Robert Herrick.

Born 1591. Died 1660.

TO DAFFODILS.

FAIR daffodils, we weep to see

You haste away so soon;

As yet the early-rising sun

Has not attained his noon :

Stay, stay,

Until the hastening day

Has run

But to the even-song;

And having prayed together, we

Will

go with you along!

We have short time to stay as you;

We have as short a spring;

As quick a growth to meet decay,

As you or any thing:

We die,

Like to the summer's rain,

Or as the pearls of morning dew,

Ne'er to be found again.

Mary Robinson.

Born 1758. Died 1800.

THE SNOWDROP.

THE Snowdrop, winter's timid child,
Awakes to life, bedewed with tears;
And flings around its fragrance mild,
And where no rival flowerets bloom,
Amid the bare and chilling gloom,
A beauteous gem appears!

All weak and wan, with head inclined,
Its parent breast the drifted snow;
It trembles while the ruthless wind
Bends its slim form; the tempest lowers,
Its emerald eye drops crystal showers
On its cold bed below.

Poor flower! on thee the sunny beam,
No touch of genial warmth bestows;
Except to thaw the icy stream,
Whose little current purls along

Thy fair and glossy charms among,
And whelms thee as it flows.

The night-breeze tears thy silky dress,

Which decked, with silvery lustre shone;

The morn returns, not thee to bless,

The gaudy crocus flaunts its pride,
And triumphs where its rival died,
Unsheltered and unknown!

No sunny beam shall gild thy grave,
No bird of pity thee deplore;
There shall no spreading branches wave;
For spring shall all her gems unfold,
And revel 'mid her buds of gold,
When thou art seen no more!

Where'er I find thee, gentle flower,

Thou still art sweet and dear to me;
For I have known the cheerless hour,
Have seen the sunbeams cold and pale,
Have felt the chilling wintry gale,
And wept and shrunk like thee!

Charlotte Smith.

Born 1749.

Died. 1806.

TO THE SNOWDROP.

LIKE pendent flakes of vegetating snow,
The early herald of the infant year,

Ere yet the adventurous crocus dares to blow,

Beneath the orchard boughs thy buds appear.

While still the cold north-east ungenial lowers,
And scarce the hazel in the leafless copse,
Or sallows shew their downy powdered flowers,
The grass is spangled with thy silver drops.

Yet when those pallid blossoms shall give place To countless tribes, of richer hue and scent, Summer's gay blooms, and autumn's yellow race, I shall thy pale inodorous bells lament.

So journeying onward in life's varying track,
Even while warm youth its bright illusion lends,
Fond memory often with regret looks back

To childhood's pleasures, and to infant friends.

Robert Fergusson.

Born 1751. Died 1774.

THE DELIGHTS OF VIRTUE.

RETURNING morn, in orient blush arrayed,

With gentle radiance hailed the sky serene; No rustling breezes waved the verdant shade ; No swelling surge disturbed the azure main.

These moments, Meditation! sure are thine;
These are the halcyon joys you wish to find,
When nature's peaceful elements combine
To suit the calm composure of the mind.

The Muse, exalted by thy sacred power,
To the green mountain's airy summit flew,
Charmed with the thoughtful stillness of an hour,
That ushered beaming fancy to her view.

Fresh from old Neptune's fluid mansion sprung
The sun, reviver of each drooping flower;
At his approach, the lark, with matin song,
In notes of gratitude confessed his power.

So shines fair Virtue, shedding light divine

On those who wish to profit by her ways; Who ne'er at parting with their vice repine, To taste the comforts of her blissful rays.

She with fresh hopes each sorrow can beguile; Can dissipate adversity's deep gloom;

Make meagre poverty contented smile;

And the sad wretch forget his hapless doom.

Sweeter than shady groves in Summer's pride, Than flowery dales or grassy meads, is she; Delightful as the honeyed streams that glide From the rich labours of the busy bee.