms,
That any man should dread,
Is that which in the bosom forms,
And musters to the head."

Serene, and ever