Ah! the scythe, which with a single stroke blindly cuts down a whole springtide!

Ne'er will the birch, to greet the Springtide, Be fresh adorned in leafy pride!

many years of joy To theeand thinethat springtide of the heart, The bliss of virtuous love, without alloy.

But one morning as she stood watching the springtide, Kitty saw him walking up the drive; the sky was growing bright with blue, and the beds were catching flower beneath the evergreen oaks.