sang, "Let myriads of bright flowers, Like thee, in field and grove Revive unenvied-mightier far
Than tremblings that reprove
Our vernal tendencies to hope
In God's redeeming love:
"That love which changed, for wan disease,
For sorrow that had bent
O'er hopeless dust, for withered age,
Their moral element,
And turned the thistles of a curse
To types beneficent.
"Sin-blighted though we are, we too,
The reasoning sons of men,
From one oblivious winter called
Shall rise, and breathe again;
And in eternal summer lose
Our threescore years and ten.
"To humbleness of heart descends
This prescience from on high,
The faith that elevates the just,
Before and when they die;
And makes each soul a separate heaven,
A court for Deity."
A FLOWER GARDEN.
TELL me, ye zephyrs! that unfold,
While fluttering o'er this gay recess,
Pinions that fanned the teeming mould
Of Eden's blissful wilderness,
Did only softly-stealing hours,
There close the peaceful lives of flowers?
Say, when the moving creatures saw
All kinds commingled without fear,
Prevailed alike indulgent law
For the still growths that prosper here?
Did wanton fawn and kid forbear
The half-blown rose, the lily spare?
Or peeped they often from their beds
And prematurely disappeared,
Devoured like pleasure ere it spreads
A bosom to the sun endeared?
If such their harsh untimely doom,
It falls not here on bud or bloom.
All summer long the happy Eve
Of this fair spot her flowers may bind,
Nor e'er, with ruffled fancy, grieve,
From the next glance she casts, to find
That love for little things by fate
Is rendered vain as love for great.
Yet, where the guardian fence is wound,
So subtly is the eye beguiled
It sees not nor suspects a bound,
No more than in some forest wild;
Free as the light in semblance-crossed
Only by art in nature lost.
And, though the jealous turf refuse
By random footsteps to be pressed,
And feeds on never-sullied dews,
Ye, gentle breezes from the west,
With all the ministers of hope,
Are tempted to this sunny slope!
And hither throngs of birds resort:
Some, inmates lodged in shady nests,
Some, perched on stems of stately port
That nod to welcome transient guests;
While hare and leveret, seen at play,
Appear not more shut out than they.
Apt emblem (for reproof of pride)
This delicate enclosure shows
Of modest kindness, that would hide
The firm protection she bestows;
Of manners, like its viewless fence,
Ensuring peace to innocence.
Thus spake the moral muse-her wing
Abruptly spreading to depart,
She left that farewell offering,
Memento for some docile heart;
That may respect the good old age
When Fancy was Truth's willing page;
And Truth would skim the flowery glade,
Though entering but as Fancy's shade.
THE CORONET OF SNOWDROPS.
WHO fancied what a pretty sight
This rock would be if edged around
With living snowdrops? circlet bright!
How glorious to this orchard-ground!
Who loved the little rock, and set
Upon its head this coronet?
Was it the humour of a child?
Or rather of some lovesick maid,
Whose brows, the day that she was styled
The shepherd queen, were thus arrayed?
Of man mature, or matron sage?
Or old man toying with his age?
I asked-'twas whispered-The device
To each and all might well belong :
It is the spirit of Paradise
That prompts such work, a spirit strong,
That gives to all the self-same bent
Where life is wise and innocent.
THOUGH many suns have risen and set
Since thou, blithe May, wert born,
And bards, who hailed thee, may forget
Thy gifts, thy beauty scorn;
There are who to a birthday strain
Confine not harp and voice,
But evermore throughout thy reign
Are grateful and rejoice!
Delicious odours! music sweet,
Too sweet to pass away!
Oh for a deathless song to meet
The soul's desire-a lay
That, when a thousand years are told,
Should praise thee, genial power!
Through summer heat, autumnal cold,
And winter's dreariest hour.
Earth, sea, thy presence feel-nor less
If yon ethereal blue
With its soft smile the truth express,
The heavens have felt it too.
The inmost heart of man if glad
Partakes a livelier cheer;
And eyes that cannot but be sad
Let fall a brightened tear.
Since thy return, through days and weeks
Of hope that grew by stealth, How many wan and faded cheeks
Have kindled into health!
The old, by thee revived, have said,
"Another year is ours;"
And wayworn wanderers, poorly fed,
Have smiled upon thy flowers.
Who tripping lisps a merry song
Amid his playful peers?
The tender infant who was long
A prisoner of fond fears;
But now, when every sharp-edged blast
Is quiet in its sheath,
His mother leaves him free to taste
Earth's sweetness in thy breath.
Thy help is with the weed that creeps
Along the humblest ground;
No cliff so bare but on its steeps
Thy favours may be found;
But most on some peculiar nook
That our own hands have dressed,
Thou and thy train are proud to look,
And seem to love it best.
And yet how pleased we wander forth
When May is whispering, "Come!
Choose from the bowers of virgin earth
The happiest for your home;
Heaven's bounteous love through me is spread
From sunshine, clouds, winds, waves,
Drops on the mouldering turret's head,
And on your turf-clad graves!"
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