XXXVIII. ODE, COMPOSED ON MAY MORNING. [THIS and the following poem originated in the lines "How delicate the leafy veil," &c.-My daughter and I left Rydal Mount upon a tour through our mountains with Mr. and Mrs. Carr in the month of May, 1826, and as we were going up the vale of Newlands I was struck with the appearance of the little chapel gleaming through the veil of half-opened leaves; and the feeling which was then conveyed to my mind was expressed in the stanza referred to above. As in the case of "Liberty" and "Humanity," my first intention was to write only one poem, but subsequently I broke it into two, making additions to each part so as to produce a consistent and appropriate whole.] WHILE from the purpling east departs The star that led the dawn, Blithe Flora from her couch upstarts, A quickening hope, a freshening glee, Whose first-drawn breath, from bush and tree, All Nature welcomes Her whose sway Tempers the year's extremes; The tremulous heart excite; Time was, blest Power! when youths and maids of dawn would rise, At peep And wander forth, in forest glades Thy birth to solemnize. Though mute the song-to grace the rite Untouched the hawthorn bough, Thy Spirit triumphs o'er the slight; Man changes, but not Thou! Thy feathered Lieges bill and wings Warmed by thy influence, creeping things Awake to silent joy: Queen art thou still for each gay plant Cloud-piercing peak, and trackless heath, Nor wants the dim-lit cave a wreath Their puniest flower-pot-nursling dares And if, on this thy natal morn, Hath not departed, stands forlorn VOL. IV T Still from the village-green a vow Yes! where Love nestles thou canst teach The soul to love the more; Hearts also shall thy lessons reach That never loved before. Stript is the haughty one of pride, Hush, feeble lyre! weak words refuse His voice shall chant, in accents clear, Throughout the live-long day, Till the first silver star appear, 1826. 275 XXXIX. ΤΟ ΜΑΥ. THOUGH many suns have risen and set Delicious odours! music sweet, That, when a thousand years are told, Earth, sea, thy presence feel-nor less, With its soft smile the truth express, And eyes that cannot but be sad Let fall a brightened tear. Since thy return, through days and weeks Have kindled into health! The Old, by thee revived, have said, is ours;" "Another year And wayworn Wanderers, poorly fed, Who tripping lisps a merry song But now, when every sharp-edged blast His Mother leaves him free to taste Thy help is with the weed that creeps And yet how pleased we wander forth |