PHEN 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;

W. Oreatbach, sculp.

38

ODE ON MAY MORNING.

Who scattereth lustres o'er noon-day,
Like morning's dewy gleams;
While mellow warble, sprightly trill,
The tremulous heart excite;
And hums the balmly air, to still

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;

Man changes, but not thou!

Thy feathered lieges, bill and wings,
In love's disport employ;

Warmed by thy influence, creeping things

Awake to silent joy:

Queen art thou still for each gay plant

Where the slim wild deer roves;

And served in depths where fishes haunts
Their own mysterious groves.

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,

JHOUGH many suns have risen and set
Since thou, blithe May, wert born,

And Bards, who hailed thee, may forget

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!
Oh, for a deathless song, to meet

The soul's desire; a lay

That, when a thousand years are told,

Should praise thee, genial Power,
Through summer heat, autumnal cold,
And winter's dreariest hour!

Earth, sea, thy presence feel; nor less

If yon ethereal blue,

With its soft smile the truth express,
The heavens have felt it too.
The inmost heart of man, if glad,
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,