For the Southern Literary Messenger.
SPRING.
| Rude Winter's surly storms are gone— Spring, in her joy, is passing on: Beneath her light and magic tread, Each flow'ret lifts its gentle head: Streamlets, so long in fetters bound, Leap with a glad, reviving sound: Valleys and hills, so long unseen, Glow with a rich and silv'ry green: The Robin's wild and thrilling note, The silence of the grove, has broke: The Bee, for months, in bondage held, Wakes her hum in the wonted field: The Horse and Ox their stalls forsake, In leaping streams, their thirst to slake;— To seek, on mountain-side and plain, The feast, that Nature spreads again. Nymph, with the sweetly-laughing eye! Where dost thou dwell, when o'er the sky, The murky storms of Winter scowl, And through the leafless valleys howl;— That thou, the moment they are gone, Doth, lovely still, come tripping on? Go on, upon thy blooming way! I know thou wilt not, canst not, stay; But oft, as on your course you wind, Oh! cast a "ling'ring look behind!" |
ROY.
Lovingston, April 1, 1835.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.