The primrose blooms for Easter-tide,
The daffodil for May;

But June's the lordly Summer's bride,

And this her bridal day.

And who but you, as pure as dew, as true as ye are tender,

So light of heart, should bear your part, amid her bridal cheer? And who but you, to life so new, should dance amid her splendour,— Should rise with living rapture through the radiance of the year?

Then dance away the merry day,
Your meed of music bringing,

Where household cares hush half the lay

The birds were lately singing ;

The robin in his summer haunt, his woodland place of wooing,
Has all forgot the welcome note that sang away the snow ;
The cushat calls among the firs, the green cuckoo cuckooing,
Your little mimic voices stirs to music as ye go.

See there, the glimpse of grassy dales

Is gleaming through the larches,
And here, like dim cathedral aisles,

The gloom of beechen arches ;

The heather grows on every bank, the wild-rose on its thorn;
The woodbines o'er the dusky gean their golden garlands fling ;
And there the flush of noontide rays, and here the blush of morn,
Where fainting fair anemones lie left behind the Spring.

And all flowers are blowing

To the fulness of their noon,
Where the Summer king is going

With his queenly lady June.

Her cheek is like the apple bloom before it opens fairly;

She strews the ground with flowers around with ever-radiant hand; Her mantle fold of green and gold is floating round her rarely; We'll greet with love the rosy queen that's coming through the land.

THE SUMMER WOODS.

Then wake the gladsome greenwood way,
With all your young delight;

I've seen your fathers' hearts as gay,
Your mothers' eyes as bright.

And they are all the gayer, all the brighter are their eyes,
For days they spent in merriment among the woods of old ;
And they are all the gayer all, for happy thoughts that rise,
And far-off hours like these recall all clad in robes of gold.

Some brown as nuts in nutting days,
Some blushing red as maples;
They rolled about the heather braes

Like rosy-cheeked apples;

II

And up and down the woodland brown the merry band went dancing, Their hearts as light as any bird's to memory and me;

As sunset beams on sparkling streams their bright young eyes were glancing;

Their voices sweet and happy feet kept time with tuneful glee.

And hope may pour its richest store
With every promise true;

Yet golden halcyons shine no more

Like those that shine on you.

And ye will seek, as I have sought, for beauty's fading traces,
And footprints of the Summers where ye danced in other years;

And find that sunshine never dies when shed on happy faces,
But lives through life-long memories, though maybe fringed with tears.

Then dance away with merry din,

I love your laughter dearly;
The linnet on his muirland whin

Could never sing so clearly.

The golden thrush, within his bush, the blackbird on his tree

Have kept their sweet-love songs to greet the bridal joys of June;

And far away the skylark's lay rings o'er the lowan lea;

Oh, happy song of happy hearts with song and heart in tune!

The rosebuds, with their ruby lips,
To Summer's kisses cling;
The larches' crimson finger-tips

Wave farewell to the Spring;

The chestnut's hyacinthine flower, the ever-fragrant haw,

Are shedding balms thro' sun and shower, and beauty where they stand; The ancient oaks, like brave old kings, who kept the world in awe, All greet with love the rosy Queen that's coming through the land.

It is the time when Summer, all his golden glory shedding,
His joys on every corner, all his love on sea and shore,
His path of light is spreading, for the bride that he is wedding,
His radiant Queen in bridal sheen, his loved one evermore.

Then dance through all their rosy reign

Be merry while you may;

You'll never dance as young again,

Though dancing every day.

TO A WILD FLOWER.

The old divine emotion that is throbbing everywhere,
Is waking into beauty, and is breaking into song:

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The ever-young whose raptures sprung when Eden first was fair, Makes hearts as light, and eyes as bright, and blithe's the day is long.

There's joy in every blossom-fold,

There's peace among the leaves;
And all the sunshine turns to gold

Among the harvest sheaves.

But all the harvests are not when the grain is waving yellow,

And brown October apples in their ruddy ripeness fall!

Then gather sunshine while you may, to make your Autumn mellow, And let you keep, in after day, an open heart for all.

TO A WILD FLOWER.

WILLIAM FORSYTH.

IN the

green solitudes

Of the deep, shady woods,

Thy lot is kindly cast, and life to thee

Is like a gust of rarest minstrelsy.

The winds of May and June
Hum many a tender tune,

Flowing above thy leafy hiding-place,

Kissing, all thrilled with joy, thy modest face.

About thee float and glow

Rare insects, hovering low,

And round thee glance thin streams of delicate grass, Plashing their odours on thee as they pass.

The sheen of brilliant wings,
Songs of shy, flitting things,

The low mysterious melodies that thrill
Through every summer wood, thy sweet life fill.

O bloom! all joy is thine,

All loves around thee shine;

The thousand hearts of Nature throb for thee,
Her thousand voices praise thee tenderly.

O bloom of purest glory,
Flower of Love's gentlest story!
For ever keep thy petals fresh and fair,
For ever send thy sweetness down the air.

I'll put thee in my song

With all thy joys along,

At which some sunny hearts may summer grow,
And frozen ones may gently slip their snow;

For I am loved like thee,

Great joy doth compass me:

My life is like a wind of May or June,

Shot through with snatches of a charming tune.

JAMES MAURICE THOMSON.