CXXIII.A SPRING LESSON.
I
Through all the vale,
The primrose pale
Her yellow spots is showing;
And by the stream
Green mosses gleam,
Where Scandale Beck is flowing.
II
Beneath the trees,
In families,
The snow-drops white are shining;
And through the wood
Full many a bud
Reveals the woodbine twining.
III
The young fern looks
Like shepherd's crooks,
As though 'twas such a trouble
To force its way
Through stones and clay,
That it had bent it double.
IV
And though no screen
Of leafy green
Protects my happy dwelling,
The naked bough
Hath thickened now,
And bud and branch are swelling:
V
And it is meant
To weave a tent
Of summer twilight over,
With warp and woof,
And all sun-proof,
A cool and fragrant cover.
VI
And from the earth
A stream of mirth
Into the spirit rises,
While sudden Spring
From off her wing
Is scattering sweet surprises.
VII
And every hour
In vernal shower
The heart finds sweet ablution,
While it receives
Mid buds and leaves
A very absolution.
VIII
Yet do I mourn
That spring's bright urn
Is no impartial laver,
But still that she
Most partially
Divides her wayward favor.
IX
For here and there
The uncertain air
Woos blossoms from their sheathing,
Where'er the wind
May now unbind
The winter with his breathing.
X
And chosen stems
With weight of gems
And forward blossoms labor,
While not a bud
Adorns the wood,
The dull wood of their neighbor.
XI
We cannot ride
By yon way-side
Among the hawthorns early
But fancy grieves
O'er spots of leaves
Which spring hath wooed unfairly.
XII
Yet if we scan
The world of man
In every nook and border,
Where'er we turn
We may discern
The self-same solemn order.
XIII
Thus in her path
Of love and wrath
Dear Spring our thanks doth merit:
By her meek sign
We may divine
The mystery of the Spirit.
