THIRTY-FIRST OF MAY

AWAKE!- the crimson dawn is glowing,
And blissful breath of Morn
From golden seas is earthward flowing
Thro' mountain-peaks forlorn ;
Twixt the tall roses, and the jasmines near,
That darkly hover in the twilight air,
I see the glory streaming, and I hear
The sweet wind whispering like a messen-
ger.

'Tis time to sing! - the Spirits of Spring Go softly by mine ear,

And out of Fairyland they bring

Glad tidings to me here;

'Tis time to sing! now is the pride of Youth

Pluming the woods, and the first rose ap

'Tis time to sing the woodlands ring New carols day by day;

The wild birds of the islands sing Whence they have flown away; 'Tis time to sing the nightingale is

come,

And 'mid the laurels chants he all night

long,

And bids the leaves be still, the winds be dumb,

And like the starlight flashes forth his song.

Immortal Beauty from above,

Like sunlight breath'd on cloud, Touches the weary soul with love,

And hath unwound the shroud

Of buried Nature till she looks again
Fresh in infantine smiles and childish

tears,

And o'er the rugged hearts of aged men Sheds the pure dew of Youth's delicious

years.

The heart of the awaken'd Earth
Breathes odorous ecstasy;

Let ours beat time unto her mirth,
And hymn her jubilee !

The glory of the Universal Soul

Ascends from mountain-tops, and lowly flowers,

The mighty pulses throbbing through the Whole

Call unto us for answering life in ours.

Arise young Queen of forests green,
A path was strewn for thee
With hyacinth, and gold bells atween,
And red anemone;

Arise! young Queen of beauty and delight,
Lift in this fair land thine happy eyes;

up

The valleys yearn, and gardens for thy sight,

But chief this heart that prays for thee with sighs.

How oft into the opening blue

I look'd up wistfully,

In hope to see thee wafted thro'
Bright rifts of stormy sky ;

Many gray morns, sad nights, and weary days,

Without thy golden smile my heart was dying;

Oh! in the valleys let me see thy face, And thy loose locks adown the woodwalks flying.

Come, with thy flowers, and silver showers,
Thy rainbows, and thy light;
Fold in thy robe the naked Hours,

And fill them with thy might;
Though less I seek thee for the loveliness
Thou laughest from thee over land and

sea,

Than for the hues wherein gay Fancies dress

My drooping spirit at the sight of thee.

Come, with thy voice of thousand joys,
Thy leaves, and fluttering wings;
Come with thy breezes, and the noise

Of rivulets and of springs;

Though less I seek thee for thine harmonies

Of winds and waters, and thy songs divine,

Than for that Angel that within me lies,

And makes glad music echoing unto thine.

O Gardens blossoming anew!

O Rivers, and fresh Rills!

O Mountains in your mantles blue!
O dales of daffodils !

What ye can do no mortal spirit can,

Ye have a strength within we cannot borrow,

Blessed are ye beyond the heart of Man, Your Joy, your Love, your Life beyond all Sorrow!

Her widowhood, and sorrows, follow'd her
Far off, when she went forth, to be alone
In lonely places; and at set of sun
They won her back by some fond phantasy,
By telling her some tale of the gone days
Of her dear lost ones, promising to show her
Some faded garland, or some broken toy,
Dusty and dim, which they had found, or
feign'd

To have found, some plaything of their infant hours.

Within the echoes of a ruin'd court

She sat and mourn'd, with her lamenting voice,

Melodious in sorrow, like the sound

Of funeral hymns; for in her youth she sang
Along the myrtle valleys in the spring,
Plucking the fresh pinks and the hyacinths,
With her fair troop of girls, who answer'd
her

Silverly sweet, so that the lovely tribe
Were Nature's matchless treble to the last
Delicious pipe, pure, warbling, dewy clear.
In summer and in winter, that lorn voice
Went up, like the struck spirit of this world,
Making the starry roof of heaven tremble
With her lament, and agony, and all
The crowned Gods in their high tabernacles
Sigh unawares, and think upon their deeds.
Her guardians let her wander at her will,
For all could weep for her; had she not
been

The first and fairest of that sunny land,
And bless'd with all things; doubly crown'd

with power

And beauty, doubly now discrown'd and

fallen ?

Oh! none would harm her, only she herself; And chiefly then when they would hold her back,

And sue her to take comfort in her home,
Or in the bridal chambers of her youth,
Or in the old gardens, once her joy and
pride,

Or the rose-bowers along the river-shore
She lov'd of old, now silent and forsaken.
For then she fled away, as though in fear,
As if she saw the spectres of her hours
Of joyaunce pass before her in the shapes
Of her belov'd ones. But most she chose
Waste places, where the moss and lichen
crawl'd,

And the wild ivy flutter'd, and the rains Wept thro' the roofless ruins, and all seem'd

To mourn in symbols, and to answer to her,
Showing her outward that she was within.
The unregarding multitude pass'd on,
Because her woe was a familiar sight.
But some there were that shut their ears
and fled,

And they were childless; the rose-lipp'd and young

Felt that imperial voice and desolate Strike cold into their hearts; children at play

Were smit with sudden silence, with their toys

Clutch'd in their hands, forgetful of the

game.

Aged she was, yet beautiful in age.
Her beauty, thro' the cloud of years and
grief,

Shone as a wintry sun; she never smil'd,
Save when a darkness pass'd across the sun,
And blotted out from her entranced eyes
Disastrous shapes that rode upon his disk,
Tyrannous visions, armed presences;
And then she sigh'd and lifted up her head,
And shed a few warm tears. But when he
rose,

And her sad eyes unclos'd before his beams,
She started up with terrors in her look,
That wither'd up all pity in affright,
And ran about, like one with Furies torn,
And rent her hair, and madly threaten'd
Heaven,

And call'd for retribution on the Gods,
Crying, "O save me from Him, He is