When first young Spring his angel face
On earth unveiled, and years of gold,
Gilt with pure ray man’s guileless race,
By law’s stern terrors uncontrolled.
Such was the soft and genial breeze
Mild Zephyr breathed on all around,
With grateful glee, to airs like these
Yielded its wealth th’ unlaboured ground.
So fresh, so fragrant is the gale,
Which o’er the islands of the blest
Sweeps; where nor aches the limbs assail,
Nor age’s peevish pains infest.
Where thy hushed groves, Elysium, sleep,
Such winds with whispered murmurs blow
So, where dull Lethe’s waters creep,
They heave, scarce heave the cypress-bough.
And such, when heaven with penal flame
Shall purge the globe, that golden day
Restoring, o’er man’s brightened frame
Haply such gale again shall play.
Hail! thou, the fleet year’s pride and prime!
Hail! day, which fame shall bid to bloom!
Hail! image of primeval time!
Hail! sample of a world to come!—
Buchanan, by Langhorne.
In behalf of this ancient festival, a noble authoress contributes a little “forget me not:”—
The First of May
Colin met Sylvia on the green,
Once on the charming first of May,
And shepherds ne’er tell false I ween,
Yet ’twas by chance the shepherds say