7. When _May_, With her cap crown'd with roses, Stands in her holiday dress in the fields, and the wind and the brooklet Murmur gladness and peace, God's peace! with lips rosy tinted, Whisper the race of the flowers, and merry, on balancing branches, Birds are singing their carol, a jubilant hymn to the Highest. LONGFELLOW. 8. _Autumn eventide_; When sinking on the blue hill's breast, the sun Spreads the large bounty of his level blaze, Lengthening the shade of mountains and tall trees. GEORGE LUNT. 9. When on a keen _December_ night, Jack Frost Drives through mid air his chariot icy-wheel'd, And from the sky's crisp ceiling, star-emboss'd, Whiffs off the clouds that the pure blue concealed. TENNENT--_Anster Fair_. 10. When _Spring_, advancing, calls her feather'd quire, And tunes to softer notes her laughing lyre; Musk'd in the rose's lap fresh dews are shed, And breathe celestial lustres round her head. DARWIN. 11. _June_ with its roses,----June! The gladdest month of the capricious year, With its thick foliage, and its sunlight clear, And with a drowsy tune Of the bright leaping waters, as they pass Laughingly on, amid the springing grass! W. H. BURLEIGH. 12. When _Autumn_, like a faint old man, sits down By the wayside, a-weary. LONGFELLOW. 13. _Winter_, shod with fleecy snow, Who cometh _white_, and _cold_, and _mute_, Lest he should wake the Spring below. BARRY CORNWALL. 14. When the south wind in _May_ days, With a net of shining haze, Silvers the horizon wall; And with softness touching all, Tints the human countenance With a color of romance, And infusing gentle heats, Turns the sod to violets. R. W. EMERSON. 15. When _Spring's_ unfolded blooms Exhale in sweetness, that the skilful bee May taste, at will, from their selected spoils, To work her dulcet sweet. AKENSIDE--_Pleasures of the Imagination_. 16. The joyous _Winter_ days, When sits the soul intense, collected, cool, Bright as the skies, and as the season keen. THOMSON. 17. The _Spring_, as she passes along With her eye of light, and her lip of song. W. G. CLARK. 18. _October!_ Heaven's delicious breath, When woods begin to wear the crimson leaf, And suns grow meek, and the meek sun grows brief, And the year smiles, as drawing near its death. W. C. BRYANT.