Reminiscences, in Prose and Verse Consisting of the Epistolary Correspondence of Many Distinguished Characters. With Notes and Illustrations. By the Rev. R. Polwhele |
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THE FOURTH OF MARCH.
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 | Reminiscences, in Prose and Verse |  |
THE FOURTH OF MARCH.
1813.
March! how mild thy genial hours,
Soft azure skies, and gilded showers;
The blaze of lights, the deepening shade,
Tints that flush the cloud and fade;
Now the young wheat's transient gleam,
Where sunfits, chasing shadows, stream;
Now in quick effulgence seen,
On yonder slope its sparkling green;
And, sprinkled o'er the mossy mould,
Crocuses, like drops of gold;
And the lent-lily's paler yellow
Where flowers the asp and water-willow;
And the polyanthus, fair
Its hues, as bath'd in summer air;
And the white violets, that just peep,
And, shelter'd by the rosemary, sleep;
Bursting lilacs, and beneath
Currant-buds, that freshly breathe
The first spring-scent, light gooseberry leaves
With which the obtrusive ivy weaves
Its verdure dark—this day, tho' late
Cut off, to meet a cruel fate—
The cherry spray, that purpling glows,
And, full of leaf, the hedge-row rose;
On this south wall the peach-bloom pale,
Where huddles many a clustering snail;
And round the trunk of yon hoar tree,
Here and there, a humming bee
That wanders to the sunny nook,
Or seeks, hard by, the glittering brook;
The black-bird's trill, and every lay
That warbling wild love, dies away;
And on each ash and elm's gray crest,
Cawing rooks, that frame the nest
Anew, or with parental care
Their cradles worn by time repair;
And lambs that o'er the meadow, brisk,
Tug at the teat, and run and frisk;
These, this moment, meet my eyes,
Or my charmed ear surprise—
Sounds that melt, and sights that seem
To wave o'er winter like a dream.
Soft azure skies, and gilded showers;
The blaze of lights, the deepening shade,
Tints that flush the cloud and fade;
Now the young wheat's transient gleam,
Where sunfits, chasing shadows, stream;
Now in quick effulgence seen,
On yonder slope its sparkling green;
And, sprinkled o'er the mossy mould,
Crocuses, like drops of gold;
And the lent-lily's paler yellow
Where flowers the asp and water-willow;
And the polyanthus, fair
Its hues, as bath'd in summer air;
And the white violets, that just peep,
And, shelter'd by the rosemary, sleep;
Bursting lilacs, and beneath
Currant-buds, that freshly breathe
The first spring-scent, light gooseberry leaves
With which the obtrusive ivy weaves
Its verdure dark—this day, tho' late
Cut off, to meet a cruel fate—
138
And, full of leaf, the hedge-row rose;
On this south wall the peach-bloom pale,
Where huddles many a clustering snail;
And round the trunk of yon hoar tree,
Here and there, a humming bee
That wanders to the sunny nook,
Or seeks, hard by, the glittering brook;
The black-bird's trill, and every lay
That warbling wild love, dies away;
And on each ash and elm's gray crest,
Cawing rooks, that frame the nest
Anew, or with parental care
Their cradles worn by time repair;
And lambs that o'er the meadow, brisk,
Tug at the teat, and run and frisk;
These, this moment, meet my eyes,
Or my charmed ear surprise—
Sounds that melt, and sights that seem
To wave o'er winter like a dream.
Yet, ere in recent brightness born,
The moon shall fill her silver horn,
Clear as now we hail the rays
Where evening's crimson vest decays;
Yet shall thy storm, impetuous March!
In blackness shroud the etherial arch,
Sweep those dewy meads serene,
And rifle all this garden-scene;
Yet, if bloom the vermeil peach,
Tawny-leav'd we mark the beech!
Yes! but yester-morn, were driven
Veiling the refulgent heaven,
What numerous starlings down the waste
As when howl'd the embattled blast!
Then, shall we not, my Mary! seize
Fleeting pleasures, such as these?
Scar'd by winds and rushing rain,
Will Spring visit us again?
Are we sure, when floods subside,
This amber stream shall dimpling glide,
And again so softly steal
Thro' floral tufts, to yonder dale?
May not, where icebolts cease to beat,
The young shoots droop in summer-heat;
Scantier creep the languid rill,
And the vocal bowers be still?
The moon shall fill her silver horn,
Clear as now we hail the rays
Where evening's crimson vest decays;
Yet shall thy storm, impetuous March!
In blackness shroud the etherial arch,
Sweep those dewy meads serene,
And rifle all this garden-scene;
Yet, if bloom the vermeil peach,
Tawny-leav'd we mark the beech!
Yes! but yester-morn, were driven
Veiling the refulgent heaven,
What numerous starlings down the waste
As when howl'd the embattled blast!
Then, shall we not, my Mary! seize
Fleeting pleasures, such as these?
Scar'd by winds and rushing rain,
Will Spring visit us again?
139
This amber stream shall dimpling glide,
And again so softly steal
Thro' floral tufts, to yonder dale?
May not, where icebolts cease to beat,
The young shoots droop in summer-heat;
Scantier creep the languid rill,
And the vocal bowers be still?
Then, let us ravish, ere it fly,
Bliss so fugitive, so coy;
Muse on each colour's opening glow,
Trace the blossoms as they blow;
Listen to the choral grove,
And drink the soul of life and love;
Shall we not, my Mary! seize
Fleeting pleasures, such as these?
Bliss so fugitive, so coy;
Muse on each colour's opening glow,
Trace the blossoms as they blow;
Listen to the choral grove,
And drink the soul of life and love;
Shall we not, my Mary! seize
Fleeting pleasures, such as these?
| Reminiscences, in Prose and Verse | |