 | The Poetical Works of Robert Story |  |
126
Again the Sweetest Season.
1832.
Again the sweetest season wakes,
Again the bud is on the tree—
A sight, my Ellen, which it makes
Me pleased and sad at once, to see.
Again the bud is on the tree—
A sight, my Ellen, which it makes
Me pleased and sad at once, to see.
“I feel the joy which Nature feels,
As in my youth's departed prime;
I feel—what every shrub reveals—
The tender beauty of the time.
As in my youth's departed prime;
I feel—what every shrub reveals—
The tender beauty of the time.
“But ah! to think—while Nature keeps
All unimpaired her mighty power,
Clothing as richly plains and steeps
As in the earth's primeval hour—
All unimpaired her mighty power,
Clothing as richly plains and steeps
As in the earth's primeval hour—
“To think that I, if natural length
Of years withhold me from the urn,
With feebler pulse and waning strength,
Must hail each future spring's return!
Of years withhold me from the urn,
With feebler pulse and waning strength,
Must hail each future spring's return!
“To think that, laid at last in clay,
No more for me shall earth be clad
In all the young spring's fresh array—
My spirit sinks, and I am sad!”
No more for me shall earth be clad
In all the young spring's fresh array—
My spirit sinks, and I am sad!”
Prompt was my Ellen's kind reply
To check the low, despondent strain:
“Nay, for a smile exchange that sigh,”
She said, “and triumph, not complain!
To check the low, despondent strain:
“Nay, for a smile exchange that sigh,”
She said, “and triumph, not complain!
127
“Spring-flowers are types of human bliss,
So beautiful—so frail their forms:
Nor do we name our woes amiss—
The blight of frosts, the crush of storms.
So beautiful—so frail their forms:
Nor do we name our woes amiss—
The blight of frosts, the crush of storms.
“Our spring-time flies with smile and song,
Swift as the sun-gleam o'er the lea;
But O! what words may tell the long,
Dark, winter-time of misery?
Swift as the sun-gleam o'er the lea;
But O! what words may tell the long,
Dark, winter-time of misery?
“From life's long blast 'twere very sweet
To feel, with every spring that blows,
We draw more near the calm retreat
In which the weary find repose.
To feel, with every spring that blows,
We draw more near the calm retreat
In which the weary find repose.
“But shall we stoop from Paynim founts
To draw the solace Paynims drew?
No, no! the Christain's spirit mounts,
And soars above yon vault of blue—
To draw the solace Paynims drew?
No, no! the Christain's spirit mounts,
And soars above yon vault of blue—
“There sees, in a serener clime,
A fairer spring evolve its bloom,
Untarnished by one touch of time—
Unsaddened by a single tomb!—
A fairer spring evolve its bloom,
Untarnished by one touch of time—
Unsaddened by a single tomb!—
“Where happy souls—their troubles o'er,
Their weariness and worldly strife—
Bathe in the streams for evermore,
Whose every swell is bliss and life!
Their weariness and worldly strife—
Bathe in the streams for evermore,
Whose every swell is bliss and life!
“Now, love, exult, to think, with me,
Each spring but sees us nearer rise
To that Land of Felicity
Its beauty faintly typifies!”
Each spring but sees us nearer rise
To that Land of Felicity
Its beauty faintly typifies!”
| The Poetical Works of Robert Story | |