MORTIMER COLLINS.

True, sadly true, shaper of rattling rhymes,
London hath changed with process of the times.
Aurora now may "throw her faire
Fresh-quilted colours through the aire,"
But our conditions atmospheric
Are not as in the days of HERRICK.
Nathless the Muse to-day may see
Flora at urban revelry.
See how the goddess trippeth from the West,
Fragrant, though something fashionably drest;
The Season waketh at her tread,
Art lifteth a long-drooping head;
Music doth make a merry din.
'Tis profanation, keeping in,
Whenas a hundred Shows upon this day
Spring, lightly as the lark to fetch in May.

Rise, Nymph, put on fresh finery, and be seen,
To come forth like the Spring-time, fresh and green!
And gay as Flora. Art is there,
With flowing hyacinthine hair.
Fear not, the throng will strew
Largess abundant upon _you_,
When Burlington's great Opening Day is kept.
Gone is thy Grosvenor rival, not unwept;
But a New Nymph, with footing light,
Trips it beside thee, nor hath night
Shadowed sweet "Aquarelle" whose skill,