Love of Spring.
I love the time when buds and bells
Hang fragrant in the woodland dells;
The primrose and the violet
On richest mossy banks are set.
How joyous when the warmth of spring
Invites the merry birds to sing,
And their sweet bowers of love are made
Amid the flowering hawthorn’s shade.
Then robed in verdure, stately trees
Stretch their broad branches to the breeze,
Rejoicing in the glorious light
Of sun and sky, like silver bright.
Amid fair meads young lambkins play
Their sprightly games in pure array;
And insects sport on gauzy wing,
Live gems in sunshine fluttering.
Each rural scent, each rustic sound,
Enchantment lend the landscape round;
And every sight conspires to bless
My heart with wild sweet happiness.
I love the summer’s golden reign,
And autumn’s ripeness o’er the plain;
But to my spirit naught can bring
Such gladness as the days of spring.
For then I rove the woodland wild,
With heart as simple as a child,
And spend the pure fresh morning hours
Amid the breezes, birds, and flowers.
Reclining on some grassy seat
Within a leafy dark retreat,
I con the Poet’s living book
Beside the clear-streamed stony brook.
Such calm seclusion strengthens thought,
And all His visions bright are brought
Across my mind, more fair and clear,
Mid scenes His spirit would hold dear.
I love stern winter’s reign sublime,
Rich autumn, and sweet summer time;
But nothing to my heart can bring
Such gladness as the days of spring!
The blithesome tone of this gay melody,
This pastoral song, spread cheerfulness around,
And made all hearts beside the winter fire
Think hopefully of spring. Some moments passed
In pleasant converse; then Lucrece was urged
Her poem to recite. With gentle grace
And modest diffidence, she forward came,
Yet with becoming confidence, as one
Who knew, but did not over-rate, her powers.
She was a poetess by nature framed
And had a soul for song. Her flowing thought
Moved on in hidden melody, that gave
Each word expressive feeling; and her face
In every feature, witnessed to a mind
Of passions strong and pure. Her eye was dark,
And black, and eagle-like. It shone a star
By its own inward light; but o’er it hung
Silk, raven lashes, that subdued its blaze
But lessened not its power. Her lofty brow,
By its expansion, shewed a kingdom wide
Where thought might rule; and o’er her well-formed head
Rich sable hair, in smooth and glossy braids,
Displayed its shining beauty. Down her cheek
Some bright curls clustered, and amid their shade
There peeped the pearl-white lustre of her ear.
O’er her fair countenance the pallid rose
Assumed the precedence, and nigh subdued
Its rich and blushing sister. ’Twas the hue
Of thought spread o’er her features, leaving there
The marble’s clear transparence. You might dream
She were a statue, did not feelings flash
Their radiance from her look, and mind’s pure light
Float halo-like around her. Tall her form
And moulded into grace; each polished limb
Seemed full of life and motion; and her step,
Though light and agile, yet had stateliness
And maiden dignity. She older seemed
Than were her years, for eighteen summer suns
Alone had passed with ripening influence,
Her beauty to mature; but you might date
Her more advanced in womanhood, her mind
By its expansion, and the thrill of thought
And earlier strength of feeling, had impressed
Such semblance on her aspect. She was one
To whom the world was beautiful; but yet
Her mind had thirst for higher beauty still
Than met her waking vision. One to whom
The tales of old romance, and fairy lore,
And songs of chivalry, were needful food.
Each noble thought, bold deed, and virtue bright,
Found echoes in her breast; heroic acts,
Undaunted words, or patriotic love
Met sympathy with her. Creative thought,
Imagination’s realising power,
Gave form and substance to the visions fair
That flitted o’er her fancy; abstract themes
Lost their elusive subtlety and gained
Embodiment and shape. And thus in truth
She was a poetess; and all her verse,
Though wrought from fancy’s airy gossamer,
Had strength and life and strange reality.
She thoughts refined, and spirit-like could chain
In binding language, and give power and life
To evanescent sentiments. She chose
To frame a legend full of rich romance,
Such as we picture in the days of old,
When love was lofty passion—woman seemed
A more etherial being sent to tame
Man’s rude stern heart mid glorious chivalry.
With thought concentred on the theme; with heart
Alive to changing feelings, and with voice
Deep, rich, and varied, such as well could shew
The latent beauty in a poet’s song,
She read the story, not unfitly named—