His long love-ditty for my near approach.
Drawn from his refuge in some lonely elm,
That age or injury has hollowed deep,
Where, on his bed of wool and matted leaves,
He has outslept the winter, ventures forth.
To frisk awhile, and bask in the warm sun,

The squirrel, flippant, pert, and full of play;
He sees me, and at once, swift as a bird,

Ascends the neighboring beech; there whisks his

brush,

And perks his ears, and stamps and cries aloud,
With all the prettiness of feigned alarm,

And anger insignificantly fierce.

COWPER.

BREATHINGS OF SPRING.

WHAT wakest thou, Spring? Sweet voices in the

woods,

And reed-like echoes, that have long been mute;

Thou bringest back, to fill the solitudes,

The lark's clear pipe, the cuckoo's viewless flute,
Whose tone seems breathing mournfulness or glee,
E'en as our hearts may be.

BREATHINGS OF SPRING.

37

And the leaves greet thee, Spring!-the joyous

leaves,

Whose tremblings gladden many a copse and glade,
Where each young spray a rosy flush receives,
When thy south wind hath pierced the whispery

shade,

And happy murmurs, running through the grass,
Tell that thy footsteps pass.

And the bright waters-they too hear thy call, Spring, the awakener! thou hast burst their sleep! Amidst the hollows of the rocks their fall

Makes melody, and in the forests deep,

Where sudden sparkles and blue gleams betray
Their windings to the day.

And flowers-the fairy-peopled world of flowers!
Thou from the dust hast set that glory free,
Coloring the cowslip with the sunny hours,
And pencilling the wood anemone :

Silent they seem—yet each to thoughtful eye
Glows with mute poesy.

But what awakest thou in the heart, O Spring!
The human heart, with all its dreams and sighs?

Thou that givest back so many a buried thing,

Restorer of forgotten harmonies!

Fresh songs and scents break forth, where'er thou

art

What wakest thou in the heart?

Too much, oh! there too much! We know not well Wherefore it should be thus, yet roused by thee, What fond, strange yearnings, from the soul's deep

cell,

Gush for the faces we no more may see!

How are we haunted, in the wind's low tone,
By voices that are gone!

Looks of familiar love, that never more,
Never on earth, our aching eyes shall meet,
Past words of welcome to our household door,
And vanished smiles, and sounds of parted feet,-
Spring! 'midst the murmurs of thy flowering trees,
Why, why revivest thou these?

Vain longings for the dead!-why come they back With thy young birds, and leaves, and living blooms? Oh! is it not, that from thine earthly track

EARLY SPRING.

Hope to thy world may look beyond the tombs ?
Yes, gentle Spring! no sorrow dims thine air,

Breathed by our loved ones there!

HEMANS.

EARLY SPRING.

THE hawthorn whitens, and the juicy groves
Put forth their buds unfolding by degrees,
Till the whole leafy forest stands displayed,
In full luxuriance, to the sighing gales;

Where the deer rustle through the twining brake,
And the birds sing concealed. At once, arrayed
In all the colors of the flushing year,
By Nature's swift and secret-working hand,
The garden glows, and fills the liberal air
With lavish fragrance: while the promised fruit
Lies yet a little embryo, unperceived,

Within its crimson folds. Now from the town,

Buried in smoke, and sleep, and noisome damps,

Oft let me wander o'er the dewy fields,

Where freshness breathes, and dash the trembling

drops

From the bent bush as though the verdant maze,

339

Of sweet-brier hedges I pursue my walk;

Or taste the smell of dairy: or ascend
Some eminence, Augusta, in thy plains,

And see the country far diffused around,
One boundless blush, one white-empurpled shower
Of mingled blossoms, where the raptured eye
Hurries from joy to joy.

THOMSON.

A WALK BY THE WATER.

LET us walk where reeds are growing,
By the alders in the mead;

Where the crystal streams are flowing,
In whose waves the fishes feed.

There the golden carp is laving,

With the trout, the perch, and bream, Mark! their flexile fins are waving,

As they glance along the stream.

Now they sink in deeper billows,
Now upon the surface rise;
Or from under roots of willows,

Dart to catch the water flies.