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- Then came old February, sitting
In an old wagon, for he could not ride,
Drawn of two fishes for the season fitting,
Which through the flood before did softly slide
And swim away; yet had he by his side
His plough and harness fit to till the ground,
And tools to prune the trees, before the pride
Of hasting prime did make them bourgeon wide.
SPENSER.
I|
FEBRUARY (
(DESCRIPTIVE.)
comes   in
like a sturdy
countrvy
maiden, with a tinge of the red,
hard winter apple on her healthy
cheek, and as she strives against
the wind, wraps her russet-coloured
cloak well about her, while with bent
head, she keeps throwing back the long
hair that blows about her face, and though
at times half blinded by the sleet and snow,
202
still continues her course courageously. Some-
times she seems to shrink, and while we watch
her progress, half afraid that she will be blown
back again into the dreary waste of Winter,
we see that her course is still forward, that she
never takes a backward step, but keeps jour-
neying along slowly, and drawing nearer, at
every stride, to the Land of Flowers. Between
the uplifted curtaining of clouds, that lets in a
broad burst of golden sunlight, the skylark hovers
like a dark speck, and cheers her with h .s brief
sweet song, while the mellow-voiced blackbiid
and the speckle-breasted thrush make muse
MOM ~     ~
~  ~   -99K