THE PRINCESS HAS COME.

HE white snow has gone from the vale and the mountain; The ice from the river has melted away; The hills far and near Are less winterly drear, And the buds of the hawthorn are peeping for May. I hear a light footstep abroad in my garden; Oh, stay, does the wind through the shrubbery blow? There's warmth in the breeze, And a song in the trees, And the Princess of Springtime is coming, I know. The crocus has lighted its lamp in the forest, Though it shelters its flame with a close-drawn green hood; The primrose peeps out, With a shiver of doubt, And wonders if winter has left us for good. But hark, from afar comes the sound of a bugle! Or is it the bee where the rose-bushes grow? He loiters so long, With such joy in his song, That the Princess of Springtime is coming, I know. The blackbird has climbed to the top of the cedar, And there in the sunshine he whistles a strain. 'She's coming! She's here!' Are his messages clear, As squadrons of swallows sweep by in the lane. Now the woodlands rejoice with the green-tinted hedges; The young wheat peeps up and the blue sky looks down. Then out and away! Our respects we must pay, When the Princess of Springtime is wearing her crown.