So I woo thee, Spring, and I wed thee, Spring, To a dreary-thoughted lay, And I sing thee, Spring, in thy blossoming, Through the lee-lang weary day! Through the lee-lang day and the plodding night— When no golden star’s in the lift alight, To brighten a weary way. * * * * * SONG. BY L. L. M. When morn’s soft light is o’er us shed, When pearl drops bow each taper leaf, And e’en the lily’s queenly head Pays homage to the glory brief— Who ever recks of coming night, Or grieves that such an hour must be— Who ever weeps o’er winter’s blight While summer decks the dewy lea. The forest leaf now pale and sere Once bent to roving breezes’ kiss; The faded flower on Autumn’s bier Once seemed too gayly bright for this, Nor did they droop and whisper all Of mildew dank, of frost and blight; But ever rang the wild-wood hall With joyous song and murmur light. And grievest _thou_, dear one, that life Is but a dream that soon is past? Fear’st thou the briefly bitter strife, The shadows on thy pathway cast? Nay, ’tis not well—though day’s soon gone; The flowers soon pale that bind thy brow; Though night and death are stealing on, Forget not, love, ’tis morning _now_! * * * * * TWO WAYS TO MANAGE. BY THE AUTHOR OF “CLOVERNOOK.” It was night, black night all over the world, and denser night within the dwelling of Margery Starveling. Now and then, the half-moon broke through the clouds that obscured the face of heaven, and some straggling and uncertain beams slanting through the narrow south window, gave to the low, homely apartment a ghostly sort of glow that was gloomier to see than the dark. Yet the night was one to make timid hearts beat quick, especially in a dismal old house, where there was no light save occasional glimpses of the half-moon. But Margery was not afraid—she was used to darkness and solitude, and needed not the interchange of humanities for her comfort, else she would have aroused from the sleep which had fallen upon her, the child, who—with cheek leaned against the rough stone jam—was alike unconscious of the dark, and the rats gnawing hungrily at the floor, or loosening the hearth beneath her feet. It may be that bright dreams came to her, even there, for what shall stay them from innocence? and the rough jam may have seemed a pillow of down, and the chill moonlight, as it fell against her, the golden curtaining of a pleasant couch.