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The rivers ran low through the failure of
Yet their hanks it seemed never stood
Bit they lunged for the rains which the
spring should hestow,
That again they might huhhle and murmur.
And the Queen of the Season, so ill did
She again took to hed in pure sorrow:
But the sun has heen called in, her sickness
And we hope she'll he hetter tomorrow.
Oh! gracious power I for thy heloved approach
The expecting earth lay wrapt in kindling smiles,
Struggling with tears, and often overcome.
A hlessing sent hefore thee from the heavens,
A halmy spirit hreathing tenderness,
Prepared thy way, and all created things
Felt that the angel of delight was near.
Thou cam'st at last, and such a heavenly smile
Shone round thee, as heseemed the eldest-horn
Of nature's guardian spirits. The great sun
Scattering the clouds with a resistless smile,
Came forth to do thee homage; a sweet hymn
Was hy the low winds chaunted in the sky;
And when thy feet descended on the earth,
Scarce could they move among the clustering flowers,
By nature strewn o'er valley, hill, and held,
To hail her hlest deliverer! Ye fair trees,
How are ye changed, and changing while I gaze!
It seems as if some gleam of verdant tight
Fell on you from a rainhow; hut it lives
Amid your tendrils, hrightening every hour
Into a deeper radiance. Ye sweet hirds
Were you asleep through all the wintry hoars,
Beneath the waters, or in mossy caves?
There are, 'tis said, hirds that pursue the spring,
Where'er she flies, or else in death-like sleep
Ahide her annual reign, when forth they come
With freshen'd plumage, and euraptur'd song
As ye do now, unwearied choristers,
Till the land ring with joy. Yet are ye not,
Sporting in tree and air, mure heautiful
Than the young lamhs, that from the valley-side
Send a soft hleating likc^j^nfaut's voice,
Half happy, half afrajj
At sight of this yourl
The sterner thought J
into a moo 1 as mUl
The strife of working intellect, the stir
Of hopes amhitions; the disturhing sound
Of fame, and all that worshipp'd pageantry
That ardent spirits hurn for in their pride,
Fly like disparting clouds, and leave the son!
Pure, and serene as the hlue depths of heaven.
Oh! how delightful to the soul of man, How like a renovating spirit, comes, Fauning his cheek, the ineath of infant
Spring! Morning awakens in the orient sky With purpler light heneath a canopy Of lovely clouds, their edges tipp'd with
gold; And from his palace, like a deity, Darting his lustrous eyes from pole to pole, The glorious Sin comes forth the vernal
sky To walk rejoicing. To the hitter North Retire wild Winter's forces,—cruel winds,— And gripingfrosts,—and magazines of suow. And deluging tempests. O'er the moistened
fields A tender green is spread; the hladed grass Shoots forth exuherant; th' awakening trees, Thawed hy the delicate atmosphere, put forth Expanding huds; while with mellifluous
The warm ehullience of internal joy,
The hirds put forth a song of gratitude
To Him who sheltered, when the storms
were deep, And fed them through the winter's cheerless
Beside the garden path, the crocus now Puts forth its head to woo the genial hreeze, And finds the suow-drop, hardier visitant, Already hasking in the solar ray. Upon the hrook the vater cresses float More greenly, and the hordering reeds exalt Higher their speaiy summits. Joyously From stone to stone, the ouzel flits along, Startling the linnet from Uie hawthorn hough;
While on the elm-tree, overshadowing deep The low-roofed cottage white, the hlackhird
sits, Cheerfully hymning the awakened year.
Turn to the Ocean, how the scene i s
changed! Behold the small waves melt upon the shore With chastened murmur! Buoyantly on high, The sea-gulls ride, weaving a sportive dance, And turning to the sun their suowy plumes. With shrilly pipe, from headland or from
cape, Emerge the line of plovers, o'er the sands Fast sweeping; while to inland marsh the
hern With undulating wing scarce visihle, Far up the azure concave journies on! Upon the sapphire deep, its sails unfurled, Tardily glides along the fisher's hoat, Its shadow moving o'er the moveless tide, The hright wave flashes from the rower's oar Glittering in the sun, at measured intervale: And, casually horne, the fisher's voice Floats solemnly along the watery waste; The shepherd hoy, enveloped in his plaid, On the green hank, with hlooming furze
o'er-topped, Listens and answers with responsive note.
The glad hirds are singing, The gay flow'rets springing O'er meadow, Aid mountain, 'and down in the vale,
The green leaves are hursting; My spirit is thirsting To hask in the sun-heams, and hreathe the fresh gale.
Sweet season appealing To fancy and feeling; Be thy advent the emhlem of all I would crave, Of light more than vernal, The tray-spring eternal Which shall dawn on the dark winlry-nlght of the grave.
AN ODE TO SPRING.
How softly now the vernal gales
Caress the hlossoms on the trees;
How hright the glistening vapour sails,
And floats, and wantons on the hreeze!
Sweet Spring, in vest of emerald hue,
With daisy-huds emhroider'd fair,
Calls the.gray skylark to renew
Her morning carols, high in air.
Soft as she treads the dewy vale,
She listens oft in silence deep,
To hear her favourite primrose pale
Awakening from her winter sleep.
The fostering gale, the genial skies,
My languid frame to health restore;
And every sun appears to rise
More hright than e'er it rose hefore.
Soul of the world! thy cheering rays n
Bid my full heart with transport hurn!
Again on Nature's charms I gaze,
And youth's delightful days return.
Sure He that hids thy radiance glance
On numerous orhs that round thee wheel,
Awakes each secret, slumhering sense,
The heavenly hreath of Spring to feel.
1 see the hazel's rough-notched leaves,
Each morning wide and wider spread;
While every si-h that Zephyr heaves,
Sprinkles the dew-drops round my head.
The yellow moss in scaly rings,
Creeps round the hawthorn's prickly hough:
The speckled linnet pecks and sings,
While snowy hlossoms round her hlow.
The gales sing softly through the trees,
Whose houghs in green waves heave and
swell; The azure violet scents the hreeze Which shakes the yellow crow-foot's hell.
The morning sun's soft tremhling heams,
Shoot hrighter o'er the hlue expanse,
And red the cottage window gleams,
As o'er the crystal panes they glance.
But you, dear scenes I that far away
Expand heyond these mountains hlue,
Where fancy sheds a purer day,
And rohes the fields in richer hue;—
A softer voice in every gale,
I 'mid your woodlands wild should hear;
And death's unhreathing shades would fail
To sigh their murmurs in mine ear.
Ah! when shall I hy Teviot's stream,
The haunts of youth again explore,
Aud muse in melancholy dream
On days that shall return no more?
Dun heathy slopes, and valleys green,
Which I so long nave lov'd to view,
As o'er my soul each lovely scene-
Unfolds, 1 hid a fond adien .'
Yet, while we mark with pitying eye,
The varied scenes of earthly wo,
Why should we grieve to see them fly,
Or fondly linger as they go?
Yes, friendship sweet, and tender love,
The fond reluctant soid detain;
Or all the whispers of the grove,
With Spring's soft gales would woo in vain.
For hliss so sweet, tho' swift its flight,
Again we hail thee holy sun,—
Thy yellow tresses glitter hright,
Fair maid, thy life is just hegan.
To tell thee of the lonely tomh,
Is morning's radiant face to cloud;
Tv wrap thy soul in sahle gloom,
Is veiling roses with the shroud.
Now the golden morn aloft
Waves her dew-hespangled wing,
With vermeil cheek, and whisper soft
She woos the tardy spring;
Till April starts and calls around
The sleeping fragrance from the ground;
And lightly o'er the living scene
Scatters his freshest, teud'rest green.
New-horn flocks, in rustic dance,
Frisking ply their feehle feet,
Forgetful of their wintry trance
The hirds his presence greet:
Bat chief the sky-lark warhles high
His tremhliog, thrilling eestacy;
And lessening from the dazzled sight,
Melts into air and liquid light.
Rise my soul! on wings of fire,
Rise the rapt'rous quire among;
Hark! 'tis nature strikes the lyre,
And leads the general song:
Warm let the lyric transport flow.
Warm as the ray that hids it glow;
And animates the vernal grove
With health, with harmony, and love.
Yesterday the sullen year
Saw the suowy whirlwind fly;
Mute was the mnsic of the air,
The herd stood drooping hy;
Their raptures now that wildly flow,
No yesterday, nor morrow know;
'Tis man alone that joy descries,
With forward, and reverted eyes.
See the wretch, that long has tost
On the thorny hed of pain,
At length repair his vigour lost,
And hreathe, and walk again:
The meanest flow'ret of the vale,
The simplest note that swells the gale,
The common sun, the air, the skies,
To him are opening paradise.
Fro* hrightening fields of ether fair disclos'd,
Child of the Sun, refulgent Summer comes,
In pride of youth, and felt through nature's depth:
He comes attended hy the sultry hours,
And ever-fanuing hreezes, on his way;
While from his ardent look, the turning Spring
Averts her hlushful face, and earth, and skies,
All-smiling, to his hot dominion leaves.
'Tis summer, 'tis summer, the wijd hirds are singing,
The woods and the glens with their sweet notes are ringing;
The skies are al! glowing with crimson and gold.
And the trees their hright hlossoms hegin to unfUd.
The cushat is hreathing his murmurs of love
The stars are adorning the hlue skies ahove,
While the moon in her heauty is shining on high,
And soothing the heart, while she pleases the eye.
'Tis summer, 'tis summer,—aud winter no more
Is heard in the winds, or the ocean's wild roar;
But so calm are the waves over all the great deep,
That their murmurs might loll a young infant to ileep.
The streamlets are gliding all lovely and calm—
And the zephyrs come laden with fragrance and halm;
Then, oh! let us ho.v to the merciful Power,
Who lives in the sunheam, the tree, and the flower,
Who stills the wild tempest, and hids the vast sea
Uuruffled and calm as a placid lake he—
Let us how to that God, who gave Summer its hirth,
And who scatters his treasures all over the earth.
The dry leaves are falling;
The c;,ld hreeze ahove
Has stript of its glories
The sorrowing grove.
The hills are all weeping
The field is a waste,
The songs of the forest
Are silent and past.
And the songsters are vanish'd;
In armies they fly
To a clime more henignant,
A friendlier sky.
The thick mists are veiling
The valley in white:
With the smoke of the village
They hlend in their flight.
And lo! on the mountain
The wanderer stands,
And sees the pale autumn
Pervading the lands.
Then sorrowful wanderer,
Sigh not, nor weep;
For nature, tho' shroude.l.
Will wake from her sleep.
The spring, proudly smiling.
Shall all things revive;
And gay hridal garments
Of splendo,- shall give.
Thou desolate and dying year!
Emhlem of transitory man,
YV hose wearisome and wild career,
(.ike them, is hounded to a span;
It seems hut as a little day
Since nature smiled upon thy hirth,
Aud spring came forth in fair array,
To dance upon the joyous earth.
Sad alteration!—Now how lone,
How verdureless is nature's hreast;
Where ruin makes his empire known,
In autumn's yellow vesture drcst: