Shall avenge the wrongs of that Indian maid.




A PLEA FOR OUR NORTHERN WINTERS.


"Oh, Earth, where is the mantle of pleasant emerald dye
That robed thee in sweet summer-time, and gladdened heart and
eye,
Adorned with blooming roses, graceful ferns and blossoms sweet,
And bright green moss like velvet that lay soft beneath our
feet?"

"What! am I not as lovely in my garb of spotless white?
Was young bride in her beauty ever clothed in robe as bright?
Or, if you seek for tinting warm, at morn and evening hour,
You'll find me bathed in blushes bright as those of summer
flower."

"But, Earth, I miss the verdure of thy woods and forests old,
The waving of their foliage, casting shadows o'er the wold,
The golden sunbeams peering 'mid the green leaves here and there,
And I sigh to see the branches so cheerless and so bare."

"But oft they're clothed in ermine to the sight and touch more
fair
Than the costly robing monarchs for regal garments wear,
Whilst at times the glitt'ring branches with jewels are ablaze,