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LETTERS. 157
Surely, if the truth you ’d search,
I’ve battled hard with brother March;
With all kinds of wind and weather
That I e’er could bring together,
I have tried to force my way
Through his serried, firm array
Of some twenty odd degrees
Of cold, enough your blood to freeze.
LT have sought through shield and spear,
By fair means a path to clear,
Where I might on flying wing
Plant the banner of the Spring.
Vain my prayers. ‘Avaunt!’ quoth he.
Thus the fault lies not with me.”
With a pout,
March cried out:
‘Must [ all these burdens carry ?
Sure I’m bound to sweep the tomb
Of old uncle February;
Filling all the North with gloom,
With a mountain’s weight it lay,
Held o’er earth its icy sway.
Nought remained for me the while,
Save drive my plough 1 across the soil,
On the snow without delay,
Till the drifts were cleared away.
Thus I did my best, you see,
In frost-nipped humility!”
So said March. The Queen of Spring
Stood awhile, considering
Which of all the urchins three
Most deserved severity.
Each threw blame upon his brother;
But the wise and prudent mother
Bit her lips with action grave,
Thought a moment, and then gave,
With a rod of nettles bound,
To each one a whipping sound.
How the wretched boys did squall!
How they promised, one and all,
To amend their evil ways,
To call forth the sun’s warm rays,
Scattering flowers o’er hill and plain,
Till the earth should smile again!
4 The snow-plough, used in Sweden to clear away the snow-drifts.
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