The bard, and minor poems By John Walker Ord ... Collected and edited by John Lodge |
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SPRING. |
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 | The bard, and minor poems |  |
SPRING.
Fresh are the fields, and lovely—bright the sun,
And soft the sound of waters!—Far, I hear
The moorland music, and the voice of groves,
The brooding notes of happiness and love!
The hare runs sportively o'er daisied mead:
The partridge and his mate, in grassy beds
Peaceful rejoice. High through the stilly air
Swell notes of gladness—from each budding spray
Angelic raptures, and seraphic quires.
And soft the sound of waters!—Far, I hear
The moorland music, and the voice of groves,
The brooding notes of happiness and love!
The hare runs sportively o'er daisied mead:
The partridge and his mate, in grassy beds
Peaceful rejoice. High through the stilly air
Swell notes of gladness—from each budding spray
Angelic raptures, and seraphic quires.
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Lo! now the yellow broom with buds of gold
Spangles the rocks, and perfumes all the air.
The wither'd fern springs forth again to life,
And every desert spot assumes the robes
Of youth and beauty, for the awakening morn:—
Yea, morning, like some oriental queen,
Lifts her bright eye, and steps serenely forth
With pearls of dew-drops, that like emeralds glow!
Spangles the rocks, and perfumes all the air.
The wither'd fern springs forth again to life,
And every desert spot assumes the robes
Of youth and beauty, for the awakening morn:—
Yea, morning, like some oriental queen,
Lifts her bright eye, and steps serenely forth
With pearls of dew-drops, that like emeralds glow!
Love, universal love, proclaims her reign
From moor, and mountain, and the silent sky!
Not earth alone, but all the stars of heaven,
And sun and moon, the influence announce.
The crystal rain-drops as they dance to earth,
The woodland breezes wing'd with light and balm,
The morning mists, so luminous, and clear,
Investing hill and dale with heavenly hues,
All speak the praises of the new-born year.
From moor, and mountain, and the silent sky!
Not earth alone, but all the stars of heaven,
And sun and moon, the influence announce.
The crystal rain-drops as they dance to earth,
The woodland breezes wing'd with light and balm,
The morning mists, so luminous, and clear,
Investing hill and dale with heavenly hues,
All speak the praises of the new-born year.
O, rapture to behold each lovely place!
See how the silken moss in splendour shines—
Silver and gold! The smallest blade of grass
Seems fresher in the radiance of its youth;
Meekly the virgin primrose shields its head
Within the birchen grove; the cowslip, too,
Nods faintly on the gale; and blue as heaven,
At noontide, blooms the violet in its bower.
See how the silken moss in splendour shines—
Silver and gold! The smallest blade of grass
Seems fresher in the radiance of its youth;
Meekly the virgin primrose shields its head
Within the birchen grove; the cowslip, too,
Nods faintly on the gale; and blue as heaven,
At noontide, blooms the violet in its bower.
Season of love!—sweet chosen time!—the hour
For peace and blessedness; when hearts as young
As hawthorn flowers (as lovely and bright!)
Rejoice in dreams of bliss and happiness:
And, 'neath the shade of patriarchal trees,
In silent groves, the evening star their guide,
Sigh tales of truth, and promises of faith,
That angels on their thrones rejoice to hear.
For peace and blessedness; when hearts as young
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Rejoice in dreams of bliss and happiness:
And, 'neath the shade of patriarchal trees,
In silent groves, the evening star their guide,
Sigh tales of truth, and promises of faith,
That angels on their thrones rejoice to hear.
Spring!—'tis the poet's harvest!—Wandering forth
He gathers wealth richer than Crœsus knew—
Or all the marvels of Aladdin's cave.
The songs of birds are his—the scent of flowers—
The sound of waters, and the hush of woods—
All the mute wilderness, and desert waste:—
Nature, in joy, and terror, and delight,
As with a zone of glory, clasps him round,
And with Elysian raptures thrills his soul!
He gathers wealth richer than Crœsus knew—
Or all the marvels of Aladdin's cave.
The songs of birds are his—the scent of flowers—
The sound of waters, and the hush of woods—
All the mute wilderness, and desert waste:—
Nature, in joy, and terror, and delight,
As with a zone of glory, clasps him round,
And with Elysian raptures thrills his soul!
And, hark! the cuckoo's solitary voice!
The voice of memory o'er hill and dale,
Evoking, from the midnight of the past,
Bright, beauteous shapes, and venerable forms,
Visions, and dreams, and portraitures sublime,
Such as the youthful fancy did create,
Or youthful passion pictured in the soul,
When first the muse inspired, or nature taught.
The voice of memory o'er hill and dale,
Evoking, from the midnight of the past,
Bright, beauteous shapes, and venerable forms,
Visions, and dreams, and portraitures sublime,
Such as the youthful fancy did create,
Or youthful passion pictured in the soul,
When first the muse inspired, or nature taught.
Thus did my heart glow in the bygone years,
Thus did I feel thy blessings when a boy!
O, not in vain, ye hills of giant mould,
Ye woodlands, in your beautiful array!
O, not in vain!—but yet I will uphold
With fearless hand, and firm, thy ancient reign—
Old Nature's reign—eternal through the earth—
And godlike bright, that, when I cease to be,
My name may live in monuments of thine.
Thus did I feel thy blessings when a boy!
O, not in vain, ye hills of giant mould,
Ye woodlands, in your beautiful array!
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With fearless hand, and firm, thy ancient reign—
Old Nature's reign—eternal through the earth—
And godlike bright, that, when I cease to be,
My name may live in monuments of thine.
| The bard, and minor poems | |