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1
ODE I. ON THE SPRING.
WRITTEN ON THE BANKS OF THE CAM.
Ιδε πας εαρος Ο:αιειτος
Χαριτες ροδα βρυοισι.
Anacreon, Ode 37.
Χαριτες ροδα βρυοισι.
Anacreon, Ode 37.
Lo! where the rosy Spring is seen
Dancing forth in bright array,
Blithe as an eastern bridal queen,
To wed the Lord of day.
And see exulting Nature homage pay,
And all her breathing incense pour along!
The gentle breeze, the Nightingale's soft lay,
The stream's clear murmur, and the Poet's song;
All, all are thine! Earth, air, and sea, and sky,
All wake for thee, fair Spring, their sweetest minstrelsy.
Dancing forth in bright array,
Blithe as an eastern bridal queen,
To wed the Lord of day.
And see exulting Nature homage pay,
And all her breathing incense pour along!
The gentle breeze, the Nightingale's soft lay,
The stream's clear murmur, and the Poet's song;
All, all are thine! Earth, air, and sea, and sky,
All wake for thee, fair Spring, their sweetest minstrelsy.
2
I too the vernal influence feel,
And join the rapt'rous choral song,
Musing smooth numbers, as I steal,
Oh Cam! thy banks along.
Though on those banks no myrtle breathes perfume,
No rose unfolds its blushing beauties there,
No tulip there displays its gaudy bloom,
No stately lily decks the gay parterre;
Inclos'd within the garden's fair domain,
These all in sultan pride still keep their splendid reign.
And join the rapt'rous choral song,
Musing smooth numbers, as I steal,
Oh Cam! thy banks along.
Though on those banks no myrtle breathes perfume,
No rose unfolds its blushing beauties there,
No tulip there displays its gaudy bloom,
No stately lily decks the gay parterre;
Inclos'd within the garden's fair domain,
These all in sultan pride still keep their splendid reign.
Yet wild flow'rs o'er the simple scene
Warm'd by the touch of gentle May,
Spring up to life, a num'rous train,
Softly sweet, and neatly gay.
To me the violet hath a balmy sweet,
To me the kingcup scatters golden hues,
E'en in the primrose modest beauties meet,
E'en the meek daisy can instruct the muse;
Roving with silent eyes she loves to stand,
And e'en in field-flow'rs views a master's matchless hand.
Warm'd by the touch of gentle May,
Spring up to life, a num'rous train,
Softly sweet, and neatly gay.
To me the violet hath a balmy sweet,
To me the kingcup scatters golden hues,
E'en in the primrose modest beauties meet,
E'en the meek daisy can instruct the muse;
Roving with silent eyes she loves to stand,
And e'en in field-flow'rs views a master's matchless hand.
3
And see! the glowing sun-beams play,
Dancing on the crisped stream;
While thousand insects, light and gay,
Swift o'er the surface skim.
Nor does in vain the swan majestic sail,
Nor fervid bees rove on the flow'ry brink,
Nor fishes down the silver current steal,
Nor little songsters on the margin drink:
Then wild with bliss shiver the painted wing,
Or to their feather'd loves their sweetest wild notes sing.
Dancing on the crisped stream;
While thousand insects, light and gay,
Swift o'er the surface skim.
Nor does in vain the swan majestic sail,
Nor fervid bees rove on the flow'ry brink,
Nor fishes down the silver current steal,
Nor little songsters on the margin drink:
Then wild with bliss shiver the painted wing,
Or to their feather'd loves their sweetest wild notes sing.
Oh Spring! I love thy gentle reign:
Yet I will leave thee, gentle Spring,
What time his wisdom shall ordain
Who sits the sov'reign King:
Yes! all thy clouds, and skies of silver hues,
Thy hills and vales, soft gales and glossy bloom,
I'll leave them all; though friendly to the muse,
And uncomplaining wait the cheerless gloom;
Where Death's cold season chills the Poet's tongue,
Nor shall the sylvan muse e'er wake the vernal song.
Yet I will leave thee, gentle Spring,
What time his wisdom shall ordain
Who sits the sov'reign King:
Yes! all thy clouds, and skies of silver hues,
Thy hills and vales, soft gales and glossy bloom,
I'll leave them all; though friendly to the muse,
And uncomplaining wait the cheerless gloom;
Where Death's cold season chills the Poet's tongue,
Nor shall the sylvan muse e'er wake the vernal song.
4
What though I love thee, spring-tide fair,
Yet there's a brighter spring above;
Gay laughs the sun the live-long year,
And all is light and love.
There gales immortal sweetness breathe around;
There grow fair shining fruits, and golden flow'rs,
Cherish'd luxuriant on the laughing ground,
With heav'n's own dews, and pure ambrosial show'rs;
There happy beings rest, their conquests won,
And weave from heav'nly trees a never-with'ring crown.
Yet there's a brighter spring above;
Gay laughs the sun the live-long year,
And all is light and love.
There gales immortal sweetness breathe around;
There grow fair shining fruits, and golden flow'rs,
Cherish'd luxuriant on the laughing ground,
With heav'n's own dews, and pure ambrosial show'rs;
There happy beings rest, their conquests won,
And weave from heav'nly trees a never-with'ring crown.
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