Hymns and Poems Original and Translated: By Edward Caswall ... Second Edition |
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| IX. | IX. TO A SPRING. |
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 | Hymns and Poems |  |
IX. TO A SPRING.
Benedicite, fontes, Domino.
Sweet Fount, that from the bosom of the glebe
Dost evermore thy mother-milk distil
To the poor fainting babes of vernal things!
Bright eye of earth,
Always to Heav'n upturn'd,
Glistening serene!
Thee of all spots around I cherish most;
Not for thy purity alone beloved,
But for the sake of pleasant musings past
Beside thee oft indulged.
Here still retiring,
In a chance leisure-time,
I love to sit upon thy margent green,
And watch the dancing of those golden sands,
Thy natural hour-glass!
For thereby, as I guess,
Thy gracious issue dost thou regulate,
From year to year
Still, hour by hour,
Running eterne!
Dost evermore thy mother-milk distil
To the poor fainting babes of vernal things!
Bright eye of earth,
Always to Heav'n upturn'd,
Glistening serene!
Thee of all spots around I cherish most;
Not for thy purity alone beloved,
385
Beside thee oft indulged.
Here still retiring,
In a chance leisure-time,
I love to sit upon thy margent green,
And watch the dancing of those golden sands,
Thy natural hour-glass!
For thereby, as I guess,
Thy gracious issue dost thou regulate,
From year to year
Still, hour by hour,
Running eterne!
O say, dear Fount, O say,
Through what strange windings to the upper day
Thy limpid waters flow?—
For nought of this I know;
Save what to me, of wonders there,
Truant Fancy may declare;
When from wandering at will
Down amid thy grottoes still,
Back she comes with many a tale
Shrouded in a mystic veil,
Of the curious works of eld
There by her sole eye beheld!
How beneath this surface green,
In the heart of earth enshrined,
Regions lovely and serene
Hid for ever from mankind,
Regions full of marvels new,
Open on her trancèd view,
Answering to the upper space,
As in water face to face.
Where beneath an opal sky,
Emerald fields extended lie;
Other hills and vales than ours
Bloom with other trees and flowers;
Silver lakes their mirrors bright
Spread in amethystine light;
Songs of birds salute the ear,
Birds that ne'er on earth appear!
Groves a greener foliage show;
Roses all in ruby blow;
Orchards bend with fruitage fair;
Soft and spicy breathes the air;
While the verdant lawns between,
Dance along in sparkling sheen
Living rills of chrystal clear,
Changing into water here!
Through what strange windings to the upper day
Thy limpid waters flow?—
For nought of this I know;
Save what to me, of wonders there,
Truant Fancy may declare;
When from wandering at will
Down amid thy grottoes still,
Back she comes with many a tale
Shrouded in a mystic veil,
Of the curious works of eld
There by her sole eye beheld!
How beneath this surface green,
In the heart of earth enshrined,
Regions lovely and serene
Hid for ever from mankind,
Regions full of marvels new,
Open on her trancèd view,
Answering to the upper space,
As in water face to face.
Where beneath an opal sky,
Emerald fields extended lie;
386
Bloom with other trees and flowers;
Silver lakes their mirrors bright
Spread in amethystine light;
Songs of birds salute the ear,
Birds that ne'er on earth appear!
Groves a greener foliage show;
Roses all in ruby blow;
Orchards bend with fruitage fair;
Soft and spicy breathes the air;
While the verdant lawns between,
Dance along in sparkling sheen
Living rills of chrystal clear,
Changing into water here!
Thus in my heart but now,
Most limpid Spring!
As on thy velvet sward I lay reclined,
Did Siren Fancy sing,
Rippling the quiet surface of the mind,
With the soft wavings of her rosy wing;—
But I, too oft
As man and boy and child,
By her fair tales beguiled,
Rather to thy low murmurs would attend,
Singing with thee His glory without end,
Who set thee on this grassy mound
To be a type to all around,
Of that perennial love which no abatement knows,
But still for ever on, still on for ever flows!
Most limpid Spring!
As on thy velvet sward I lay reclined,
Did Siren Fancy sing,
Rippling the quiet surface of the mind,
With the soft wavings of her rosy wing;—
But I, too oft
As man and boy and child,
By her fair tales beguiled,
Rather to thy low murmurs would attend,
Singing with thee His glory without end,
Who set thee on this grassy mound
To be a type to all around,
Of that perennial love which no abatement knows,
But still for ever on, still on for ever flows!
| Hymns and Poems | |