SPRING. "That night is near,-and the cheerless tomb 'Till the morn of eternity rise on the gloom, ANON. SPRING. THE sweet season that bud and bloom forth brings, The turtle to her mate hath told her tale. The hart has hung his old head on the pale, EARL OF SURREY. 137 CORONACH. He is gone on the mountain, When our need was the sorest. The font, re-appearing, From the rain-drops shall borrow; But to us comes no cheering, To Duncan no morrow. The hand of the reaper Takes the ears that are hoary, But the voice of the weeper Wails manhood in glory; The autumn winds rushing Waft the leaves that are searest, But our flower was in flushing, When blighting was nearest. Fleet foot on the correi, Sage counsel in cumber, Red hand in the foray, How sound is thy slumber! Like the dew on the mountain, Like the foam on the river, Like the bubble on the fountain, SCOTT. RETURNING SPRING. Aн, woe is me! Winter is come and gone, And build their mossy homes in field and brere; Like unimprisoned flames, out of their trance awake. Through wood and stream and field and hill and ocean, A quickening life from the earth's heart has burst, As it has ever done, with change and motion, From the great morning of the world! when first God dawn'd on chaos; in its stream immersed, The lamps of heaven flash with a softer light; All baser things pant with life's sacred thirst; Diffuse themselves; and spend in love's delight The beauty and the joy of their renewed might. SHELLEY. THE BELEAGUERED CITY. I HAVE read, in some old marvellous tale, Beside the Moldau's rushing stream, White as a sea-fog, landward bound, No other voice nor sound was there, But, when the old cathedral bell THE BELEAGUERED CITY. Down the broad valley fast and far Uprose the glorious morning star, The ghastly host was dead. I have read, in the marvellous heart of man, That an army of phantoms vast and wan Encamp'd beside Life's rushing stream, In Fancy's misty light, Upon its midnight battle-ground No other voice nor sound is there, And, when the solemn and deep church-bell The midnight phantoms feel the spell, The shadows sweep away. 141 |