A MODERN MADRIGAL.

Come, for the buds are burst in the warren,

And the lamb’s first bleat is heard in the mead;

Come, be Phyllis, and I’ll be Coryn,

Though flocks we have none to fold or feed.

Come for a ramble down the dingle,

For Spring has taken the Earth to bride;

Leave the cricket to chirp by the ingle,

And forth with me to the rivulet-side.

Lo! how the land has put from off her

Her virgin raiment of winter white,

And laughs in the eyes of the Spring, her lover,

Who flings her a garland of flowers and light.

Hark how the lark in his first ascension

Fills heaven with love-songs, hovering on high;

Trust to us for the Spring’s intention,

Trust to the morn for a stormless sky.

I know the meadow for daffodowndillies,

And the haunt of the crocus purple and gold;

I’ll be Coryn, and you’ll be Phyllis,

Springs to-day are as sweet as of old.

F. Wyville Home.

Printed and Published by W. & R. Chambers, 47 Paternoster Row, London, and 339 High Street, Edinburgh.