 | The Poetical Remains of the late Dr. John Leyden |  |
120
SPRING, AN ODE.
WRITTEN WHILE RECOVERING FROM SICKNESS.
How softly now the vernal gales
Caress the blossoms on the trees,
How bright the glistening vapour sails,
And floats, and wantons on the breeze!
Caress the blossoms on the trees,
How bright the glistening vapour sails,
And floats, and wantons on the breeze!
Sweet Spring in vest of emerald hue,
With daisy buds embroider'd fair,
Calls the gray sky-lark to renew
Her morning carols, high in air.
With daisy buds embroider'd fair,
Calls the gray sky-lark to renew
Her morning carols, high in air.
Soft as she treads the dewy vale,
She listens oft in silence deep,
To hear her favourite primrose pale
Awaking from her winter sleep.
She listens oft in silence deep,
To hear her favourite primrose pale
Awaking from her winter sleep.
The fostering gales, the genial skies,
My languid frame to health restore;
And every sun appears to rise
More bright than e'er it rose before.
My languid frame to health restore;
And every sun appears to rise
More bright than e'er it rose before.
121
Soul of the world! thy cheering rays
Bid my full heart with transport burn!
Again on nature's charms I gaze,
And youth's delightful days return.
Bid my full heart with transport burn!
Again on nature's charms I gaze,
And youth's delightful days return.
Sure he that bids thy radiance glance
On numerous orbs that round thee wheel,
Awakes each secret slumbering sense,
The heavenly breath of Spring to feel.
On numerous orbs that round thee wheel,
Awakes each secret slumbering sense,
The heavenly breath of Spring to feel.
I see the hazel's rough notch'd leaves
Each morning wide and wider spread;
While every sigh that zephyr heaves
Sprinkles the dew-drops round my head.
Each morning wide and wider spread;
While every sigh that zephyr heaves
Sprinkles the dew-drops round my head.
The yellow moss in scaly rings
Creeps round the hawthorn's prickly bough:
The speckled linnet pecks and sings,
While snowy blossoms round her blow.
Creeps round the hawthorn's prickly bough:
The speckled linnet pecks and sings,
While snowy blossoms round her blow.
The gales sing softly through the trees,
Whose boughs in green waves heave and swell;
The azure violet scents the breeze
Which shakes the yellow crow-foot's bell.
Whose boughs in green waves heave and swell;
The azure violet scents the breeze
Which shakes the yellow crow-foot's bell.
122
The morning sun's soft trembling beams
Shoot brighter o'er the blue expanse,
And red the cottage window gleams,
As o'er its crystal panes they glance.
Shoot brighter o'er the blue expanse,
And red the cottage window gleams,
As o'er its crystal panes they glance.
But you, dear scenes! that far away
Expand beyond these mountains blue,
Where fancy sheds a purer day,
And robes the fields in richer hue,—
Expand beyond these mountains blue,
Where fancy sheds a purer day,
And robes the fields in richer hue,—
A softer voice in every gale
I mid your woodlands wild should hear;
And death's unbreathing shades would fail
To sigh their murmurs in mine ear.
I mid your woodlands wild should hear;
And death's unbreathing shades would fail
To sigh their murmurs in mine ear.
Ah! when shall I by Teviot's stream
The haunts of youth again explore?
And muse in melancholy dream
On days that shall return no more?
The haunts of youth again explore?
And muse in melancholy dream
On days that shall return no more?
Dun heathy slopes, and valleys green,
Which I so long have lov'd to view,
As o'er my soul each lovely scene
Unfolds, I bid a fond adieu!
Which I so long have lov'd to view,
As o'er my soul each lovely scene
Unfolds, I bid a fond adieu!
123
Yet, while we mark with pitying eye
The varied scenes of earthly woe,
Why should we grieve to see them fly;
Or fondly linger as they go?
The varied scenes of earthly woe,
Why should we grieve to see them fly;
Or fondly linger as they go?
Yes! friendship sweet, and tender love,
The fond reluctant soul detain;
Or all the whispers of the grove,
With Spring's soft gales, would woo in vain.
The fond reluctant soul detain;
Or all the whispers of the grove,
With Spring's soft gales, would woo in vain.
For bliss so sweet, though swift its flight,
Again we hail the holy sun.—
Thy yellow tresses glitter bright,
Fair maid, thy life is just begun.
Again we hail the holy sun.—
Thy yellow tresses glitter bright,
Fair maid, thy life is just begun.
To tell thee of the lonely tomb,
Is morning's radiant face to cloud;
To wrap thy soul in sable gloom,
Is veiling roses with the shroud.
Is morning's radiant face to cloud;
To wrap thy soul in sable gloom,
Is veiling roses with the shroud.
| The Poetical Remains of the late Dr. John Leyden | |