 | The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer |  |
312
MAY.
“Oh, Maye, with all thy floures and thy grene,
Right welcome be thou, fair, freshe Maye!”
Chaucer.
Right welcome be thou, fair, freshe Maye!”
Chaucer.
Airs from the clear south-west have borne
A fairy hither on their wings,
And pining grief forgets to mourn,
Transported by the psalm she sings.
Pale Want, in ragged, thin attire,
Who found no faggot for his fire
When howled the wintry storm,
Quitting his desolate retreats,
Looks forth, and with a blessing greets
The sunlight free and warm.
A fairy hither on their wings,
And pining grief forgets to mourn,
Transported by the psalm she sings.
Pale Want, in ragged, thin attire,
Who found no faggot for his fire
When howled the wintry storm,
Quitting his desolate retreats,
Looks forth, and with a blessing greets
The sunlight free and warm.
The deep, orchestral wood gives ear,
Thrilled to its heart by joyous song,
And in the laughing fields I hear
Old voices that were silent long;
In a rich suit of gold and black,
The Oriole hath wandered back,
To weave her hammock light;
And the brown thrush, a mimic wild,
For many weary moons exiled,
From bough to bough takes flight.
Thrilled to its heart by joyous song,
And in the laughing fields I hear
Old voices that were silent long;
In a rich suit of gold and black,
The Oriole hath wandered back,
To weave her hammock light;
And the brown thrush, a mimic wild,
For many weary moons exiled,
From bough to bough takes flight.
A sea of verdure overspreads
The rushy banks of pond and cove,
And wild flowers lift their jewelled heads,
Frail, air-swung censors of the grove.
Tall blue-bells, in my woodland walks,
Nod gracefully their leafy stalks,
In welcoming to me;
With luscious wine, by Night distilled,
Their cups to overflowing filled,
Allure the gauze-winged bee.
The rushy banks of pond and cove,
And wild flowers lift their jewelled heads,
Frail, air-swung censors of the grove.
Tall blue-bells, in my woodland walks,
Nod gracefully their leafy stalks,
In welcoming to me;
With luscious wine, by Night distilled,
Their cups to overflowing filled,
Allure the gauze-winged bee.
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The rose-lipped shell on ocean's beach
Hath less of beauty in its hue
Than fragrant blossoms of the peach,
That twinkle diamonded with dew;
The cherry lifts its snowy crest—
In white the plum and pear are drest,
Diffusing odor round;
Detached, in orchards, by the breeze,
The painted drapery of the trees
Falls, carpeting the ground.
Hath less of beauty in its hue
Than fragrant blossoms of the peach,
That twinkle diamonded with dew;
The cherry lifts its snowy crest—
In white the plum and pear are drest,
Diffusing odor round;
Detached, in orchards, by the breeze,
The painted drapery of the trees
Falls, carpeting the ground.
Our sires thronged forth from cot and hall
When, sooty and grotesque of look,
Round May-poles, garlanded and tall,
His bells the morris-dancer shook:
By loyal hands a queen was crowned,
And manly pastime labor found
While cloth-yard shafts were drawn;
With laughing sky and festal earth
Comported well that scene of mirth
Upon the daisied lawn.
When, sooty and grotesque of look,
Round May-poles, garlanded and tall,
His bells the morris-dancer shook:
By loyal hands a queen was crowned,
And manly pastime labor found
While cloth-yard shafts were drawn;
With laughing sky and festal earth
Comported well that scene of mirth
Upon the daisied lawn.
The merry-making games of old
Unlocked the portals of the heart,
And rarely man his honor sold
For booty in the crowded mart;
When Woe appealed to Wealth for food,
He owned the tie of brotherhood,
Giving without disdain;
A generous valor warmed the soul
Where love of country held control,
Not low desire for gain.
Unlocked the portals of the heart,
And rarely man his honor sold
For booty in the crowded mart;
When Woe appealed to Wealth for food,
He owned the tie of brotherhood,
Giving without disdain;
A generous valor warmed the soul
Where love of country held control,
Not low desire for gain.
Capricious April sighed away
His perfumed breath with closing eyes,
And leaving crown and realm to May,
Within a grave of beauty lies.
Shelley, if living, would declare
A tenement of rest so fair,
Undarkened by a cloud,
In love with death would wanderer make,
And in his heart enamored wake
A yearning for the shroud.
His perfumed breath with closing eyes,
And leaving crown and realm to May,
Within a grave of beauty lies.
314
A tenement of rest so fair,
Undarkened by a cloud,
In love with death would wanderer make,
And in his heart enamored wake
A yearning for the shroud.
Bright drops on floral cup and bell,
When breaks the first fair morn of May,
No longer, blest by fairy spell,
Can charm the freckled mole away;
But, ah! this season of delight
Hath magic yet to make more bright
The tombstone of the Past;
And Memory “a-Maying” goes,
Reviving many a withered rose,
In gardens dim and vast.
When breaks the first fair morn of May,
No longer, blest by fairy spell,
Can charm the freckled mole away;
But, ah! this season of delight
Hath magic yet to make more bright
The tombstone of the Past;
And Memory “a-Maying” goes,
Reviving many a withered rose,
In gardens dim and vast.
Called by the flowery Queen of Spring,
Dispensing bliss without alloy,
The sportive insect-tribes take wing,
And Nature's holiday enjoy:
Oh! not in gaudy trappings clad,
Alone the proud and mighty glad
At her bright court are made;
Alike upon the great and small
Her royal favors freely fall—
Her sunshine and her shade.
Dispensing bliss without alloy,
The sportive insect-tribes take wing,
And Nature's holiday enjoy:
Oh! not in gaudy trappings clad,
Alone the proud and mighty glad
At her bright court are made;
Alike upon the great and small
Her royal favors freely fall—
Her sunshine and her shade.
Thou art the May of other hours—
Undimmed thy locks of golden sheen—
And still, with dandelion flowers,
Is starred thy plaid of living green;
But time, alas! in me hath wrought
Drear changes, both in form and thought,
Since boyhood's blissful time,
When, lulled by bird and running stream,
I couched me on thy flowers, to dream
Of Heaven's unshadowed clime.
Undimmed thy locks of golden sheen—
And still, with dandelion flowers,
Is starred thy plaid of living green;
But time, alas! in me hath wrought
Drear changes, both in form and thought,
Since boyhood's blissful time,
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I couched me on thy flowers, to dream
Of Heaven's unshadowed clime.
“The birds, more joyous grown,
Catch once again their silver summer tone,
And they who late from bough to bough did creep,
Now trim their plumes upon some sunny steep,
And seem to sing of winter overthrown.”
Barry Cornwall.
Catch once again their silver summer tone,
And they who late from bough to bough did creep,
Now trim their plumes upon some sunny steep,
And seem to sing of winter overthrown.”
Barry Cornwall.
Mingled with her tresses wearing
Garlands wet with gentle showers,
In her hand a sceptre bearing,
Wreathed with radiant flowers,
Pleasant May hath come, bestowing
Soft, blue robes upon the sky,
On broad vale and upland throwing
Gifts of verdant dye.
Garlands wet with gentle showers,
In her hand a sceptre bearing,
Wreathed with radiant flowers,
Pleasant May hath come, bestowing
Soft, blue robes upon the sky,
On broad vale and upland throwing
Gifts of verdant dye.
Lulling winds of Heaven are stealing
Blossom-odor from the bough—
Every moment is revealing
Some new beauty now:
Housewife bees are swiftly flying
Round young flowers in airy rings—
Insects, newly born, are trying
In the sun their wings.
Blossom-odor from the bough—
Every moment is revealing
Some new beauty now:
Housewife bees are swiftly flying
Round young flowers in airy rings—
Insects, newly born, are trying
In the sun their wings.
Welcome May! yon elm is waving
Regally his leafy crest—
Tinkling streams are lightly laving
Banks in verdure drest.
While the robin plaits his dwelling
In the green depths of the wood,
Birds are in the sunlight swelling,
Fresh, and many-hued.
Regally his leafy crest—
Tinkling streams are lightly laving
Banks in verdure drest.
While the robin plaits his dwelling
In the green depths of the wood,
Birds are in the sunlight swelling,
Fresh, and many-hued.
Airless room and sofa leaving,
I will roam with idle tread,
Where the stirring grove is weaving
Broad roofs overhead;
Or, beneath some tall beach sitting,
Rooted in the virgin mould,
Read, while birds are near me flitting,
Thrilling tales of old.
I will roam with idle tread,
316
Broad roofs overhead;
Or, beneath some tall beach sitting,
Rooted in the virgin mould,
Read, while birds are near me flitting,
Thrilling tales of old.
| The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer | |