Poems by the late John Bethune With a sketch of the author's life, by his brother |
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WINTER AND SPRING—MARCH 1831. |
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 | Poems by the late John Bethune |  |
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WINTER AND SPRING—MARCH 1831.
'Twas the time of the year when the forest tree
Is expanding its buds to the humming bee;
'Twas the hour of the day when the purpling sky
Grows doubly sweet to the poet's eye—
When, coy as the virgin who shuns to be seen,
A beautiful damsel bedizen'd with green,
As the sweet sunbeams on the pale boughs play'd,
Walk'd trippingly down the old promenade:
A necklace of buds on her fair breast hung,
And a wordless music flow'd from her tongue,
And a coronal, made of the snowdrops bright,
Danced on her brow so enchantingly white.
Her slippers of mountain-daisies were made,
Which glow'd with a tinge of the purest red;
And light was her step, as she wantonly stray'd
In the sheltering reach of the old trees' shade.
Is expanding its buds to the humming bee;
'Twas the hour of the day when the purpling sky
Grows doubly sweet to the poet's eye—
When, coy as the virgin who shuns to be seen,
A beautiful damsel bedizen'd with green,
As the sweet sunbeams on the pale boughs play'd,
Walk'd trippingly down the old promenade:
A necklace of buds on her fair breast hung,
And a wordless music flow'd from her tongue,
And a coronal, made of the snowdrops bright,
Danced on her brow so enchantingly white.
Her slippers of mountain-daisies were made,
Which glow'd with a tinge of the purest red;
And light was her step, as she wantonly stray'd
In the sheltering reach of the old trees' shade.
Stalking alone on the opposite side,
Where the north wind blew o'er a desert wide,
A form of a different kind was seen:
His gait was unsteady, but haughty his mien.
To his fur-trimm'd robes the snow-flakes clung,
And icicles pure from his grey locks hung:
He appear'd like a giant, in stature and form,
And the cast of his brow was the frown of the storm,
Which heavily falls on the cold heart-string—
The two were the Spirits of Winter and Spring!
As Winter came on, with a dedolent air,
His eye caught a glimpse of the beautiful fair;
The sheen of the robes which the damsel had worn,
That evening appear'd to inflate him with scorn,
And, stopping at once the high tramp of his foot,
He address'd her in haste with this angry salute:
“Whence hast thou come? like a glittering toy,
Whose very existence my frown will destroy!
How dar'st thou, gay wanton, thy flowerets to twine,
On the hills I have conquer'd—the vales which are mine?
Vain fool! dost thou think that thy aspect so fair
Could tempt me for once an invader to spare?
No! hence—I have warn'd thee. I warn thee, go hence—
If thou stay'st, it shall be at thy proper expense!”
Where the north wind blew o'er a desert wide,
A form of a different kind was seen:
His gait was unsteady, but haughty his mien.
To his fur-trimm'd robes the snow-flakes clung,
And icicles pure from his grey locks hung:
He appear'd like a giant, in stature and form,
And the cast of his brow was the frown of the storm,
Which heavily falls on the cold heart-string—
The two were the Spirits of Winter and Spring!
199
His eye caught a glimpse of the beautiful fair;
The sheen of the robes which the damsel had worn,
That evening appear'd to inflate him with scorn,
And, stopping at once the high tramp of his foot,
He address'd her in haste with this angry salute:
“Whence hast thou come? like a glittering toy,
Whose very existence my frown will destroy!
How dar'st thou, gay wanton, thy flowerets to twine,
On the hills I have conquer'd—the vales which are mine?
Vain fool! dost thou think that thy aspect so fair
Could tempt me for once an invader to spare?
No! hence—I have warn'd thee. I warn thee, go hence—
If thou stay'st, it shall be at thy proper expense!”
Thus spoke he; and she, with a smile in her eye,
To his still growing wrath made a gentle reply:
“I come from the land where the orient palm
Spreads softly and sweetly its leaves in the calm;
Where the streams have no voice as they glide to the deep,
Which, embracing the shadows of earth, falls asleep!
From thence did I come with the swallows, to soar
Over inland and ocean, from shore unto shore;
And here have I paused in this isle of the seas,
To rest me awhile, and then fly with the breeze!”
To his still growing wrath made a gentle reply:
“I come from the land where the orient palm
Spreads softly and sweetly its leaves in the calm;
Where the streams have no voice as they glide to the deep,
Which, embracing the shadows of earth, falls asleep!
From thence did I come with the swallows, to soar
Over inland and ocean, from shore unto shore;
And here have I paused in this isle of the seas,
To rest me awhile, and then fly with the breeze!”
Thus spoke she; and Winter stood frowning the while;
But she met every frown of his brow with a smile,
Till anger and wrath to affection gave place,
And the churl began to look pleased in her face:
And slowly the old surly chief and the maid,
Together retired to the forest for shade;
But the moment he saw her set foot in the grove,
Old Winter grew squeamish, and sicken'd of love.
Too late he repented approaching her charms,
And, frowning again, he expired in her arms;
And gaily she smiled as she there laid him down,
For she won with a smile what he lost with a frown.
But she met every frown of his brow with a smile,
200
And the churl began to look pleased in her face:
And slowly the old surly chief and the maid,
Together retired to the forest for shade;
But the moment he saw her set foot in the grove,
Old Winter grew squeamish, and sicken'd of love.
Too late he repented approaching her charms,
And, frowning again, he expired in her arms;
And gaily she smiled as she there laid him down,
For she won with a smile what he lost with a frown.
| Poems by the late John Bethune | |