Such greeting heard, away with sighs
For lilies that must fade,
Or "the rathe primrose as it dies
Forsaken" in the shade!
Vernal fruitions and desires

Are linked in endless chase;
While, as one kindly growth retires,

Another takes its place.

And what if thou, sweet May, hast known Mishap by worm and blight;

If expectations newly blown

Have perished in thy sight;

If loves and joys, while up they sprung,
Were caught as in a snare;
Such is the lot of all the young,
However bright and fair.

Lo! streams that April could not check
Are patient of thy rule;
Gurgling in foamy water-break,
Loitering in glassy pool:

By thee, thee only, could be sent
Such gentle mists as glide,
Curling with unconfirmed intent,
On that green mountain's side.

How delicate the leafy veil

Through which yon house of God Gleams, mid the peace of this deep dale,

By few but shepherds trod!

And lowly huts, near beaten ways,

No sooner stand attired

In thy fresh wreaths, than they for praise Peep forth, and are admired.

Season of fancy and of hope,
Permit not for one hour

A blossom from thy crown to drop,
Nor add to it a flower!
Keep, lovely May, as if by touch
Of self-restraining art,

This modest charm of not too much,
Part seen, imagined part!

A WREN'S NEST.

AMONG the dwellings framed by birds
In field or forest with nice care,
Is none that with the little wren's
In snugness may compare.

No door the tenement requires,
And seldom needs a laboured roof;
Still is it to the fiercest sun

Impervious and storm-proof.

So warm, so beautiful withal,
In perfect fitness for its aim,
That to the kind by special grace
Their instinct surely came.

And when for their abodes they seek

An opportune recess,

The hermit has no finer eye

For shadowy quietness.

These find, mid ivied abbey walls,
A canopy in some still nook;
Others are penthoused by a brae
That overhangs a brook.

Just three days after, passing by

In clearer light, the moss-built cell
I saw, espied its shaded mouth,
And felt that all was well.

The primrose for a veil had spread
The largest of her upright leaves;
And thus, for purposes benign,
A simple flower deceives.

INSCRIPTIONS SUPPOSED TO BE FOUND
IN A HERMIT'S CELL.

HOPES, what are they? Beads of morning
Strung on slender blades of grass;

Or a spider's web adorning

In a strait and treacherous pass.

What are Fears but voices airy?
Whispering harm where harm is not;
And deluding the unwary

Till the fatal bolt is shot!

What is Glory?—in the socket

See how dying tapers fare!

What is Pride?-a whizzing rocket
That would emulate a star.

What is Friendship?-do not trust her,
Nor the vows which she has made;
Diamonds dart their brightest lustre
From a palsy-shaken head.

What is Truth ?-a staff rejected;
Duty?-an unwelcome clog;
Joy?-a moon by fits reflected
In a swamp or watery bog;

Bright, as if through ether steering,
To the traveller's eye it shone:
He hath hailed it re-appearing-
And as quickly it is gone;

Gone, as if for ever hidden;
Or misshapen to the sight,
And by sullen weeds forbidden
To resume its native light.

What is Youth ?-a dancing billow,
Winds behind, and rocks before!
Age?-a drooping, tottering willow
On a flat and lazy shore.

What is Peace ?-when pain is over,
And love ceases to rebel,

Let the last faint sigh discover
That precedes the passing knell!

HAST thou seen, with flash incessant,

Bubbles gliding under ice,

Bodied forth and evanescent,

No one knows by what device?

Such are thoughts!-A wind-swept meadow

Mimicking a troubled sea,

Such is life; and death a shadow

From the rock eternity!

SONG

FOR THE WANDERING JEW.

THOUGH the torrents from their fountains
Roar down many a craggy steep,

Yet they find among the mountains
Resting-places calm and deep.