SPRING, AT EASTER.
FROM “CHRIST’S TRIUMPH AND VICTORY.”
But now the second morning from her bower,
Began to glister in her beams; and now
The roses of the day began to flower
In the Eastern garden; for heaven’s smiling brow,
Half insolent for joy, began to show:
The early sun came dancing lively out,
And the brag lambs ran wantoning about,
That heaven and earth might seem in triumph both to shout.
The engladdened Spring, forgetful now to weep,
Began to eblazon from her leafy bed;
The waking swallow broke her half-year’s sleep,
And every bush lay deeply purpured
With violets; the woods’ late wintry head
Wide flaming primroses set all on fire,
And his bald trees put on their green attire,
Among whose infant leaves the joyous birds conspire.
And now the taller sons, whom Titan warms,
Of unshorn mountains, blown with easy winds,
Dandled the morning’s childhood in their arms;
And, if they chanced to slip the prouder pines,
The under corylass[[8]] did catch the shines,
To gild their leaves: saw ne’er happier year
Such triumph and triumphant cheer,
As though the aged world anew created were.
Say, Earth, why hast thou got thee new attire,
And stick’st thy habit full of daisies red?
Seems that thou dost to some high thought aspire,
And some new-found-out bridegroom mean’st to wed:
Tell me, ye trees, so fresh apparelled—
So never let the spiteful canker waste you,
So never let the heavens with lightning blast you!
Why go you now so trimly drest, or whither haste you?
Answer me, Jordan, why thy crooked tide
So often wanders from his nearest way,
As though some other way thy streams would slide,
And join salute the place where something lay?
And you, sweet birds, that, shaded from the ray,
Sit carolling, and piping grief away,
The while the lambs to hear you dance and play—
Tell me, sweet birds, what is it you so fain would say?
And thou, fair spouse of Earth, that every year
Gett’st such a numerous issue of thy bride,
How chance thou hotter shin’st, and draw’st more near?
Sure thou somewhere some worthy sight hast spied,
That in one place for joy thou canst not bide:
And you, dead swallows, that so lively now,
Through the slit air your winged passage row;
How could new life into your frozen ashes flow?
Ye primroses and purple violets,
Tell me, why blaze ye from your leafy bed,
And woo men’s hands to rent you from your sets,
As though you would somewhere be carried,
With fresh perfumes and velvets garnished?
But ah! I need not ask; ’tis surely so;
You all would to your Saviour’s triumph go:
There would you all await, and humble homage do.
There should the Earth herself, with garlands new,
And lovely flowers embellish’d adore:
Such roses never in her garland grew;
Such lilies never in her breast she wore;
Like beauty never yet did shine before.
There should the Sun another Sun behold,
From whence himself borrows his locks of gold,
That kindle Heaven and Earth with beauties manifold.
There might the violet and primrose sweet,
Beams of more lively and more lovely grace,
Arising from their beds of incense, meet;
There should the swallow see new life embrace
Dead ashes, and the grave unvail his face,
To let the living from his bowels creep,
Unable longer his own dead to keep;
There Heaven and Earth should see their Lord awake from sleep.
* * * * *
“Toss up your heads, ye everlasting gates,
And let the Prince of Glory enter in!
At whose brave volley of sidereal states,
The sun to blush, and stars grow pale, were seen;
When leaping first from earth, he did begin
To climb his angel wings: then open hang
Your crystal doors!” so all the chorus sang
Of heavenly birds, as to the stars they nimbly sprang.
Hark! how the floods clap their applauding hands,
The pleasant valleys singing for delight;
The wanton mountains dance about the lands,
The while the fields, struck with the heavenly light,
Set all their flowers a smiling at the sight;
The trees laugh with their blossoms, and the sound
Of the triumphant shout of praise, that crown’d
The flaming Lamb, breaking through heaven, hath passage found.
Giles Fletcher, 1588–1623.