The Golden Treasury

Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king;

Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring,

Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing,

Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!

The palm and may make country houses gay,

Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day,

And we hear aye birds tune their merry lay,

Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!

The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet,

Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit,

In every street these tunes our ears do greet,

Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!

Spring, the sweet Spring!

T. NASH.

Phoebus, arise!

And paint the sable skies

With azure, white, and red:

Rouse Memnon's mother from her Tithon's bed

That she may thy career with roses spread:

The nightingales thy coming eachwhere sing:

Make an eternal spring!

Give life to this dark world which lieth dead;

Spread forth thy golden hair

In larger locks than thou wast wont before,

And emperor-like decore

With diadem of pearl thy temples fair:

Chase hence the ugly night

Which serves but to make dear thy glorious light.

-This is that happy morn,

That day, long wishéd day

Of all my life so dark,

(If cruel stars have not my ruin sworn

And fates not hope betray),

Which, purely white, deserves

An everlasting diamond should it mark.

This is the morn should bring unto this grove

My Love, to hear and recompense my love.

Fair King, who all preserves,

But show thy blushing beams,

And thou two sweeter eyes

Shalt see than those which by Penéus' streams

Did once thy heart surprize.

Now, Flora, deck thyself in fairest guise:

If that ye winds would hear

A voice surpassing far Amphion's lyre,

Your furious chiding stay;

Let Zephyr only breathe

And with her tresses play.

-The winds all silent are,

And Phoebus in his chair

Ensaffroning sea and air

Makes vanish every star:

Night like a drunkard reels

Beyond the hills, to shun his flaming wheels:

The fields with flowers are deck'd in every hue,

The clouds with orient gold spangle their blue;

Here is the pleasant place-

And nothing wanting is, save She, alas.

WILLIAM DRUMMOND OF HAWTHORNDEN.

When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced

The rich proud cost of out-worn buried age;

When sometime lofty towers I see down-razed,

And brass eternal slave to mortal rage.

When I have seen the hungry ocean gain

Advantage on the kingdom of the shore,

And the firm soil win of the watery main,

Increasing store with loss, and loss with store.

When I have seen such interchange of state,

Or state itself confounded to decay,

Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate-

That Time will come and take my Love away.

-This thought is as a death, which cannot choose

But weep to have that which it fears to lose.

W. SHAKESPEARE.