WOODLAND AND WILD.

WINTER'S DEPARTURE.

EE where surly Winter passes off,

Far to the north, and calls his ruffian blasts;
His blasts obey, and quit the howling hill,

The shatter'd forest and the ravaged vale;
While softer gales succeed, at whose kind touch,
Dissolving snows in livid torrents lost,

The mountains lift their green heads to the sky.

As yet the trembling year is unconfirm'd,
And winter oft at eve resumes the breeze;
Chills the pale morn, and bids his driving sleets
Deform the day delightless; so that scarce
The bittern knows his time, with bill ungulft
To shake the sounding marsh; or from the shore
The plovers when to scatter o'er the heath,
And sing their wild notes to the listening waste.

At last from Aries rolls the bounteous sun, And the bright Bull receives him. Then no more The expansive atmosphere is cramp'd with cold;

But, full of life and vivifying soul,

Lifts the light clouds sublime; and spreads them thin,
Fleecy and white, o'er all-surrounding heaven.

B

J. Thomson.

FEBRUARY.

THE snow has left the cottage top;
The thatch-moss grows in brighter green;
And eaves in quick succession drop,
Where grinning icicles have been;
Pit-patting with a pleasant noise

In tubs set by the cottage door;

While ducks and geese, with happy joys,

Plunge in the yard-pond brimming o'er.

The sun peeps through the window-pane;

Which children mark with laughing eye,

And in the wet street steal again,

To tell each other Spring is nigh: Then, as young hope the past recalls, In playing groups they often draw, To build beside the sunny walls

Their spring-time huts of sticks or straw.

And oft in pleasure's dreams they hie
Round homesteads by the village side,
Scratching the hedgerow mosses by,

Where painted pooty shells abide;

Mistaking oft the ivy spray

For leaves that come with budding Spring, And wondering, in their search for play, Why birds delay to build and sing.

The milkmaid singing leaves her bed,
As happy as happy thoughts can be,
While magpies chatter o'er her head

As jocund in the change as she :
Her cows around the closes stray,

Nor lingering wait the foddering-boy; Tossing the mole-hills in their play, And staring round with frolic joy.

The shepherd now is often seen

Near warm banks o'er his hook to bend;

Or o'er a gate or stile to lean,
Chattering to a passing friend:
Ploughmen go whistling to their toils,
And yoke again the rested plough ;

And, mingling o'er the mellow soils,

Boys shout, and whips are noising now.

The barking dogs by lane and wood,

Drive sheep a-field from foddering ground;

And Echo, in her summer mood,

Briskly mocks the cheering sound.

The flocks, as from a prison broke,
Shake their wet fleeces in the sun,

While, following fast, a misty smoke
Reeks from the moist grass as they run.

No more behind his master's heels

The dog creeps on his winter-pace ; But cocks his tail, and o'er the fields Runs many a wild and random chase;

1

As crows from morning perches fly,
He barks and follows them in vain;
E'en larks will catch his nimble eye,
And off he starts and barks again,
With breathless haste and blinded guess,
Oft following where the hare hath gone;
Forgetting, in his joy's excess,

His frolic puppy-days are done!

The hedgehog, from his hollow root,
Sees the wood-moss clear of snow,
And hunts the hedge for fallen fruit-
Crab, hip, and winter-bitten sloe;
But often check'd by sudden fears,
As shepherd-dog his haunt espies,
He rolls up in a ball of spears,

And all his barking rage defies.

The gladden'd swine bolt from the sty,
And round the yard in freedom run,
Or stretching in their slumbers lie

Beside the cottage in the sun.