WALK IN SPRING. I WANDER'D in a lonely glade, Where, issuing from the forest shade, A little mountain stream Along the winding valley play'd, Beneath the morning beam. Light o'er the woods of dark brown oak The west-wind wreathed the hovering smoke Below a rock abruptly broke, In rosy light reveal'd. 'Twas in the infancy of May, The uplands glow'd in green array, While from the ranging eye, The lessening landscape stretch'd away, To meet the bending sky. The strawberry, creeping at our feet, The sorrel's simple bloom. Therefore I love the walks of Spring, While still I hear new warblers sing, Fresh-opening bells I see; Joy flits on every roving wing, Hope buds on every tree. That morn I look'd and listen'd long, Some cheering sight, some woodland song, As yet unheard, unseen, To welcome, with remembrance strong When gathering flowers, an eager child, I ran abroad with rapture wild; Or, on more curious quest, Peep'd breathless through the copse, and smiled, To see the linnet's nest. Already had I watch'd the flight Of swallows darting through the light, And mock'd the cuckoo's call; Already view'd, o'er meadows bright, The evening rain-bow fall. Now in my walk, with sweet surprise, I saw the first Spring cowslip rise, The plant whose pensile flowers Bend to the earth their beauteous eyes, In sunshine as in showers. Lone on a mossy bank it grew, Where lichens, purple, white, and blue, Among the verdure crept ; Its yellow ringlets, dropping dew, The breezes lightly swept. A bee had nestled on its blooms, He shook abroad their rich perfumes, Then fled in airy rings; His place a butterfly assumes, Glancing his glorious wings. O, welcome, as a friend! I cried; A friend through many a season tried, Nor ever sought in vain, When May, with Flora at her side, Is dancing on the plain. Sure as the Pleiades adorn The glittering coronet of morn, In calm delicious hours, Beneath their beams thy buds are born, 'Midst love-awakening showers. E |