Page 16. line 5. for Autumn read Orchis.

16. line 8. for Animonies read Anemonies. 18. last line, for bills read bells. 19. line 6. for shall read shalt. 22. line 1. for mignionette réad mignonette. 76. Jine 16. for his read her. 78. line 3. for that read her. 78. line 10. for ambitious read ambition's, 84. line 8. for stains read strains. 106. line 18. for gives its read give their. 109. line 5. for holding read silver. 115. line 16. for Silver read Silvers. 125. line 4. for lawns read meads. 127. line 9. for spring read sprig. 139. line 7. for healthy read heathy. 157. line 16. for reeks read recks. 198. line 11. for close read closed. 199. line 9. for lour'd read lower'd. 208. line 23. for Cherubims read Cherubim.






Gay Herald of the rosy spring
Returning now, on rapid wing,
Low to sweep the lake or stream,
Or bask beneath the sunny beam.
Oh! haste thee, while the softest showers
Are vegetating Nature's flowers,
To animate the insect brood,
And cater thus thy fluttering food.
Oh! come and wantonly partake,
Of every banquet Sol can make.
For when exhausted is thy store,
I know thou'lt tarry here no more,
But quickly fly to otherskies,
To newer feasts on choicer flies.


So man's frail friends with him remain,
While summer richly decks the plain ;
But as his wintry blasts come on,
Like thee, they instantly are gone.


Logan. HAIL! sprightly stranger of the wood,

Attendant on the Spring ;
Now heaven repairs thy rural seat,

And woods thy welcome sing.
Soon as the daisy decks the green,

Thy certain voice we hear ;
Hast thou a star to guide thy path,

And mark the rolling year?
Delightful visitant! with thee

I hail the time of flowers,
When heaven is filled with music sweet

Of birds among the bowers.
The school-boy wandering in the wood,

To pluck the flowers so gay,
Starts thy curious voice to hear,

And imitates thy lay.
Soon as the pea puts on the bloom,

Thou fliest the vocal vale,
An annual guest in other lands,

Another spring to hail.

Sweet bird ! thy bower is ever green,

Thy sky is ever clear ;
Thou hast no sorrow in thy song,

No winter in thy year.
O could I fly, I'd fly with thee;

We'd make, with social wing,
Our annual visit round the globe,

Companions of the Spring.


Love songster of the infant year,
The first amid the feather'd quire;
Who, warbling many a wild note clear,
Attun'st thy lay to young desire.
Why swells with grief thy little throat ?
Why do thy plumes disorder'd lie ?
Say, from what cause, that pensive note proceeds,
And whence that alter'd eye?
Has fate, beneath the fowler's form,
With cruel aim, thy bliss annoy'd?
Or truant boy, intent on harm,
With careless joy, thy young destroy'd ?
If 'tis thy lot these woes to prove,
Thy plaintive strain still let me hear;
For as thou wail'st thy injur'd love,
I'll sooth thy sufferings with a tear.

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