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bring thy warm showers,
bring thy genial ray.
In nature's greenest livery drest
descend on earth's expectant breast,
to earth and heaven a welcome guest,
thou merry month of May!
Mark! how we meet thee
at dawn of dewy day!
hark! how we greet thee
with our roundelay!
while all the goodly things that be
in earth and air and ample sea
are waking up to welcome thee,
thou merry month of May!
Flocks on the mountains,
and birds upon their spray,
tree, turf, and fountains
all hold holiday ;
and Love, the life of living things,
Love waves his torch and claps his wings,
and loud and wide thy praises sings,
thou merry month of May.
ESTREEN the mountain's rugged brow
was mantled o'er with dreary snow ;
the sun set red behind the hill,
and every breath of wind was still ;
but ere he rose, the southern blast
a veil o'er heaven's blue arch had cast :
thick rolled the clouds, and genial rain
poured the wide deluge o'er the plain :
fair glens and verdant vales appear,
and warmth awakes the budding year.
O'tis the touch of fairy hand
that wakes the spring of Northern land!
it warms not there by slow degrees,
with changeful pulse, the uncertain breeze ;
but sudden on the wondering sight
bursts forth the beam of living light;
and instant verdure springs around,
and magic flowers bedeck the ground:
returned from regions far away
the red-winged throstle pours his lay;
the soaring snipe salutes the spring,
as the breeze whistles through his wing;
and, as he hails the melting snows,
the heath-cock claps his wings and crows.
her snow-white robes; and now no more the frost candies the grasse, or castes an ycie creame upon the silver lake or chrystall streame ; but the warme sunne thawes the benummed earth, and makes it tender; gives a sacred birth to the dead swallow; wakes in hollow tree the drowzie cuckow and the humble bee. Now doe a quire of chirping minstrels bring in tryumph to the world the youthfull Spring : the vallies, hills, and woods, in rich araye, welcome the comming of the long’d-for May. Now all things smile: only my Love doth lowre; nor hath the scalding noon-day sunne the power to melt that marble yce, which still doth hold her heart congealed, and makes her pittie cold. The oxe which lately did for shelter flie into the stall, doth now securely lie
fields; and love no more is made by the fire-side; but, in the cooler shade, Amyntas now doth with his Cloris sleepe under a sycamoure, and all things keepe time with the season-only she doth carry June in her eyes, in her heart January,
ODE ON THE PLEASURE ARISING FROM
COW the golden Morn aloft
waves her dew-bespangled wing,
with vermeil cheek and whisper soft
she woos the tardy Spring: F. S. II,
till April starts, and calls around
the sleeping fragrance from the ground,
and lightly o'er the living scene
scatters his freshest, tenderest green.
New-born flocks, in rustic dance,
frisking ply their feeble feet; forgetful of their wintry trance
the birds his presence greet: but chief, the skylark warbles high his trembling thrilling ecstacy; and, lessening from the dazzled sight, melts into air and liquid light.
Yesterday the sullen year
saw the snowy whirlwind fly;
mute was the music of the air,
the herd stood drooping by:
their raptures now that wildly flow
no yesterday nor morrow know;
'tis Man alone that joy descries
with forward and reverted eyes.
383 Smiles on past Misfortune's brow
soft Reflection's hand can trace, and o'er the cheek of Sorrow throw
'a melancholy grace; while Hope prolongs our happier hour, or deepest shades, that dimly lour and blacken round our weary way, gilds with a gleam of distant day. Still, where rosy Pleasure leads,
see a kindred Grief pursue; behind the steps that Misery treads
approaching Comfort view:
the hues of bliss more brightly glow
chastised by sabler tints of woe,
and blended form, with artful strife,
the strength and harmony of life.
See the wretch that long has tost
on the thorny bed of pain,
at length repair his vigour lost
and breathe and walk again:
the meanest floweret of the vale,
the simplest note that swells the gale,
the common sun, the air, the skies,
to him are opening Paradise.
N time we see the silver drops
the craggy stones make soft; the slowest snail in time we see
doth creep and climb aloft.
With feeble puffs the tallest pine
in tract of time doth fall;
the hardest heart in time doth yield
to Venus' luring call.
Where chilling frost alate did nip,
there flasheth now a fire;
where deep disdain bred noisome hate,
there kindleth now desire.
Time causeth hope to have his hap;
what care in time's not eased ?
in time I loathed that now I love
in both content and pleased.
R. GREENE 385
LEEP, Ambition ! Rage, expire!
Vengeance, fold thy wing of fire !
close thy dark and lurid eye,
bid thy torch, forsaken, die;
furl thy banner, waving proud,
dreadful as the thunder-cloud;
shall destruction blast the plain?
shall the falchion rage again?
shall the sword thy bands dissever ?
never, sweet Affection! never!
As the halcyon o'er the ocean
lulls the billow's wild commotion,
so we bid dissension cease.
Bloom, O amaranth of peace!
twine the spear with vernal roses ;
now the reign of discord closes;
goddess of th' unconquer'd isles,
Freedom! triumph in our smiles.
Blooming youth, and wisdom hoary,
bards of fame, and sons of glory;
Albion ! pillar of the main,
monarchs, nations, join the strain ;
swell to heaven the exulting voice;
mortals, triumph! earth, rejoice.
THE FALCON ON THE WARRIOR'S WRIST
HE Falcon is a
and when his heart of hearts is stirred,
he'll seek the eagle, though he run
into his chamber near the sun.
Ne'er was there brute or bird,
whom the woods or mountains heard,
that could force a fear or care
from him,--the Arab of the air!
To-day he sits upon a wrist
whose purple veins a queen has kissed,
and on him falls a sterner eye
than he can face where'er he fly,
though he scale the summit cold
of the Grimsel, vast and old, -
though he search yon sunless stream,
that threads the forest like a dream.
Ah! noble Soldier! noble Bird !
will your name be ever heard, -
ever seen in future story,
crowning it with deathless glory?
Peace, ho!—the master's eye is drawn
away unto the bursting dawn!
arise, thou bird of birds, arise,
and seek thy quarry in the skies!
B. W. PROCTER
THOSE calm soul in a settled state
kicks under foot the frowns of Fate,
and in his fortunes bad or good
keeps the same temper in his blood,
not him the flaming clouds above,
nor Ætna's fiery tempests move,