"I do but sing because I must,
And pipe but as the linnets sing."
TENNYSON.IN the winter winds were roaring through the branches, fierce and chill;
In the winter cheerless sorrow made the cold more bitter still;
Sadly silent all the robins; sleeping were the swallows ever;
And the Frost-King cast a stillness o'er the torrent and the river.
O the fierceness of his ruling! O the terror of his sway!
Birds and streamlets hail the spring-time, for his power has passed away, -
Streams, whose wavelets, quickly melting, musically roll along;
Birdlings, from whose throats the melted measures harmonize in song.
So the poet, ever watching, hears the charms of nature sing,
And, in humbler flight, his fancy soars to hail the joyful Spring!
L. L. E.
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