HEN, as a nimble Squirrel from the wood,
Ranging the hedges for his filbert-food,
Sits partly on a bough his browne nuts cracking,
And from the shell the sweet white kernell taking,
Till (with their crookes and bags) a sort of boyes,
(To share with him) come with so great a noyse,
That he is forc'd to leave a nut nigh broke,
And for his life leape to a neighbour oake;
Thence to a beeche, thence to a row of ashes;
Whilst through the quagmires, and red water plashes,
The boyes runne dabling through thicke and thin,
One tears his hose, another breakes his shin:
This, torn and tatter'd, hath with much adoe
Got by the bryers; and that hath lost his shoe;
This drops his hand; that headlong falls for haste:
Another cryes behinde for being last :
With stickes and stones, and many a sounding hollow,
The little foole, with no small sport, they follow,
Whilst he, from tree to tree, from spray to spray,
Gets to the wood, and hides him in his dray.
HAT wak'st 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.
And when 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 pierc'd the whispering 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 their glory free,
Colouring 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 awak'st thou in the heart, O Spring?
The human heart, with all its dreams and sighs?
Thou that giv'st back so many a buried thing,
Restorer of forgotten harmonies!
Fresh songs and scents break forth, where'er thou art-
What wak'st thou in the heart?
Too much, oh! there too much!—we know not well
Wherefore it should be thus, yet rous'd by thee,
What fond strange yearnings, from the soul's deep cell,
Gush for the faces we no more shall 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 vanish'd smiles, and sounds of parted feet,—
Spring! 'midst the murmurs of thy flowing trees,
Why, why reviv'st thou these!
Vain longings for the Dead!-why come they back
With thy young birds, and leaves, and living blooms?
-O is it not, that from thine earthly track,
Hope to thy world may look beyond the tombs ?
Yes! gentle Spring; no sorrow dims thine air,
Breath'd by our lov'd ones there!
HEN apple-trees in blossom are,
And cherries of a silken white;
And king-cups deck the meadows fair,
And daffodils in brooks delight;
When golden wall-flowers bloom around,
And purple violets scent the ground,
And lilac 'gins to show her bloom,-
We then may say the May is come.
When happy shepherds tell their tale
Under the tender leafy tree;
And all adown the grassy vale
The mocking cuckoo chanteth free;
And Philomel, with liquid throat,
Doth pour the welcome, warbling note,
That had been all the Winter dumb,-
We then may say the May is come.
When fishes leap in silver stream,
And tender corn is springing high, And banks are warm with sunny beam,
And twittering swallows cleave the sky,
And forest bees are humming near,
And cowslips in boys' hats appear,
And maids do wear the meadow's bloom,—
We then may say the May is come.
DAY-BREAK IN THE COUNTRY.
WAKE! awake! the flowers unfold,
And tremble bright in the sun,
And the river shines a lake of gold,—
For the young morn has begun.
The air is blithe, the sky is blue,
And the lark on lightsome wings,
From bushes that sparkle rich in dew,
To heaven her matin sings.
Then awake! awake! while music's note
Now bids thee sleep to shun,
Light zephyrs of fragance 'round thee float,-
For the young day has begun.
I've wander'd o'er yon field of light,
Where daisies wildly spring,
And trac'd the spot where fays of night
Flew round on elfin wing:
And I've watch'd the sudden darting beam,
Make gold the field of grain,
Until clouds obscur'd the passing gleam,
And all frown'd dark again.
Then awake! awake! each warbling bird
Now hails the dawning sun,
Labour's enlivening song is heard,
For the young day has begun.
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