 | The harp and plow |  |
54
MAY.
Thou last, thou sweetest of the train
Of all the vernal sisters three;
Whose vesture beautifies the plain,
Whose garlands rich bedeck the tree.
Whose melody,
Unwritten from the bush and bough,
Is music's own;—thrice welcome thou!
Of all the vernal sisters three;
Whose vesture beautifies the plain,
Whose garlands rich bedeck the tree.
Whose melody,
Unwritten from the bush and bough,
Is music's own;—thrice welcome thou!
How like art thou to life's young morn,
E'er passion's fires begin to glow!
E'er cares, like frosts, lay bare the thorn,
Or age makes pallid as the snow!
How like, I know,
To the bright morning of his day
Whose sun casts shadows o'er his lay!
E'er passion's fires begin to glow!
E'er cares, like frosts, lay bare the thorn,
Or age makes pallid as the snow!
How like, I know,
To the bright morning of his day
Whose sun casts shadows o'er his lay!
The twittering swallows wake the morn
Beneath the hospitable eaves;
The cock blows shrill his clarion horn;
The robin, hid among the leaves,
Her tribute gives,
Pouring her song to hail the day,
So sweet, so sorrowfully gay.
Beneath the hospitable eaves;
The cock blows shrill his clarion horn;
The robin, hid among the leaves,
Her tribute gives,
Pouring her song to hail the day,
So sweet, so sorrowfully gay.
The brooks run sparkling to the day,
The bloom of trees perfumes the air;
The landscape with its rich array
Seems one Elysian region fair,
Beyond compare
To aught save fancy's land of dreams,
That with phantasmal beauty teems.
The bloom of trees perfumes the air;
The landscape with its rich array
Seems one Elysian region fair,
Beyond compare
To aught save fancy's land of dreams,
That with phantasmal beauty teems.
55
The harbinger of corn I heard
While furrowing the field to-day;
The sweet prophetic planting-bird
Sang, perched upon the shaking spray,
His vocal lay;
And, pausing o'er the plow to hear,
I answered thus the prattler dear:—
While furrowing the field to-day;
The sweet prophetic planting-bird
Sang, perched upon the shaking spray,
His vocal lay;
And, pausing o'er the plow to hear,
I answered thus the prattler dear:—
Sing on, sweet bird! soon shall the corn
Upspringing from the ground appear;
First will the spiky blade be born,
The tassel next, and next the ear,
And autumn sere
Shall heap upon the harvest plain
The ponderous sheaves of golden grain.
Upspringing from the ground appear;
First will the spiky blade be born,
The tassel next, and next the ear,
And autumn sere
Shall heap upon the harvest plain
The ponderous sheaves of golden grain.
And on whose bounty shalt thou feed,
Meantime, who tell'st the time to plant?
Come to my door in time of need,—
Thou shalt not for thy morsel want.
Say'st thou ‘I sha'nt?’—
Ah! 't was thy neighbor of the bough
With dusky coat,—I see him, now!
Meantime, who tell'st the time to plant?
Come to my door in time of need,—
Thou shalt not for thy morsel want.
Say'st thou ‘I sha'nt?’—
Ah! 't was thy neighbor of the bough
With dusky coat,—I see him, now!
Fair May! thy very name implies
A power, but of a doubtful kind:—
We may ‘shoot folly as it flies,’
Or we may be, indeed, too blind;
And we may find
That hatred, hope, e'en love sincere,
Are tethered to the rolling year!
A power, but of a doubtful kind:—
We may ‘shoot folly as it flies,’
Or we may be, indeed, too blind;
And we may find
That hatred, hope, e'en love sincere,
Are tethered to the rolling year!
| The harp and plow | |