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156
LETTERS.
With fragrant buds,
Sporting like the butterflies.
Words of mirth,
In our North,
Thou should’st speak to every soul:
‘Lo! I bring
Lovely Spring;
Fill with wine the sparkling bowl! ’
“What a shame
To take that name
Given you in the almanac;
‘Month of flowers,’
Gracious powers!
Say how dare you thus to mock ?
Pouting ? — Ha!
Mind, mamma
All such tempers soon will settle;
If you dare,
I declare —
I°ll whip you with my first young nettle!”
“ Mother, why,”
Cried the boy,
“Do you take me thus to task?
Brother April scold, I pray, —
He was lazy, would not ask
The sun to melt the snow away;
Let it lie on lake and plain;
Left old Boreas free to reign;
And when I at length came forth
On my merry birthday morn,
Hailed with joy by all the North,
Fain would [ this earth adorn:
But ’t was still so cold and nipping,
That I quaked with aguish fears,
With my garments wet and dripping,
And my face all blurred with tears.”
Quoth April then,
With angry mien,
““ Who such wretched falsehood utters ?
Have n’t I washed and cleaned the gutters?
Have n’t I broken up the ice,
Swept the roofs quite clean and nice?
On my honor I declare,
Your demands are most unfair!
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