Читать книгу The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 12, No. 322, July 12, 1828 - Various - Страница 3

The young, fair Spring, is tripping o'er the Earth,

With feet that ne'er can know the lag of age;

The Earth, her lover, conscious of her worth,

Flings down all his rich treasures to engage

That blushing wanderer: but she journeys forth

Heedless of all his offerings. The hot rage

Of love shall scorch his heart in tortures fell,

Till Winter comes with many an icicle.

That loved-one yet is here; and flowers, and songs,

And streams—to gush above her own free feet

Of stainless ivory,—and countless throngs

Of birds are living, her pure soul to greet.

And the lone spirit, thoughtfully that longs

For a dim view of Eden, from a seat

O'erhanging some green valley, now espies

Nought that might dread compare with Paradise!

There is a glory gone forth from on high!—

It quickens the heart's beat, whereon it flings

Its fervour;—the flushed cheek and glowing eye

Confess its influence;—and the many strings,

Voiceless too long in the young heart, reply

To the mute promptings of a thousand things

Which Spring has conjured up;—all, all is hers—

That Glory without name—she ministers.

Now—all the thoughts she wakens in the heart

Are glorious Music!—divine Poesy!—

Now—all the dreams on Fancy's eyes that start,

She will disown not, wayward though they be.

Sweet Dreams!—down Lethe's billow they depart—

Words are too weak to clothe them worthily.

Rich incense, burnt upon some altar stone

Censerless,—in a temple—desert—lone!

What shall we do in these delightful days,

When the full, bounding heart, will not be still;—

When the glad eye, absorbed in far-sent gaze,

Forgets Earth's plenitude of grief and ill;—

Shall we dream on, in a bewitching maze

Of sweet affections and bold hopes, until

Earth is not Earth—but Heaven? or shall we die

Hourly, to some "dissolving minstrelsy?"

Sometimes, when day is dying—when twilight

Brings its dim Vigil,—hour of quietness,—

'Tis sweet to listen, till the cheated sight

Pictures strange shadowings of awfulness,—

Some wild, old tale of goblin's ghastly spite,

Or antique strain of passionate distress;—

And one, which has been wept o'er many a time

I seek, to mar, perchance, with feeble rhyme