Poems, Dialogues in Verse and Epigrams By Walter Savage Landor: Edited with notes by Charles G. Crump |
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 | Poems, Dialogues in Verse and Epigrams |  |
LXVIII.
[Hark! 'tis the laugh of Spring: she comes]
Hark! 'tis the laugh of Spring: she comes,
With airy sylphs and fiery gnomes;
On cruel mischief these intent,
And those as anxious to prevent.
With airy sylphs and fiery gnomes;
On cruel mischief these intent,
And those as anxious to prevent.
So now for frolic and for fun
And swains forsworn and maids undone;
So now for bridegrooms and for brides
And rivals hang'd by river-sides.
Here the hoarse-wooing dove is heard,
And there the cuckoo, taunting bird!
But soon along the osier vale
Will warble the sweet nightingale,
Amid whose song chaste Eve must hear
The threats of love, the screams of fear,
The milk-maid's shriek of laughter shrill
From hovel close beneath the hill,
Before the door the whirring wheel,
Behind the hedge the ticklish squeal,
The shepherd rude, the hoyden wroth,
The boisterous rip of stubborn cloth,
The brisk repulse, the pressing pray'r,
“Ah do!” and “do it if you dare!”
And swains forsworn and maids undone;
So now for bridegrooms and for brides
And rivals hang'd by river-sides.
Here the hoarse-wooing dove is heard,
And there the cuckoo, taunting bird!
But soon along the osier vale
Will warble the sweet nightingale,
Amid whose song chaste Eve must hear
The threats of love, the screams of fear,
The milk-maid's shriek of laughter shrill
From hovel close beneath the hill,
Before the door the whirring wheel,
Behind the hedge the ticklish squeal,
The shepherd rude, the hoyden wroth,
The boisterous rip of stubborn cloth,
The brisk repulse, the pressing pray'r,
114
But whence, at every field we pass,
Those hollows in the starting grass?
The little Loves have gambol'd there,
Or fought or wrestled pair by pair.
Moist are the marks of struggling feet,
And the bruis'd herbage still smells sweet.
Let Nancy now, if Nancy will,
Return the kiss she took so ill.
If gentler thoughts thy bosom move,
Come, Nancy, give the kiss of love.
Soft is the bank I rest on here,
And soft the river murmurs near:
Above, the wandering dimples play,
Run round, unwind, and melt away:
Beneath, more regular, more slow,
The grassy weeds wave to and fro,
While the sharp reed, it peers so high,
Shakes at each swell that passes by.
The poor tired bird who fain would drink,
But fears the abrupt and crumbling brink,
Sees that his weight 'twill not sustain,
And hovers, and flies back again.
My Nancy, thus I thirst for you,
And he flies off as I may do.
Those hollows in the starting grass?
The little Loves have gambol'd there,
Or fought or wrestled pair by pair.
Moist are the marks of struggling feet,
And the bruis'd herbage still smells sweet.
Let Nancy now, if Nancy will,
Return the kiss she took so ill.
If gentler thoughts thy bosom move,
Come, Nancy, give the kiss of love.
Soft is the bank I rest on here,
And soft the river murmurs near:
Above, the wandering dimples play,
Run round, unwind, and melt away:
Beneath, more regular, more slow,
The grassy weeds wave to and fro,
While the sharp reed, it peers so high,
Shakes at each swell that passes by.
The poor tired bird who fain would drink,
But fears the abrupt and crumbling brink,
Sees that his weight 'twill not sustain,
And hovers, and flies back again.
My Nancy, thus I thirst for you,
And he flies off as I may do.
| Poems, Dialogues in Verse and Epigrams | |