 | Beads from a Rosary |  |
45
THE BIRTH-SONG OF THE FLOWERS.
“Dear English flowers,
Growing in meadows that are ours,
For any child to pull.”
Growing in meadows that are ours,
For any child to pull.”
We awake, we awake
From the trance of our wintry sleep;
As star-beams break
From the shadows that o'er them sweep,
So from the shroud of the tombing earth
We spring to the light of our radiant birth.
“Violet, sweet violet,
Where hidest thou?”
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I am lying soft and low,
Where the light doth faintest shine
'Neath the o'er-arching bough;
In a moss-tuft I am hidden,
Yet not lost, I trow;
For the sunbeam, busy rover,
Piercing through my leafy cover,
Kisseth oft my brow;
And the wanton wind, unbidden,
Cometh, day by day,
Saucy elf! and while I sleep,
To my very heart doth creep,
And bear its sweets away.
But sister Lily, dost thou see
Cowslip, peeping o'er the lea?”
“He is there, he is there—
I have called him, sister fair;
Cowslip, hearest thou?
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Something like a tune doth pass,
Very faint and low.
Hark again! the breeze is dying—
Like his drowsy voice replying,
Sounds that murmur now.
Cowslip, speak more loud and clear,
Till thine answer meet our ear.”
“Wait awhile, wait awhile,
Gossips, till the noon-tide sun
Ceaseth with his fever-smile
So to shine. I'll talk anon—
I am weary now;
There is King-cup in the meadow,
And sweet Marguerite too;
Primrose, 'neath the wood's deep shadow,
And a jocund crew
Of Orchis, and Forget-me-not,
And Pansies, by the poor man's cot—
They will talk enow.
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I am weary, and would fain
Sleep till skies are cool again.”
“Orchis, and King-cup, Forget-me-not,
All who are waking in this sweet spot,
Join ye our natal song;
Let not the bird and the idle breeze
Be alone in their joyous minstrelsies,
Let a voice from our happy throng
Rise from the grasses and moss-tufts green;
Sharers are we in the festive scene
Though we be lowly and frail, I ween.
Sing, sisters, sing!”
SONG.
Yes, we are lowly, and weak, and frail;
We shrink from the tempest, we bend in the gale,
But the stormy wind and the beating rain
Last not for ever;—the blue domain
Of the sun soon shineth with smiles again:
When the shadow hath vanished from meadow and lea,
Then who so gay and so glad as we?
We shrink from the tempest, we bend in the gale,
But the stormy wind and the beating rain
Last not for ever;—the blue domain
Of the sun soon shineth with smiles again:
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Then who so gay and so glad as we?
All things do love us—the wandering bee,
When he seeketh for blossoms that sweetest be,
Hovering amongst us, or whirling away,
Hath ever some gentle word to say;
E'en the merry lark, though heavenward springing,
Thinketh of us in his rarest singing;
And the merle's last lay, at the evening hour,
Is a lullaby to each folding flower.
When he seeketh for blossoms that sweetest be,
Hovering amongst us, or whirling away,
Hath ever some gentle word to say;
E'en the merry lark, though heavenward springing,
Thinketh of us in his rarest singing;
And the merle's last lay, at the evening hour,
Is a lullaby to each folding flower.
All things do love us—on mossy stone
The little maiden sitteth alone,
And softly smileth, the while she tells
Over her treasure of buds and bells;
And the baby greets us with gleesome eyes,
And croweth loud in his glad surprise,
For he dreams he hath found the stars so bright,
That he saw, and longed for, yesternight.
All things do love us—when day is past,
And her myriad voices are hushed at last,
When the ladye moon peeps over the mountain,
To look at her pale cold face in the fountain,
And a hush in the wood's deep heart doth reign,
From their sparry palaces, subterrain,
Come forth the fairies, and brownies, and all
The elfin folk, to their festival.
The little maiden sitteth alone,
And softly smileth, the while she tells
Over her treasure of buds and bells;
And the baby greets us with gleesome eyes,
And croweth loud in his glad surprise,
For he dreams he hath found the stars so bright,
That he saw, and longed for, yesternight.
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And her myriad voices are hushed at last,
When the ladye moon peeps over the mountain,
To look at her pale cold face in the fountain,
And a hush in the wood's deep heart doth reign,
From their sparry palaces, subterrain,
Come forth the fairies, and brownies, and all
The elfin folk, to their festival.
They crowd around us, the frolicsome throng,
They sip our honey-dew all night long;
They dance before us with antic guise,
And peer in our faces with roguish eyes;
With wild shrill laughter they gambol o'er us,
And shout in our ears their merry chorus;
But they love us well, the fairy folk,
And with constant care, ere the morn hath woke,
They search the rushes and fern alway,
And each noisome creature they bear away;
And they twist the matted boughs aside,
And the brambles and nettles that fain would hide
The sunshine from us, and pearly dew
They shake from their tender leaves anew;
Then with many a quip, and many a joke,
They sing their last song 'neath the trysting oak—
Oh, they love us well, the fairy folk!
They sip our honey-dew all night long;
They dance before us with antic guise,
And peer in our faces with roguish eyes;
With wild shrill laughter they gambol o'er us,
And shout in our ears their merry chorus;
But they love us well, the fairy folk,
And with constant care, ere the morn hath woke,
They search the rushes and fern alway,
And each noisome creature they bear away;
And they twist the matted boughs aside,
And the brambles and nettles that fain would hide
51
They shake from their tender leaves anew;
Then with many a quip, and many a joke,
They sing their last song 'neath the trysting oak—
Oh, they love us well, the fairy folk!
All things do love us—thrice happy we,
With no thought of the winter to tame our glee;
And though we be lowly, and weak, and frail,
Though we shrink from the tempest, and bend in the gale,
Yet a spell of magic and might is ours,
For all things do love us—thrice happy flowers!
With no thought of the winter to tame our glee;
And though we be lowly, and weak, and frail,
Though we shrink from the tempest, and bend in the gale,
Yet a spell of magic and might is ours,
For all things do love us—thrice happy flowers!
| Beads from a Rosary | |