TO PRIMROSES,

FILLED WITH MORNING DEW.

WHY do ye weep, sweet babes? Can tears

Alas!

Speak grief in you,

Who were but born

Just as the modest morn
Teemed her refreshing dew?

ye have not known that shower
That mars a flower,

Nor felt the unkind

Breath of a blasting wind;

Nor are ye worn with years,

Or warped, as we,

Who think it strange to see

Such pretty flowers, like to orphans young,
Speaking by tears before ye have a tongue.

Speak, whimpering younglings! and make known The reason why

Ye droop and weep.

Is it for want of sleep,

Or childish lullaby?

Or that

ye have not seen as yet

The violet?

Or brought a kiss

From that sweetheart to this?

TO BLOSSOMS.

No, no; this sorrow, shown

By your tears shed,

Would have this lecture read:

"That things of greatest, so of meanest worth,

Conceived with grief are, and with tears brought forth."

ROBERT HERRICK.

TO BLOSSOMS.

FAIR pledges of a fruitful tree,

Why do ye fall so fast?

Your date is not so past

But you may stay yet here awhile,
To blush and gently smile,
And go at last.

What! were ye born to be

An hour or half's delight,
And so to bid good-night?
'Tis pity Nature brought ye forth,
Merely to show your worth,
And lose you quite.

But you are lovely leaves, where we

May read how soon things have
Their end, though ne'er so brave;
And, after they have shown their pride

Like you awhile, they glide

Into the grave.

ROBERT HERRICK.

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 anything.

We die,

As your hours do; and dry

Away

Like to the Summer's rain,

Or as the pearls of morning dew:

Ne'er to be found again.

ROBERT HERRICK.

How's my boy-my boy?"

"What's your boy's name, good wife,

And in what good ship sailed he?"

He that went to sea;

What care I for the ship, sailor?
My boy's my boy to me.

HOW'S MY BOY?

"You come back from sea,

And not know my John?

I might as well have asked some landsman. Yonder down in the town;

There's not an ass in all the parish

But he knows my John.

"How's my boy—my boy?
And unless you let me know,
I'll swear you are no sailor:
Blue jacket or no,

Brass buttons or no, sailor,

Anchor and crown or no.

6

Sure his ship was the Jolly Briton.""

"Speak low, woman, speak low!"

"And why should I speak low, sailor, About my own boy John?

If I was loud as I am proud

I'd sing him over the town.

Why should I speak low, sailor?"

"That good ship went down."

"How's my boy- my boy? What care I for the ship, sailor; I was never aboard her.

Be she afloat or be she aground,

Sinking or swimming, I'll be bound
Her owners can afford her!

I say, how's my John?"

"Every man on board went down, Every man aboard her."