HEN from the purpling east departs The star that led the dawn, Blithe Flora from her couch upstarts, For May is on the lawn. A quickening hope, a freshening glee, Foreran the expected Power, Whose first-drawn breath, from bush and tree, Shakes off that pearly shower. All nature welcomes her, whose sway Tempers the year's extremes; 38 ODE ON MAY MORNING. Who scattereth lustres o'er noon-day, The tremulous heart excite; The balance of delight. Time was, blest Power! when youths and maids At peep of dawn would rise, And wander forth, in forest glades, Thy birth to solemnize. Though mute the song-to grace the rite Untouched the hawthorn bough, Thy spirit triumphs o'er the slight; Thy feathered lieges, bill and wings, Warmed by thy influence, creeping things Awake to silent joy : Queen art thou still for each gay plant And served in depths where fishes haunts Cloud-piercing peak, and trackless heath, Instinctive homage pay; Nor wants the dim-lit cave a wreath To honour thee, sweet May! Where cities, fanned by thy brisk airs, Behold a smokeless sky, THOUGH many suns have risen and set Thy gifts, thy beauty scorn; There are, who to a birth-day strain Confine not harp and voice, But evermore, throughout thy reign, Are grateful and rejoice! Delicious odours! music sweet, Too sweet to pass away! That, when a thousand years are told, Earth, sea, thy presence feel; nor less If yon ethereal blue, With its soft smile the truth express, Partakes a livelier cheer; And eyes that cannot but be sad Let fall a brightened tear. Since thy return, through days and weeks Of hope that grew by stealth, |